file was produced from images generously made available by the kentuckiana digital library) [illustration] an arkansas planter by opie read, author of "a yankee from the west," "the waters of caney fork," "mrs. annie green," "up terrapin river." chicago and new york: rand, mcnally & company, publishers. an arkansas planter. chapter i. lying along the arkansas river, a few miles below little rock, there is a broad strip of country that was once the domain of a lordly race of men. they were not lordly in the sense of conquest; no rusting armor hung upon their walls; no ancient blood-stains blotched their stairways--there were no skeletons in dungeons deep beneath the banquet hall. but in their own opinion they were just as great as if they had possessed these gracious marks of medieval distinction. their country was comparatively new, but their fathers came mostly from virginia and their whisky came wholly from kentucky. their cotton brought a high price in the liverpool market, their daughters were celebrated for beauty, and their sons could hold their own with the poker players that traveled up and down the mississippi river. the slave trade had been abolished, and, therefore, what remained of slavery was right; and in proof of it the pulpit contributed its argument. negro preachers with wives scattered throughout the community urged their fellow bondsmen to drop upon their knees and thank god for the privilege of following a mule in a christian land. the merciless work of driving the negroes to their tasks was performed by men from the north. many a son of new england, who, with emotion, had listened to phillips and to garrison, had afterward hired his harsh energies to the slave owner. and it was this hard driving that taught the negro vaguely to despise the abolitionist. but as a class the slaves were not unhappy. they were ignorant, but the happiest song is sometimes sung by ignorance. they believed the bible as read to them by the preachers, and the bible told them that god had made them slaves; so, at evening, they twanged rude strings and danced the "buck" under the boughs of the cottonwood tree. on the vine-shaded veranda the typical old planter was wont to sit, looking up and down the road, watching for a friend or a stranger--any one worthy to drink a gentleman's liquor, sir. his library was stocked with romances. he knew english history as handed down to him by the sentimentalist. he hated the name of king, but revered an aristocracy. no business was transacted under his roof; the affairs of his estate were administered in a small office, situated at the corner of the yard. his wife and daughters, arrayed in imported finery, drove about in a carriage. new orleans was his social center, and he had been known to pay as much as a thousand dollars for a family ticket to a ball at the st. charles hotel. his hospitality was known everywhere. he was slow to anger, except when his honor was touched upon, and then he demanded an apology or forced a fight. he was humorous, and yet the consciousness of his own dignity often restrained his enjoyment of the ludicrous. when the cotton was in bloom his possessions were beautiful. on a knoll he could stand and imagine that the world was a sea of purple. that was the arkansas planter years ago, before the great sentimental storm swept down upon him, before an evening's tea-table talk in massachusetts became a tornado of iron in virginia. when ragged and heart-sore he returned from the army, from as brave a fight as man ever engaged in, he sat down to dream over his vanished greatness. but his dream was short. he went to work, not to re-establish his former condition of ease--for that hope was beyond him--but to make a living for his family. on a knoll overlooking the arkansas river stood the cranceford homestead. the site was settled in , by captain luke cranceford, who had distinguished himself in an indian war. and here, not long afterward, was born john cranceford, who years later won applause as commander of one of the most stubborn batteries of the confederate army. the house was originally built of cypress logs, but as time passed additions of boards and brick were made, resulting in a formless but comfortable habitation, with broad passage ways and odd lolling places set to entrap cool breezes. the plantation comprised about one thousand acres. the land for the most part was level, but here and there a hill arose, like a sudden jolt. from right to left the tract was divided by a bayou, slow and dark. the land was so valuable that most of it had been cleared years ago, but in the wooded stretches the timber was thick, and in places the tops of the trees were laced together with wild grape vines. far away was a range of pine-covered hills, blue cones in the distance. and here lived the poorer class of people, farmers who could not hope to look to the production of cotton, but who for a mere existence raised thin hogs and nubbins of corn. in the lowlands the plantations were so large and the residences so far apart that the country would have appeared thinly settled but for the negro quarters here and there, log villages along the bayous. in this neighborhood major john cranceford was the most prominent figure. the county was named in honor of his family. he was called a progressive man. he accepted the yoke of reconstruction and wore it with a laugh, until it pinched, and then he said nothing, except to tell his neighbors that a better time was coming. and it came. the years passed, and a man who had been prominent in the confederate council became attorney-general of the american nation, and men who had led desperate charges against the federal forces made speeches in the old capitol at washington. and thus the world was taught a lesson of forgiveness--of the true greatness of man. in new orleans the major was known as a character, and his nerve was not merely a matter of conjecture. courage is supposed to hold a solemn aspect, but the major was the embodiment of heartiness. his laugh was catching; even the negroes had it, slow, loud and long. sometimes at morning when a change of season had influenced him, he would slowly stride up and down the porch, seeming to shake with joviality as he walked. years ago he had served as captain of a large steamboat, and this at times gave him an air of bluff authority. he was a successful river man, and was therefore noted for the vigor and newness of his profanity. his wife was deeply religious, and year after year she besought him to join the church, pleaded with him at evening when the two children were kissed good night--and at last he stood the rector's cross-examination and had his name placed upon the register. it was a hard struggle, but he weeded out his oaths until but one was left--a bold "by the blood." he said that he would part even with this safety valve but that it would require time; and it did. the major believed in the gradual moral improvement of mankind, but he swore that the world intellectually was going to the devil. and for this conviction he had a graded proof. "listen to me a minute," he was wont to say. "i'll make it clear to you. my grandfather was graduated with great honors from harvard, my father was graduated with honor, i got through all right, but my son tom failed." chapter ii. one hot afternoon the major sat in his library. the doors were open and a cool breeze, making the circuitous route of the passage ways, swept through the room, bulging a newspaper which he held opened out in front of him. he was scanning the headlines to catch the impulsive moods of the world. the parlor was not far away, down the hall, and voices reached him. and then there came the distressing hack, hack, of a hollow cough. he put down the newspaper, got up, and slowly strode about the room, not shaking with joviality as he walked. in the parlor the voices were hushed, there was a long silence, and then came the hollow cough. he sat down and again took up the newspaper, but the cough, hack, hack, smote him like the recurrence of a distressing thought, and he crumpled the paper and threw it upon the floor. out in the yard a negro woman was singing; far down the stream a steamboat whistled. and again came the hollow cough. there was another long silence, and then he heard light footsteps in the hall. a young woman halted at the door and stood looking at him. her face was pale and appeared thin, so eager was her expression. she was slight and nervous. "well," he said. she smiled at him and said, "well." then she slowly entered the room, and with a sigh took a seat near him. the cough from the parlor was more distressful, and she looked at him, and in her eyes was a beseeching sadness. "louise." "yes, sir." "what did i tell you?" "i don't know, sir." "don't say that, for you do know." "you've told me so many things--" "yes, i know. but what did i tell you about carl pennington?" "i don't know, sir." "yes you do. i told you that i didn't want him to come here. didn't i?" "yes, sir." "then why is he here?" "i met him and invited him to come." "ah, ha. but i don't want him here; don't want you to see him." she sat looking at him as if she would study every line of his face. he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and looked down. the cough came again, and he looked at the girl. "you know the reason i don't want you to see him. don't you?" "yes, sir, and i know the reason why i do want to see him." "the devil--pardon me," he quickly added, withdrawing his hands from his pockets and bowing to her. she slightly inclined her head and smiled sadly. he looked hard at her, striving to read her thoughts; and she was so frail, her face was so thin and her eyes so wistful that she smote him with pity. he reached over and took one of her hands, and affectionately she gave him the other one. she tried to laugh. the cough came again, and she took her hands away. he reached for them, but she put them behind her. "no, not until i have told you," she said, and he saw her lip tremble. "he was afraid to come in here to see you," she went on, speaking with timid slowness. "he is so weak and sick that he can't stand to be scolded, so i have come to--" she hesitated. he shoved himself back and looked hard at her, and his eyebrows stuck out fiercely. "to ask me what?" his voice was dry and rasping. "what can you ask me? to let him come here to see you? no, daughter. i can't permit that. and i don't intend to be cruel when i say this. i am sorry for him, god knows i deeply sympathize with him, but he must not hope to--" "i was not going to ask you to let him come," she broke in. "i am going to ask you to let me go--go with him." "by the blood!" the major exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "what do you mean? marry him?" "yes, sir," she quietly answered. he looked at her, frowning, his face puffed, his brows jagged. and then appearing to master himself he sat down and strove to take her hand, but she held it behind her. "my daughter, i want to talk to you, not in anger, but with common sense. it actually horrifies me to think of your marriage--i can't do it, that's all. why, the poor fellow can't live three months; he is dead on his feet now. listen at that cough. louise, how can you think of marrying him? haven't you any judgment at all? is it possible that you have lost--but i won't scold you; i must reason with you. there is time enough for you to marry, and the sympathetic fancy that you have for that poor fellow will soon pass away. it must. you've got plenty of chances. jim taylor--" "why do you speak of him, father?" "i speak of him because he loves you--because he is as fine a young fellow as walks the face of the earth." "but, father, he is so big and strong that he doesn't need any one to love him." at this the major appeared not to know whether to laugh or to frown. but he did neither; he sat for a time with his hands on his knees, looking wonderingly, almost stupidly at her; and then he said: "nonsense. where did you pick up that preposterous idea? so strong that he doesn't need love! why, strength demands love, and to a big man the love of a little woman--" she drew back from him as he leaned toward her and he did not complete the sentence. her impatience made him frown. "won't you let me reason with you?" he asked. "won't you help me to suppress all appearance of displeasure?" "it is of no use," she replied. "what is of no use? reason?" "argument." "what! do you mean--" "i mean that i am going to marry him." in her eyes there was no appeal, no pleading, for the look that she gave him was hard and determined. harsh words flew to the major's mind, and he shook with the repression of them; but he was silent. he shoved his hands into his pockets and she heard his keys rattling. he arose with a deep sigh, and now, with his hands behind him, walked up and down the room. suddenly he faced about and stood looking down upon her, at the rose in her hair. "louise, one night on a steamboat there was a rollicking dance. it was a moonlight excursion. there was a splash and a cry that a woman had fallen overboard. i leaped into the river, grasped her, held her head above the stream, fighting the current. a boat was put out and we were taken on board, and then by the light of a lantern i found that i had saved the life of my own daughter. so, upon you, i have more than a father's claim--the claim of gallantry, and this you cannot disregard, and upon it i base my plea." she looked up straight at him; her lips were half open, but she said nothing. "you don't seem to understand," he added, seeming to stiffen his shoulders in resentment at the calmness with which she regarded him. "i tell you that i waive the authority of a father and appeal to your gratitude; i remind you that i saved your life--leaped into the cold water and seized you, not knowing whose life i was striving to save at the risk of losing my own. isn't that worth some sort of return? isn't it worth even the sacrifice of a whim? louise, don't look at me that way. is it possible that you don't grasp--" he hesitated and turned his face toward the parlor whence came again the cough, hollow and distressing. the sound died away, echoing down the hall, and a hen clucked on the porch and a passage door slammed. "louise," he said, looking at her. "yes, sir." "do you catch--" "i catch everything, father. it was noble of you to jump into the river when you didn't know but that you might be drowned, and recognizing that you risked your life, and feeling a deep gratitude, it is hard to repay you with disobedience. wait a moment, please. you must listen to me. it is hard to repay you with disobedience, but it cannot be helped. you say that mr. pennington is dying and i know that you speak the truth. he knows that he is dying, and he appeals to me not to let him die alone--not alone in words," she quickly added, "but with something stronger than words, his helplessness, his despair. other people have appeared to shun him because he is dying, but--" "hold on," he broke in. "i deny that. no one has shunned him because he is dying. everybody is sorry for him, and you know that i would do anything for him." "would you? then let him die under this roof as my husband. oh, look how poor and thin he is, so helpless, and dying day by day, with no relatives near him, with nothing in prospect but long nights of suffering. please don't tell me that i shan't take care of him, for i feel that it is the strongest duty that will ever come to me. listen how he coughs. doesn't it appeal to you? how can you refuse--how can you remind me of the gratitude i owe you?" tears were streaming down her face. he bent over her, placed his hands upon her cheeks and kissed her, but instantly he drew back with his resentful stiffening of the shoulders. "louise, it can't be. no argument and no appeal can bring it about. it makes me shudder to think of it. really i can't understand it. the situation to me is most unnatural. but i won't be harsh with you. but i must say that i don't know where you get your stubbornness. no, i won't be harsh. let me tell you what i will agree to do. he may come to this house and stay here until--may stay here and the best of care shall be taken of him, and you may nurse him, but you must not bear his name. will you agree to this?" she shook her head. she had wiped away her tears and her eyes were strong and determined. "after conceding so much i don't see why you should refuse the vital point," she said. "i can tell you why, and i am afraid that i must." "don't be afraid; simply tell me." "but, daughter, it would seem cruel." "not if i demand it." "then you do demand it? well, you shall know. his father served a term in the louisiana penitentiary for forgery. and now you may ask why i ever let him come into this house. i will tell you. he had been teaching school here some time and i said nothing. one day during a rainstorm he stopped at the gate. he was sick and i invited him to come in. after that i could not find enough firmness to tell him not to come, he was so pale and weak. i see now that it was a false sympathy. do you understand me? his father was a convict." "yes, i understand. he told me." "by the blood on the cross! do you mean to say--louise," he broke off, gazing upon her, "your mind is unsettled. yes, you are crazy, and, of course, all your self-respect is gone. you needn't say a word, you are crazy. you are--i don't know what you are, but i know what i am, and now, after the uselessness of my appeal to your gratitude, i will assert the authority of a father. you shall not marry him." "and would you kill a dying man?" she quietly asked. the question jolted him, and he shouted out: "what do you mean by such nonsense? you know i wouldn't." "then i will marry him." for a moment the major's anger choked him. with many a dry rasp he strove to speak, and just as he had made smoother a channel for his words, he heard the hollow cough drawing nearer. he motioned toward a door that opened in an opposite direction, and the girl, after hesitating a moment, quickly stepped out upon a veranda that overlooked the river. the major turned his eyes toward the other door, and there pennington stood with a handkerchief tightly pressed to his mouth. for a time they were silent, one strong and severe, the other tremulous and almost spectral in the softened light. "there is a chair, sir," said the major, pointing. "i thank you, sir; i don't care to sit down. i--i am very sorry that you are compelled to look upon me as--as you do, sir. and it is all my fault, i assure you, and i can't defend myself." he dropped his handkerchief and looked down as if he were afraid to stoop to pick it up. the major stepped forward, caught up the handkerchief, handed it to him and stepped back. "thank you, sir," pennington said, bowing, and then, after a short pause, he added: "i don't know what to say in explanation of--of myself. but i should think, sir, that the strength of a man's love is a sufficient defense of any weakness he may possess--i mean a sufficient defense of any indiscretion that his love has led him to commit. this situation stole upon me, and i was scarcely aware of its coming until it was here. i didn't know how serious--" he coughed his words, and when he became calmer, repeated his plea that love ought to excuse any weakness in man. "your daughter is an angel of mercy," he said. "when i found myself dying as young as i was and as hopeful as i had been my soul filled up with a bitter resentment against nature and god, but she drew out the bitterness and instilled a sweetness and a prayer. and now to take her from me would be to snatch away the prospect of that peaceful life that lies beyond the grave. sir, i heard you tell her that she was crazy. if so, then may god bless all such insanity." he pressed the handkerchief to his mouth, racking, struggling; and when the convulsive agony had passed he smiled, and there in the shadow by the door the light that crossed his face was ghastly, like a dim smear of phosphorus. and now the major's shoulders were not stiffened with resentment; they were drooping with a pity that he could not conceal, but his face was hard set, the expression of the mercy of one man for another, but also the determination to protect a daughter and the good name of an honored household. "mr. pennington, i was never so sorry for any human being as i am for you at this moment, but, sir, the real blessings of this life come through justice and not through impulsive mercy. in thoughtless sympathy a great wrong may lie, and out of a marriage with disease may arise a generation of misery. we are largely responsible for the ailments of those who are to follow us. the wise man looks to the future; the weak man hugs the present. you say that my daughter is an angel of mercy. she has ever been a sort of sister of charity. i confess that i have never been able wholly to understand her. at times she has even puzzled her mother, and a daughter is odd, indeed, when a mother cannot comprehend her. i am striving to be gentle with you, but i must tell you that you cannot marry her. i don't want to tell you to go, and yet it is better that this interview should come to a close." he bowed to pennington and turned toward the veranda that overlooked the river, but a supplicating voice called him back. "i wish to say," said the consumptive, "that from your point of view you are right. but that does not alter my position. you speak of the misery that arises from a marriage with disease. that was very well put, but let me say, sir, that i believe that i am growing stronger. sometimes i have thought that i had consumption, but in my saner moments i know that i have not. i can see an improvement from day to day. several days ago i couldn't help coughing, but now at times i can suppress it. i am growing stronger." "sir," exclaimed the major, "if you were as strong as a lion you should not marry her. good day." chapter iii. slowly and heavily the major walked out upon the veranda. he stood upon the steps leading down into the yard, and he saw louise afar off standing upon the river's yellow edge. she had thrown her hat upon the sand, and she stood with her hands clasped upon her brown head. a wind blew down the stream, and the water lapped at her feet. the major looked back into the library, at the door wherein pennington had stood, and sighed with relief upon finding that he was gone. he looked back toward the river. the girl was walking along the shore, meditatively swinging her hat. he stepped to the corner of the house, and, gazing down the road, saw pennington on a horse, now sitting straight, now bending low over the horn of the saddle. the old gentleman had a habit of making a sideward motion with his hand as if he would put all unpleasant thoughts behind him, and now he made the motion not only once, but many times. and it seemed that his thoughts would not obey him, for he became more imperative in his pantomimic demand. at one corner of the large yard, where the smooth ground broke off into a steep slope to the river, there stood a small office built of brick. it was the major's executive chamber, and thither he directed his steps. inside this place his laugh was never heard; at the door his smile always faded. in this commercial sanctuary were enforced the exactions that made the plantation thrive. outside, in the yard, in the "big house," elsewhere under the sky, a plea of distress might moisten his eyes and soften his heart to his own financial disadvantage, but under the moss-grown shingles of the office all was business, hard, uncompromising. it was told in the neighborhood that once, in this inquisition of affairs, he demanded the last cent possessed by a widowed woman, but that, while she was on her way home, he overtook her, graciously returned the money and magnanimously tore to pieces a mortgage that he held against her small estate. just as he entered the office there came across the yard a loud and impatient voice. "here, bill, confound you, come and take this horse. don't you hear me, you idiot? you infernal niggers are getting to be so no-account that the last one of you ought to be driven off the place. trot, confound you. here, take this horse to the stable and feed him. where is the major? in the office? the devil he is." toward the office slowly strode old gideon batts, fanning himself with his white slouch hat. he was short, fat, and bald; he was bowlegged with a comical squat; his eyes stuck out like the eyes of a swamp frog; his nose was enormous, shapeless, and red. to the major's family he traced the dimmest line of kinship. during twenty years he had operated a small plantation that belonged to the major, and he was always at least six years behind with his rent. he had married the widow martin, and afterward swore that he had been disgracefully deceived by her, that he had expected much but had found her moneyless; and after this he had but small faith in woman. his wife died and he went into contented mourning, and out of gratitude to his satisfied melancholy, swore that he would pay his rent, but failed. upon the major he held a strong hold, and this was a puzzle to the neighbors. their characters stood at fantastic and whimsical variance; one never in debt, the other never out of debt; one clamped by honor, the other feeling not its restraining pinch. but together they would ride abroad, laughing along the road. to mrs. cranceford old gid was a pest. with the shrewd digs of a woman, the blood-letting side stabs of her sex, she had often shown her disapproval of the strong favor in which the major held him; she vowed that her husband had gathered many an oath from gid's swollen store of execration (when, in truth, gid had been an apt pupil under the major), and she had hoped that the major's attachment to the church would of necessity free him from the humiliating association with the old sinner, but it did not, for they continued to ride abroad, laughing along the road. like a skittish horse old gid shied at the office door. once he had crossed that threshold and it had cost him a crop of cotton. "how are you, john?" was gid's salutation as he edged off, still fanning himself. "how are you, sir?" was the major's stiff recognition of the fact that gid was on earth. "getting hotter, i believe, john." "i presume it is, sir." the major sat with his elbow resting on a desk, and about him were stacked threatening bundles of papers; and old gid knew that in those commercial romances he himself was a familiar character. "are you busy, john?" "yes, but you may come in." "no, i thank you. don't believe i've got time." "then take time. i want to talk to you. come in." "no, not to-day, john. fact is i'm not feeling very well. head's all stopped up with a cold, and these summer colds are awful, i tell you. it was a summer cold that took my father off." "how's your cotton in that low strip along the bayou?" "tolerable, john; tolerable." "come in. i want to talk to you about it." "don't believe i can stand the air in there, john. head all stopped up. don't believe i'm going to live very long." "nonsense. you are as strong as a buck." "you may think so, john, but i'm not. i thought father was strong, too, but a summer cold got him. i am getting along in years, john, and i find that i have to take care of myself. but if you really want to talk to me about that piece of cotton, come out under the trees where it's cool." the major shoved back his papers and arose, but hesitated; and gid stood looking on, fanning himself. the major stepped out and gid's face was split asunder with a broad smile. "i gad. i've been up town and had a set-to with old baucum and the rest of them. pulled up fifty winner at poker and jumped. devilish glad to see you; miss you every minute of the time i'm away. let's go over there and sit down on that bench." they walked toward a bench under a live-oak tree, and upon gid's shoulder the major's hand affectionately rested. they halted to laugh, and old gid shoved the major away from him, then seized him and drew him back. they sat down, still laughing, but suddenly the major became serious. "gid, i'm in trouble," he said. "nonsense, my boy, there is no such thing as trouble. throw it off. look at me. i've had enough of what the world calls trouble to kill a dozen ordinary men, but just look at me--getting stronger every day. throw it off. what is it, anyway?" "louise declares that she is going to marry pennington!" "what!" old gid exclaimed, turning with a bouncing flounce and looking straight at the major. "marry pennington! why, she shan't, john. that's all there is of it. we object and that settles it. why, what the deuce can she be thinking about?" "thinking about him," the major answered. "yes, but she must quit it. why, it's outrageous for as sensible a girl as she is to think of marrying that fellow. you leave it to me; hear what i said? leave it to me." this suggested shift of responsibility did not remove the shadow of sadness that had fallen across the major's countenance. "you leave it to me and i'll give her a talk she'll not forget. i'll make her understand that she's a queen, and a woman is pretty devilish skittish about marrying anybody when you convince her that she's a queen. what does your wife say about it?" "she hasn't said anything. she's out visiting and i haven't seen her since louise told me of her determination to marry him." "don't say determination, john. say foolish notion. but it's all right." "no, it's not all right." "what, have you failed to trust me? is it possible that you have lost faith in me? don't do that, john, for if you do it will be a never failing source of regret. you don't seem to remember what my powers of persuasion have accomplished in the past. when i was in the legislature, chairman of the committee on county and county lines, what did my protest do? it kept them from cutting off a ten-foot strip of this county and adding it to jefferson. you must remember those things, john, for in the factors of persuasion lie the shaping of human life. i've been riding in the hot sun and i think that a mint julep would hit me now just about where i live. say, there, bill, bring us some mint, sugar and whisky. and cold water, mind you. oh, everything will come out all right. by the way, do you remember that catholic priest that came here with a letter of introduction to you?" "yes, his name is brennon." "yes, that's it. but how did he happen to bring a letter to you?" "he came from maryland with a letter given him by a relative of mine." "yes, and he has gone to work, i tell you. do you know what he's doing? reaching out quietly and gathering the negroes into his church. and there are some pretty wise men behind him. they didn't send an irishman or a dutchman or an italian, but an american from an old family. he's already got three negroes on my place, and perdue tells me that he's nipping one now and then over his way. there's a scheme in it, john." "there is a scheme in all human affairs, and consequently in all church movements," the major replied, and the impulse of a disquisition straightened him into a posture more dignified, for he was fond of talking and at times he strove to be logical and impressive; but at this moment bill arrived with mint from the spring; and with lighter talk two juleps were made. "ah," said old gideon, sipping his scented drink, "virtue may become wearisome, and we may gape during the most fervent prayer, but i gad, john, there is always the freshness of youth in a mint julep. pour just a few more drops of liquor into mine, if you please--want it to rassle me a trifle, you know. recollect those come-all ye songs we used to sing, going down the river? remember the time i snatched the sword out of my cane and lunged at a horse trader from tennessee? scoundrel grabbed it and broke it off and it was all i could do to keep him from establishing a close and intimate relationship with me. great old days, john; and i gad, they'll never come again." "i remember it all, gid, and it was along there that you fell in love with a woman that lived at mortimer's bend." "easy, now, john. a trifle more liquor, if you please. thank you. yes, i used to call her the wild plum. sweet thing, and i had no idea that she was married until her lout of a husband came down to the landing with a double-barrel gun. ah, lord, if she had been single and worth money i could have made her very happy. fate hasn't always been my friend, john." "possibly not, gid, but you know that fate to be just should divide her favors, and this time she leaned toward the woman." "slow, john. i gad, there's your wife." a carriage drew up at the yard gate and a woman stepped out. she did not go into the house, but seeing the major, came toward him. she was tall, with large black eyes and very gray hair. in her step was suggested the pride of an old kentucky family, belles, judges and generals. she smiled at the major and bowed stiffly at old gid. the two men arose. "thank you, i don't care to sit down," she said. "where is louise?" "i saw her down by the river just now," the major answered. "i wish to see her at once," said his wife. "shall i go and call her, madam?" gid asked. she gave him a look of surprise and answered: "no, i thank you." "no trouble, i assure you," gid persisted. "i am pleased to say that age has not affected my voice, except to mellow it with more of reverence when i address the wife of a noble man and the mother of a charming girl." she had dignity, but humor was never lost upon her, and she smiled. this was encouraging and old gid proceeded: "i was just telling the major of my splendid prospects for a bountiful crop this year, and i feel that with this blessing of providence i shall soon be able to meet all my obligations. i saw our rector, mr. mills, this morning, and he spoke of how thankful i ought to be--he had just passed my bayou field--and i told him that i would not only assert my gratitude but would prove it with a substantial donation to the church at the end of the season." in the glance which she gave him there was refined and gentle contempt; and then she looked down upon the decanter of whisky. old gideon drew down the corners of his mouth, as was his wont when he strove to excite compassion. "yes," he said with a note of pity forced upon his voice, "i am exceedingly thankful for all the blessings that have come to me, but i haven't been very well of late, rather feeble to-day, and the kind major, noticing it, insisted upon my taking a little liquor, the medicine of our sturdy and gallant fathers, madam." the major sprawled himself back with a roaring laugh, and hereupon gid added: "it takes the major a long time to get over a joke. told him one just now and it tickled him mighty nigh to death. well, i must be going now, and, madam, if i should chance to see anything of your charming daughter, i will tell her that you desire a conference with her. william," he called, "my horse, if you please." chapter iv. mrs. cranceford had met pennington in the road, and on his horse, in the shade of a cottonwood tree, he had leaned against the carriage window to tell her of his interview with the major. he had desperately appealed to the sympathy which one with so gentle a nature must feel for a dying man, and had implored her to intercede with her husband; but with compassionate firmness she had told him that no persuasion could move her husband from the only natural position he could take, and that she herself was forced to oppose the marriage. the major, with his hands behind him, was now walking up and down the short stretch of shade. "i don't wonder that the absurdity of it does not strike him," he said, "for he is a drowning sentimentalist, catching at a fantastic straw." he paused in his walk to look at his wife as if he expected to find on her face a commendation of this simile. she nodded, knowing what to do, and the major continued, resuming his walk: "i say that i can't blame him so much, but louise ought to have better sense. i'll swear i don't know where she gets her stubbornness. oh, but there is no use worrying ourselves with a discussion of it. you may talk to her, but i have had my say." louise, meanwhile, was strolling along a shaded lane that led from the ferry. iron weeds grew in the corners of the fence, and in one hand she carried a bunch of purple blooms; with the other hand she slowly swung her hat, holding the strings. a flock of sheep came pattering down the road. with her hat she struck at the leader, a stubborn dictator demanding the whole of the highway. his flock scampered off in a fright, leaving him doggedly eyeing the disputer of his progress. but now she was frightened, with such fierceness did the old ram lower his head and gaze at her, and she cried out, "go on back, you good-for-nothing thing." "he won't hurt you," a voice cried in the woods, just beyond the fence. "walk right up to him." an enormous young fellow came up to the fence and with climbing over broke the top rail. "don't you see he's scared?" "but he would have knocked me over if you hadn't come." "no, he wouldn't; he was just trying to make friends with you." "but i don't want such a friend." together they slowly walked along. with tenderness in his eyes he looked down upon her, and when he spoke, which he did from time to time, his voice was deep and heavy but with a mellowness in it. she addressed him as mr. taylor and asked him if he had been away. and he said that he had, but that was not a sufficient reason for the formality of mister--his name was jim. she looked up at him--and her eyes were so blue that they looked black--and admitted that his name had been jim but that now it must be mr. taylor. she laughed at this but his face was serious. "why, i haven't called you jim since----" "since i asked you to marry me." "no, not since then. and now you know it wouldn't be right to call you jim." in his slowness of speech he floundered about, treading down the briars that grew along the edge of the road, walking with heavy tread but tenderly looking down upon her. "that ought not to make any difference," he said. "i knew you before you--before you knew anything, and now it doesn't sound right to hear you call me anything but jim. it is true that the last time i saw you--seems a long time, but it wasn't more than a week ago--you said that you wouldn't marry me, and really the time seems so long that i didn't know but you might have changed your mind." "no, not yet," she replied. "but you might." "no, i couldn't." "is it as bad as that?" "it's worse; it would be impossible for me to change." "i don't suppose you know why?" "yes, i do. i am going to be married." "what!" he stopped, expecting her to obey his own prompting and halt also, but she walked on. with long strides he overtook her, passed her, stood in front of her. she stepped aside and passed on. but again he overtook her, but this time he did not seek to detain her. "i can't believe it," he said, stripping the leaves from the thorn bushes and briars that came within touch of his swinging hand. "i don't believe that you would marry a man unless you loved him and who--who----" "somebody," she said. "please don't tantalize me in this way. tell me all about it." "you know mr. pennington----" "who, that poor fellow!" he cried. "you surely don't think of marrying him. louise, don't joke with me. why, he can't live more than three months." now she halted and there was anger in her eyes as she looked at him, and resentful rebuke was in her voice when she spoke. "and you, too, fix the length of time he is to live. why do you all agree to give him three months? is that all the time you are willing to allow him?" he stepped back from her and stood fumbling with his great hands. "i didn't know that any one else had given him three months," he replied. "i based my estimate merely on my recollection of how he looked the last time i saw him. i am willing to allow him all the time he wants and far more than nature seems willing to grant." "no, you are not. you all want him to die." "don't say that, louise. you know that i ain't that mean. but i acknowledge that i don't want you to marry him." "what need you care? if i refuse to marry you what difference does it make to you whom i marry?" "it makes this difference--that i would rather see you the wife of a man that can take care of you. louise, they say that i'm slow about everything, and i reckon i am, but when a slow man loves he loves for all time." "i don't believe it; don't believe that any man loves for all time." "louise, to hear you talk one might think that you have been grossly deceived, but i know you haven't, and that is what forces me to say that i don't understand you." "you don't have to understand me. nobody has asked you to." she walked on and he strode beside her, stripping the leaves off the shrubs, looking down at her, worshipping her; and she, frail and whimsical, received with unconcern the giant's adoration. "i told the major that i loved you--" "told him before you did me, didn't you?" she broke in, glancing up at him. "no, but on the same day. i knew he was my friend, and i didn't know but--" "that he would order me to marry you?" "no, not that, but i thought he might reason with you." "that's just like a stupid man. he thinks that he can win a woman with reason." he pondered a long time, seeming to feel that this bit of observation merited well-considered reply, and at last he said: "no, i didn't think that a woman could be won by something she didn't understand." "oh, you didn't. that was brilliant of you. but let us not spat with each other, jim." "i couldn't spat with you, louise; i think too much of you for that, and i want to say right now that no matter if you do marry i'm going to keep on loving you just the same. i have loved you so long now that i don't know how to quit. people say that i am industrious, and they compliment me for keeping up my place so well, and for not going to town and loafing about of a sunday and at night, but the truth is there ain't a dog in this county that's lazier than i am. during all these years my mind has been on you so strong that i have been driven to work." she had thrown down her iron weed blossoms and had put her hands to her ears to shut out his words as if they were a reproach to her, but she heard him and thus replied: "it appears that i have been of some service at any rate." "yes, but now you are going to undo it all." "i thought you said you were going to keep on loving me just the same." "what! do you want me to?" there was eagerness in his voice, and with hope tingling in his blood he remembered that a few moments before she had called him jim. "do you want me to?" "i want you always to be my friend." under these words he drooped and there was no eagerness in his voice when he replied: "friendship between a great big man and a little bit of a woman is nonsense. they must love or be nothing to each other." they had now reached the road that led past the major's house. she turned toward home. "wait a moment," he said, halting. she stopped and looked back at him. "did you hear what i said?" "what about?" "hear what i said about a big man and a little woman?" "no, what did you say?" he fumbled with his hands and replied: "no matter what i said then. what i say now is good-bye." "good-bye." she tripped along as if she were glad to be rid of him, but after a time she walked slower as if she were deeply musing. she heard the brisk trotting of a horse, and, looking up, recognized gideon batts, jogging toward her. he saw her, and, halting in the shade, he waited for her to come up, and as she drew near he cried out, "helloa, young rabbit." she wrinkled her greek nose at him, but she liked his banter, and with assumed offense she replied: "frog." "none of that, my lady." "well, then, what made you call me a young rabbit?" "because your ears stick out." "i don't care if they do." "neither does a young rabbit." "i call you a frog because your eyes stick out and because you are so puffy." "slow, now, my lady, queen of the sunk lands. oh, but they are laying for you at home and you are going to catch it. i'd hate to be in your fix." "and i wouldn't be in yours." "easy, now. you allude to my looks, eh? why, i have broken more than one heart." "why, i didn't know you had been married but once." he winced. "look here, you mustn't talk that way." "but you began it. you called me a young rabbit." "that's right, and now we will call it off. what a memory you've got. i gad, once joke with a woman and her impudence--which she mistakes for wit--leaps over all difference in ages. but they are laying for you at home and you are going to catch it. i laughed at them; told them it was nonsense to suppose that the smartest girl in the state was going to marry--" "you've said enough. i don't need your championship." "but you've got it and can't help yourself. why, so far as brains are concerned, the average legislator can't hold a candle to you." "that's no compliment." "slow. i was in the legislature." "yes, one term, i hear." "why did you hear one term?" "because they didn't send you back, i suppose." "easy. but i tell you that the major and your mother are furious. your mother said--" "she said very little in your presence." "careful. she said a great deal. but i infer from your insinuation that she doesn't think very well of me." "you ought to know." "i do; i know that she is wrong in her estimate of me. and i also know that i am right in my estimate of her. she is the soul of gentleness and quiet dignity. but you like me, don't you?" "i am ashamed to say that i like you in spite of my judgment." "easy. that's good, i must say. ah, the influence i have upon people is somewhat varied. upon a certain type of woman, the dignified lady of a passing generation, i exercise no particular influence, but i catch the over-bright young women in spite of themselves. the reason you think so much of me is because you are the brightest young woman i ever saw. and this puts me at a loss to understand why you are determined to marry that fellow pennington. wait a moment. i gad, if you go i'll ride along with you. answer me one question: is your love for him so great that you'll die if you don't marry him? or is it that out of a perversity that you can't understand you are determined to throw away a life that could be made most useful? louise, we have joked with each other ever since you were a child. in my waddling way i have romped with you, and i can scarcely realize that you are nearly twenty-four years old. think of it, well advanced toward the age of discretion, and yet you are about to give yourself to a dying man. i don't know what to say." "it seems not," she replied. and after a moment's pause she added: "if i am so well advanced toward the age of discretion i should be permitted to marry without the advice of an entire neighborhood." she was now standing in the sun, looking up at him, her half-closed eyes glinting like blue-tempered steel. "is marriage wholly a matter of selfishness?" she asked. "slow. if you are putting that to me as a direct question i am, as a man who never shies at the truth, compelled to say that it is. but let me ask you if it is simply a matter of accommodation? if it is, why not send out a collection of handsome girls to marry an aggregation of cripples?" her eyes were wide open now and she was laughing. "no one could be serious with you, mr. gid." "and no one could make you serious with yourself." "frog." "young rabbit." she put her hands to her ears. "i would rather be a young rabbit than a frog." "wait a moment," he called as she turned away. "well." "when you go home i wish you'd tell your mother that i talked to you seriously concerning the foolishness of your contemplated marriage. will you do that much for your old playmate?" she made a face at him and trippingly hastened away. he looked after her, shook his head, gathered up his bridle reins, and jogged off toward his home. chapter v. at home louise made known her arrival by singing along the hallway that led to her room. she knew that not a very pleasant reception awaited her, and she was resolved to meet it with the appearance of careless gayety. she entered her room, drew back the curtains to admit the light, deftly touched her hair at the mirror, and sat down in a rocking chair. she took up a book, an american fad built upon a london failure, and was aimlessly turning the leaves when she heard her mother's voice. "are you in there, louise?" "yes, come." in the mother's appearance there was no suggestion of a stored rebuke; her gray hair, faultlessly parted, was smoothed upon her brow, her countenance bespoke calmness, and her sad eyes were full of tender love. "oh, you look so cool and sweet," said the girl. "have this chair." "no, thank you, i prefer to sit here." she sat upon a straight-back chair. in her "day" only grandmothers were supposed to sit in rockers; younger women were thought to preserve their health and their grace of form by sitting with rigid dignity upon chairs which might now be exhibited as relics of household barbarism. "did you have a pleasant visit?" the girl asked. "yes, very; but it was so warm over there under the hills that i was glad when the time came to leave." "does that englishman still live alone on the jasper place?" "yes, with his straight pipe and scotch whisky. perdue says that he appears to be perfectly contented there all alone." "have they found out anything about him?" "no, only what he has been pleased to tell, and that isn't much. it seems that he is the younger son of a good family strayed off from home to better his condition." "but why should he try to raise cotton when they say there is so little money in it, and especially when it requires experience? and the climate must be trying on him?" "no, he says that the climate agrees with him. he has lived in india. he is reading american history and is much taken with the part the south has borne, so i learned from mr. perdue. he did not expect to find so little prejudice against foreigners. i could have told him that, in the south, an englishman is scarcely looked upon as a foreigner--that is, among the best people." they talked about many things that concerned them but little, of a new steamboat that had just entered upon the commerce of the lower river, of a cotton gin that was burned the night before, of the catholic priest who had come to gather the negroes into his church; and surely they were far from a mention of pennington. but suddenly louise moved with uneasiness, for she had caught something that had not been said, that had not been looked, and, springing to her feet, she almost threw herself upon her mother, and with her arms about her, she cried: "please don't say a word; please don't. i can argue with father, but i can't argue with you, for you take everything so to heart and suffer so much. please don't speak anybody's name--don't say that father has said anything to you about anybody. you mustn't cry, either. leave it all to me, and if i was born to wring your dear heart--there, let us hush." she straightened up, putting the hair out of her eyes, and the silent and stately woman sat there with the tears rolling down her face. "please don't, mother. you'll make me think i'm the meanest creature in the world. and i don't know but that i am, but i can't help it. just call me unnatural, as you have done so many times, and let it all go. there, just listen at father walking up and down the porch; and i know he's mad at me." "no, my child, he is not angry; he is hurt." "please don't say that. i don't want to hurt him. i would rather make him mad than to hurt him. oh, i don't know what ails me, i am so restless and unhappy. i have tried every way to cure myself, but can't--i have read and read until i haven't any sense, and now i don't know what to do. but don't you tell me what not to do; don't say anything, but be your own sweet self." she took up a brush from the dresser, touched her mother's hair, and said: "let me, please." she loosened the thick coil. "beautiful," she said. "don't you know how i used to tease you to let me comb it, a long time ago? but it wasn't as pretty then as it is now." through her fingers the white hair streamed, glinting in the light now sobered by the falling of dusk. the major's step was heard at the door. "come in, father. see, i am at my old employment." and in their faces and in the hair streaming through his daughter's fingers the old man read that all was well. he stood smiling at them. out in the yard the fox-hounds began to yelp, and a galloping horse stopped with a loud, jolting "gluck" at the gate. then came authoritative commands, and then a jar as if some one had leaped upon the porch. there was brisk walking, the opening and slamming of doors, and then at louise's door a voice demanded: "what are you all doing here in the dark? ain't supper ready? i'm as hungry as a she bear." the major's son tom had arrived. and just at that moment, and before any one replied to him, the supper bell began to ring. "takes me to bring things about, eh? you people might have waited here hungry for an hour. what are you doing here, anyway? lou brushing mam's hair and pap looking on like a boy at a show." "thomas," said his mother, "i wish you wouldn't be so rough. there, daughter, that will do. just coil it. that's it; thank you. major, i do wish you wouldn't laugh at the brusqueness of your son; you encourage him." tom took his mother by the shoulders and turned her face toward the door. he was a clean-looking, blondish fellow, younger than his sister--an athlete, a boxer, with far more restlessness of muscle than absorption of mind. he had failed at harvard, where his great-grandfather had distinguished himself; he had, with the influence of a congressman, secured a west point cadetship, and there had fallen under the rapid fire of a battery of mathematics, and had come home scouting at the humiliation which he had put upon his parents, and was now ready to submit himself to any other test that might present itself--was ready to borrow, to lend, or to fight. he picked negro tunes on a banjo, and had been heard hoarsely to sing a love song under a cypress tree. he had now just returned from the capital of the state, where he had spent two days watching the flank movements of a military drill. "you people seem to be mighty solemn," was tom's observation as they sat down to supper, glancing from one to another, and finally directing a questioning look at his father. "what's the trouble? what's happened? is it possible that old gideon has paid his rent?" louise laughed, a wrinkle crept across mrs. cranceford's brow and the major sprawled back with a loud "haw." gid's rent was a standing joke; and nothing is more sacredly entitled to instant recognition than a joke that for years has been established in a southern household. "i notice that he never goes into the major's office," mrs. cranceford remarked; and tom quickly replied: "and i don't blame him for that. i went in there about a month ago and haven't had a dollar since." the major did not laugh at this. the reputed exaction of his executive chamber was a sore spot to him. "how you robbers, young and old, would like to fleece me," he said. "and if i didn't turn to defensive stone once in a while you'd pull out my eye teeth." "don't see how anybody could get hold of your eye teeth, dad," tom replied. "you are always busy cutting them when i come round. oh, by the way," he added with sudden seriousness, "you remember that fellow mayo, the one that ran for county clerk down here some time ago?" "the scoundrel who swore he was elected?" "that's the man. he disappeared, you know, after his trouble down here, then he went on from one community to another, a democrat one season and a republican the next, and now he has returned as a labor leader. i met him yesterday in little rock, and i never have seen a more insolent ruffian. he makes no secret of his plans, and he says that blood is bound to flow. i asked him if he had any to spare, and he cocked his eye at me and replied that he didn't know but he had." the major was silent, abstractedly balancing his knife on the rim of his plate. mayo, an adventurer, a scoundrel with a brutish force that passed for frankness, had at one time almost brought about an uprising among the negroes of cranceford county, and eager ears in the north, not the ears of the old soldier, but of the politician, shutting out the suggestions of justice, heard only the clamor of a political outrage; and again arose the loud cry that the south had robbed the inoffensive negro of his suffrage. but the story, once so full of alarm, was beginning to be a feeble reminiscence; northern men with business interests in the south had begun to realize that the white man, though often in the wrong, could sometimes be in the right. but now a problem--graver than the over-thrashed straw of political rights, was about to be presented. "i was in hopes that somebody had killed that fellow," said the major, and his wife looked up with gentle reproof. "don't say that, dear. the lord will take him in his own good time." the old gentleman winked at tom. "i don't know about that," he replied. "i am afraid that the lord in his management of the universe has forgotten him." "john, please don't talk that way." when she was very serious she called him john. "when you speak so lightly you make me afraid that your relationship with the church is not very sacred to you." "it's serious at any rate, margaret." "what do you mean by that, john?" "why," tom cried, "it means that you dragged him into the pow-wow." "thomas"--and this time her reproof was not very gentle--"i won't stand that from you. and daughter," she added, speaking to louise, "it is not a laughing matter. it all comes from so close an association with that good-for-nothing old gideon. i know it does, and you needn't say a word. nothing is sacred to him; he has no respect for god and cares nothing for man except to the extent that he can use him." the major strove to wink at tom, but there was a hitch in his eye. "my dear, you don't understand the old fellow," said he. "and therefore you misjudge him. i know that he is weak, but i also know that he is strong, and he is quite as necessary to me as i am to him. he rests me, and rest is as essential as work. sometimes the perfect gentleman is a bore; sometimes the perfect lady is tiresome. in man there is a sort of innocent evil, a liking for the half depraved and an occasional feeding of this appetite heightens his respect for the truly virtuous." "i don't believe it, john." "of course you don't. you are the truly virtuous, and--" he spread himself back with a loud "haw," and sat there shaking under her cool gaze. "there, margaret," he said, wiping his eyes, "don't take it to heart. i am doing the best i can and that is all the excuse i have to offer. i'm getting old; do you realize that? the things that used to amuse me are flat now and i can't afford to kill an amusement when one does happen to come along. don't you worry about gid. why, margaret, he has stood by me when other men turned their backs. the river was dangerous during my day, and the pop of a pistol was as natural as the bark of a dog. but old gid was there by me." "oh, i don't doubt that he has some good qualities," she admitted. "but why doesn't he mend his ways?" "oh, he hasn't time for that, margaret. he's too busy with other matters. there, now, we won't talk about him. but i promise you, my dear, that he shall not unduly influence me. i don't exactly know what i mean by that, either. i mean that you need have no fear of my permitting him to weaken my respect for the church. yes, i think that's about what i mean. but the fact is he has never tried to do that. but what's the use of this talk. i can sum up the whole situation by reminding you that i am the master. there, now, don't sigh--don't look so worried." "but, john, it grieves me to hear you say that you need him." "had to step back to pick that up, didn't you? tom, after you're married you'll find that your wife will look with coldness or contempt upon your most intimate friend. it's the absurdest jealousy in woman's nature." "thomas," said his mother, "you will find nothing of the sort; but i'll tell you what you may expect from the right sort of a wife--contempt for a coarse, low-bred fellow, should you insist upon holding him as your closest companion." "mother," louise spoke up, "i think you are too severe. mr. batts is hemmed in with faults, but he has many good points. and i can understand why he is necessary to father. i am fond of him, and i am almost ready to declare that at times he is almost necessary to me. no, i won't make it as strong as that, but i must say that at times it is a keen pleasure to jower with him." "to do what?" mrs. cranceford asked. "jower with him? where did you get that word?" "it's one of his, picked up from among the negroes, i think, and it means more than dispute or wrangle. we jower at times--quarrel a little more than half in earnest." "well," said the mother, "perhaps i ought not to say anything, but i can't help it when i am so often hurt by that man's influence. why, last sunday afternoon your father left the rector sitting here and went away with that old sinner, and we heard them haw-hawing over in the woods. but i won't say any more." "you never do, margaret," the major replied, winking at louise. "but let us drop him. so you saw mayo, eh?" he added, turning to tom. "yes, sir, and i understand that he is coming back down here to prove to the negroes that we are cheating them out of their earnings." the major tossed a cigar to tom, lighted one, and had begun to talk with a rhetorical and sententious balancing of periods--which, to his mind, full of the oratory of prentiss, was the essence of impressiveness--when a negro woman entered the room. and hereupon he changed the subject. when bedtime came the old gentleman stood on a rug in front of a large fire-place, meditatively winding his watch. his wife sat on a straight-back chair, glancing over the harmless advertisements in a religious newspaper. in the parlor they had spent an agreeable evening, with music and with never an allusion to an unpleasant subject, but there was something finer than an allusion, and it had passed from husband to wife and back again--a look at each other and a glance toward louise. but they had laughed at the girl's imitation of a cakewalk, and yet in the minds of the father and the mother was the low echo of a hollow cough. affectionately she had kissed them good night, and had started off down the hall in mimicry of a negro belle's walk, but they had heard her door shut with a quick slam as if she were at last impelled to be truthful with herself, to close herself in with her own meditations. the major hung his watch on a nail above the mantel-piece. from a far-off nook of the sprawling old house came the pling-plang of the boy's banjo. "margaret?" "yes, dear." "what did you say to her?" she began to fold the newspaper. "i didn't say anything. she wouldn't permit me." "what do you think?" "that she will do as she pleases." "consoling, by the--consoling, i must say. but i tell you she won't. i will shame her out of it." chapter vi. the top of the cotton stalk glimmered with a purple bloom, but down between the rows, among the dying leaves, the first bolls were opening. the air was still hot, for at noontime the glare in the sandy road was fierce, but the evening was cool, and from out in the gleaming dew came a sweetly, lonesome chirrup, an alarm in the grass, the picket of the insect army, crying the approach of frost. in the atmosphere was felt the influence of a reviving activity; new cotton pens were built along the borders of the fields, and the sounds of hammer and saw were heard in the neighborhood of the gin-house. with the dusk of saturday evening "new" negroes came. in the city they had idled the summer away, gambling, and had now come with nimble fingers to pick cotton during the day and with tricky hands to throw dice at night. gaunt, long-legged birds flew from the north and awkwardly capered on a sand-bar. afar off there appeared to hover over the landscape a pall of thin, pale smoke; but, like the end of the rainbow, it stole back from closer view, was always afar off, lying low to the earth. the autumn rains had not yet set in, and the water in the bayou was low and yellow. the summer grapes were ripe, and in the cool, shaded coves at the base of the hills the muscadine was growing purple. the mules, so over-worked during plow-time, now stumbled down the lane, biting at one another. the stiffening wind, fore-whistle of the season's change of tune, was shrill amid the rushes at the edge of the swamp. it was a time to work, but also to muse and dream while working. in the air was something that invited, almost demanded reverie. upon the fields there might lie many a mortgage, but who at such a time could worry over the harsh exactions of debt? nearly three weeks had passed, and not again in the major's household had pennington's name been mentioned. but once, alone with his wife, the major was leading up to it when she held up her hands and besought him to stop. "i can't bear to think of it," she said. "it stuns and stupefies me. but it is of no use to say anything to her. she is of age and she is head-strong." there was a dry rasp in the major's throat. "don't you think that to say she is a crank would be hitting nearer the mark?" "no, i don't," his wife answered. "she is not a crank. she is a remarkably bright woman." "yes, she shows it. when a man does a fool thing he is weak, off, as they say; but when a woman jumps out of the enclosure of common sense we must say that she is bright." "i thought you were going to shame her out of it?" "i will, but she hasn't given me a chance. but we'll let it go. i believe she has repented of her folly and is too much humiliated to make a confession." his wife smiled sadly. "don't you think so?" he asked. "no, i don't." "well, i must say that you are very calm over the situation." "didn't i tell you that i was stunned and stupefied by it?" "yes, that's all right, and there's no use in worrying with it. common sense says that when you can't help a thing the best plan is to let it go until a new phase is presented." and so they ceased to discuss the subject, but like a heavy weight it lay upon them, and under it they may have sighed their worry, but they spoke it not. from tom this sentimental flurry had remained securely hidden. sometimes the grave tone of his father's words, overheard at night, and his mother's distressful air, during the day, struck him with a vague apprehension, but his mind was not keen enough to cut into the cause of what he might have supposed to be a trouble; and so, he gave it none of his time, so taken up with his banjo, his dogs, his sporting newspaper, and his own sly love affair. in louise's manner no change was observed. one afternoon the major, old gid, and an englishman named anthony low were sitting on the porch overlooking the river when the catholic priest from maryland, father brennon, stopped to get a drink of water. and he was slowly making his way across the yard to the well when the major called him, urging him to come upon the porch and rest himself. "wait," the major added, "and i'll have some water drawn for you." "i thank you," the priest replied, bowing, "but i prefer to draw it." when he had drunk out of the bucket, he took a seat on the porch. he was a man of middle age, grave, and sturdy. his eyes were thoughtful and his smile was benevolent; his brow was high and broad, his nose large and strong, and a determined conviction seemed to have molded the shape of his mouth. his speech was slow, resonant, dignified; his accent of common words was southern, but in some of his phrases was a slight burr, the subdued echo of a foreign tongue. the englishman was a stocky young fellow, with light hair and reddish side whiskers, a man of the world, doggedly careful in his use of superlatives, but with a habit of saying, "most extraordinary." he had rented an old plantation and lived alone in a dilapidated log house, with his briar pipe, scotch whisky, sole leather hatbox, and tin bathtub. he had thought that it would be a sort of lark to grow a crop of cotton, and had hired three sets of negroes, discharging them in turn upon finding that they laughed at his ways and took advantage of his inexperience. he had made his first appearance by calling one morning at the major's house and asking to be shown about the place. the major gladly consented to do this, and together they set out on horseback. the planter knew much of english hospitality, gathered from old romances, and now was come the time to show a britain what an american gentleman could do. they rode down a lane, crossed a small field, and halted under a tree; and there was a negro with whisky, mint and sugar. they crossed a bayou, passed the "quarters," turned into the woods; and there was another negro with whisky, mint and sugar. they rode across a large field, and went through a gate, came to a spring; and there waiting for them was a negro with liquor for a julep. they turned into the "big" road, trotted along until they came to another spring, at least three miles from the starting point; and there was a negro with whisky, sugar and mint. but the englishman's only comment was, "ah, most extraordinary, how that fellow can keep ahead of us, you know." several months had elapsed, and the major had called on mr. low, had shouted at the yard-gate, had supposed that no one was at home, had stalked into the wide open house and there had found the englishman sitting in his bathtub, reading huxley. and to-day mr. low had come to acknowledge the receipt of that visit. "you are on the verge of your busy season," said the priest. "yes," the major replied, "we begin picking to-morrow." "a beautiful view across the whitening fields," said the priest. "you ought to see my bayou field," old gid spoke up. "it would make you open your eyes--best in the state. don't you think so, john?" "well," the major answered, "it is as good as any, i suppose." "i tell you it's the best," gid insisted. "and as a man of varied experience i ought to know what best is. know all about cotton. i gad, i can look at a boll and make it open." "tell me," said the englishman, "have you had any trouble with your labor?" "with the negroes?" gid asked. "oh, no; they know what they've got to do and they do it. but let a cog slip and you can have all the trouble you want. i gad, you can't temporize with a negro. he's either your servant or your boss." "all the trouble you want," said the englishman. "by jove, i don't want any. your servant or your master. quite remarkable." "don't know how remarkable it is, but it's a fact all the same," gid replied. "you've had trouble, i understand." "yes, quite a bit. i've had to drive them off a time or two; the rascals laughed at me. quite full of fun they were, i assure you. i had thought that they were a solemn race. they are everywhere else except in america." "it is singular," the major spoke up, "but it is nevertheless true that the american negro is the only species of the african race that has a sense of humor. there's no humor in the spanish negro, nor in the english negro, nor in fact in the american negro born north of the ohio river, but the southern negro is as full of drollery as a black bear." "ah, yes, a little too full of it, i fancy," mr. low replied. "i threatened them with the law, but they laughed the more and were really worse in every respect after that." "with the law!" old gid snorted. "what the deuce do they care about the law, and what sort of law do you reckon could keep a man from laughing? you ought to threatened them with a snake bone or a rabbit's foot." "i beg pardon. a snake bone or a rabbit's foot, did you say? i really don't understand." "yes, threaten to conjure them. that might have fetched them." "ah, i see. quite extraordinary, i assure you." the priest began to talk, and with profound attention they turned to him. he sat there with the mystery of the medieval ages about him, with a great and silent authority behind him. "have you gentlemen ever considered the religious condition of the negro? have you not made his religion a joke? is it not a popular belief that he will shout at his mourners' bench until midnight and steal a chicken before the dawn? he has been taught that religion is purely an emotion and not a matter of duty. he does not know that it means a life of inward humanity and outward obedience. i have come to teach him this, to save him; for in our church lies his only salvation, not alone of his soul, but of his body and of his rights as well as of his soul. i speak boldly, for i am an american, the descendant of american patriots. and i tell you that the methodist negro and the baptist negro and the presbyterian negro are mere local issues; but the catholic negro is international--he belongs to the great nervous system of rome; and whenever rome reaches out and draws him in, he is that moment removed as a turbulent element from politics. although slavery was long ago abolished, there existed and to some small extent still exists a bond between the white man and the black man of the south--a sort of family tie; but this tie is straining and will soon be broken; a new generation is coming, and the negro and the white man will be two antagonistic forces, holding in common no sunny past--one remembering that his father was a master, the other that his father was a slave. when that time comes, and it is almost at hand, there will be a serious trouble growing out of a second readjustment. the anglo-saxon race cannot live on a perfect equality with any other race; it must rule; it demands complete obedience. and the negro will resent this demand, more and more as the old family ties are weakened. he has seen that his support at the north was merely a political sentiment, and must know that it will not sustain him in his efforts against capital, for capital, in the eye of capital, is always just, and labor, while unfortunate, is always wrong. and when the negro realizes this, remembering all his other wrongs, he will become desperate. that is the situation. but is there no way to avert this coming strife? i am here to say that there is. as communicants of the catholic church the negroes will not listen to the labor agitator. he will listen to the church, which will advise peace and submission to proper authority." the priest had not gone far into his discourse before the major began to walk up and down the porch in front of him, nodding at him each time as he passed. and when the clergyman ceased to speak, the major, halting and facing him, thus replied: "there may be some truth, sir, in what you have said--there is some little truth in the wildest of speculation--but i should like to ask you why is not a protestant negro in a protestant country as safe as a catholic negro in a protestant country? you tell me that your religion will protect the negro, and i ask you why it does not protect the laborer in the north? you say that the protestant negro in the south is a local issue, and i ask you why is not a catholic laborer in the north an international issue? if the negro of the south, yielding to your persuasion, is to become a part of the great nervous system of rome, why are not catholic laborers everywhere a part of that system? i think, sir, that you have shrewdly introduced a special plea. your church, with its business eyes always wide open, sees a chance to make converts and is taking advantage of it. and i will not say that i will oppose your cause. if the negro thinks that your church is better for him than the protestant churches have proved themselves to be, why i say let him be taken in. i admit that we are not greatly concerned over the negro's religion. we are satisfied with the fact that he has his churches and that he has always been amply provided with preachers agreeing with him in creed and color of skin. i will concede that his professions of faith are regarded more or less in the light of a joke. but i want to tell you one thing--that the negro's best friends live here in the south. from us he knows exactly what to expect. he knows that he cannot rule us--knows that he must work for a living. the lands belong to the white man and the white man pays the taxes, and the white man would be a fool to permit the negro to manage his affairs. men who dig in the coal mines of pennsylvania don't manage the affairs of the company that owns the mines. i cannot question the correctness of one of your views--that the old tie is straining and may soon be broken. the old negroes still regard us with a sort of veneration, but if the younger ones show respect it is out of fear. into this county a large number of negroes have lately come from mississippi and south carolina. they have been brought up on large plantations and have but a limited acquaintance with the white man. instinctively they hate him. and these newcomers will listen to the voice of the agitator and by their example will lead their brethren into trouble. you are right when you say that the anglo-saxon race must rule. it will rule a community as it must eventually rule the civilized world. but i don't see how your church is to be the temporal as well as the spiritual salvation of the negro." the major sat down; the priest smiled gravely, showing the shape into which conviction and determination had molded his mouth. "my church is not at all times able to prevent labor troubles in the north," said he, "but it has often prevented the shedding of blood." "ah," the major broke in, "that may be true; and so has the influence of the other churches. but what i want to know is this: how can you protect a negro here more than you protect an italian in the north?" "my dear sir, the italian in the north is protected." "i grant you, but by the law rather than by the church." "but is not the church behind the law?" there was a shrewd twinkle in the priest's eyes, and he was about to proceed with his talk when old gid snorted: "i gad, i hear that the public schools of the north are in the hands of the catholics, and if that's the case i reckon they've got a pretty good hold on the court house. i understand that they daresn't open a bible in the public schools of chicago; and they also tell me that the children there have to learn dutch. zounds, ain't that enough to make old andy jackson rattle his bones in his grave? i wish i had my way for a few weeks. i'd show the world that this is america. i'd catch low-browed wretches carrying all sorts of spotted and grid-ironed flags through the streets. dutch! now, i'd just like to hear a child of mine gabbling dutch." the priest addressed himself to the major: "you ask how we are to protect the negro in the south. i will tell you--by teaching him that except in the catholic church he cannot hope to find perfect equality. our communion knows no color--save red, and that is the blood of christ. our religion is the only true democracy, but a democracy which teaches that a man must respect himself before he should expect others to respect him. but, my dear major, i am not here to convince you, but to convince the negro. he has been buffeted about by political parties, and now it remains for the church to save him. one of these days an act rather than a word may convince you." tom had come out upon the porch. for a time he stood, listening, then quickly stepping down into the yard, he gazed toward the dairy house, into which, accompanied by a negro woman, had gone a slim girl, wearing a gingham sun-bonnet. the girl came out, carrying a jug, and hastened toward the yard gate. tom heard the gate-latch click and then stepped quickly to the corner of the house; and when out of sight he almost ran to overtake the girl. she had reached the road, and she pretended to walk faster when she heard his footsteps. she did not raise her eyes as he came up beside her. "let me carry the jug, sallie." "no, i can carry it." "give it to me." he took the jug and she looked up at him with a smile. "how's your uncle, sallie?" "he ain't any better." her uncle was wash sanders. twenty years had passed since he had first issued a bulletin that he was dying. he had liver trouble and a strong combination of other ailments, but he kept on living. at first the neighbors had confidence in him, and believed that he was about to pass away, but as the weeks were stretched into years, as men who had been strong and hearty were one by one borne to the grave, they began to lose faith in wash sanders. all day long he would sit on his shaky verandah, built high off the ground, and in answer to questions concerning his health would answer: "can't keep up much longer; didn't sleep a wink last night. don't eat enough to keep a chicken alive." his cows appeared always to be dry, and every day he would send his niece, sallie pruitt, for a jug of buttermilk. he had but one industry, the tending and scraping of a long nail on the little finger of his left hand. he had a wife, but no children. his niece had recently come from the pine woods of georgia. her hair looked like hackled flax and her eyes were large and gray. "i didn't think you could see me," said the girl, taking off her bonnet and swinging it as she walked, keeping a sort of time with it. "why, you couldn't possibly come and get away without my seeing you." "yes, i could if it was night." "not much. i could see you in the dark, you are so bright." "i'm not anything of the sort. give me the jug and let me go on by myself if you are goin' to make fun of me." she reached for the jug and he caught her hand, and walking along, held it. "i wouldn't want to hold anybody's hand that i'd made fun of," she said, striving, though gently, to pull it away. "i didn't make fun of you. i said you were bright and you are. to me you are the brightest thing in the world. whenever i dream of you i awake with my eyes dazzled." "oh, you don't, no such of a thing." they saw a wagon coming, and he dropped her hand. he stepped to the right, she to the left, and the wagon passed between them. she looked at him in alarm. "that's bad luck," she said. "what is?" "to let anything pass between us." "oh, it doesn't make any difference." "yes, it does," she insisted. "no, you mustn't take my hand again--you've let something pass between us." he awkwardly grabbed after her hand. she held it behind her, and about her waist he pressed his arm. "oh, don't do that. somebody might see us." "i don't care if the whole world sees us." "you say that now, but after awhile you'll care." "never as long as i live. you know i love you." "no, i don't." "yes, you do." "you might say you do, but you don't. but even if you do love me now you won't always." "yes, as long as i live." she looked up at him, and her eyes were full of beauty and tenderness. "your mother----" "none of that," he broke in. "i am my own master. to me you are the most beautiful creature in the world, and----" "somebody's comin'," she said. a horseman came round a bend in the road, and he stepped off from her, but they did not permit the horseman to pass between them. he did not put his arm about her again, for now they were within sight of her uncle's desolate house. they saw wash sanders sitting on the verandah. tom carried the jug as far as the yard gate. "won't you come in?" sanders called. "i ought to be getting back, i guess." "might come in and rest awhile." tom hesitated a moment and then passed through the gate. the girl had run into the house. "how are you getting along?" the young man asked as he began slowly to tramp up the steps. "porely, mighty porely. thought i was gone last night--didn't sleep a wink. and i don't eat enough to keep a chicken alive." "wouldn't you like a mess of young squirrels?" tom asked, as he sat down in a hickory rocking chair. of late he had become interested in wash sanders, and had resented the neighbors' loss of confidence in him. "well, you might bring 'em if it ain't too much trouble, but i don't believe i could eat 'em. don't eat enough to keep a chicken alive." he lifted his pale hand, and with his long finger nail scratched his chin. "what's the doctor's opinion?" tom asked, not knowing what else to say and feeling that at that moment some expression was justly demanded of him. "the doctors don't say anything now; they've given me up. from the first they saw that i was a dead man. last doctor that gave me medicine was a fellow from over here at gum springs, and i wish i may die dead if he didn't come in one of finishin' me right there on the spot." there came a tap at a window that opened out upon the verandah, and the young fellow, looking around, saw the girl sitting in the "best room." she tried to put on the appearance of having accidentally attracted his attention. he moved his chair closer to the window. "how did you know i was in here?" she asked, looping back the white curtain. "i can always tell where you are without looking." "are you goin' to make fun of me again?" "if i could even eat enough to keep a chicken alive i think i'd feel better," said wash sanders, looking far off down the road. "i never did make fun of you," the young fellow declared in a whisper, leaning close to the window. "and i wish you wouldn't keep on saying that i do." "i won't say it any more if you don't want me to." "but i can't eat and can't sleep, and that settles it," said wash sanders. "of course i don't want you to say it. it makes me think that you are looking for an excuse not to like me." "would you care very much if i didn't like you?" "if i had taken another slug of that gum springs doctor's stuff i couldn't have lived ten minutes longer," said wash sanders. and thus they talked until the sun was sinking into the tops of the trees, far down below the bend in the river. chapter vii. at the major's house the argument was still warm and vigorous. but the evening was come, and the bell-cow, home from her browsing, was ringing for admittance at the barn-yard gate. the priest arose to go. at that moment there was a heavy step at the end of the porch, the slow and ponderous tread of jim taylor. he strode in the shadow and in the gathering dusk recognition of him would not have been easy, but by his bulk and height they knew him. but he appeared to have lost a part of his great strength, and he drooped as he walked. "where is the major?" he asked, and his voice was hoarse. "here, my boy. why, what's the trouble?" "let me see you a moment," he said, halting. the major arose, and the giant, with one stride forward, caught him by the arm and led him away amid the black shadows under the trees. mrs. cranceford came out upon the porch and stood looking with cool disapproval upon the priest. at a window she had sat and heard him enunciate his views. out in the yard jim taylor said something in a broken voice, and the major, madly bellowing, came bounding toward the house. "margaret," he cried, "louise is married!" the woman started, uttered not a sound, but hastening to meet him, took him by the hand. jim taylor came ponderously walking from amid the black shadows. the englishman and old gid stole away. the priest stood calmly looking upon the old man and his wife. "john, come and sit down," she said. "raving won't do any good. we must be seemly, whatever we are." she felt the eye of the priest. "who told you, mr. taylor?" "the justice of the peace. they were married about an hour ago, less than half a mile from here." she led the major to a chair, and he sat down heavily. "she shall never darken my door again," he declared, striving to stiffen his shoulders, but they drooped under his effort. "don't say that, dear; don't say that. it is so cold and cruel." "but i do say it--ungrateful little wretch. it rises up within me and i can't keep from saying it." the priest stepped forward and raised his hand. "may the blessings of our heavenly father rest upon this household," he said. the woman looked a defiance at him. he bowed and was gone. jim taylor stood with his head hung low. slowly he began to speak. "major, you and your wife are humiliated, but i am heart-broken. you are afflicted with a sorrow, but i am struck down with grief. but i beg of you not to say that she shan't come home again. her marriage doesn't alter the fact that she is your daughter. her relationship toward you may not be so much changed, but to me she is lost. i beg you not to say she shan't come home again." mrs. cranceford tenderly placed her hand on the giant's arm. he shook under her touch. "i will say it and i mean it. she has put her feet on our love and has thrown herself away, and i don't want to see her again. i do think she is the completest fool i ever saw in my life. yes, and we loved her so. and tom--it will break his heart." in the dusk the wife's white hand was gleaming--putting back the gray hair from her husband's eyes. "and we still love her so, dear," she said. "what!" he cried, and now his shoulders stiffened. "what! do you uphold her?" "oh, no, but i am sorry for her, and i am not going to turn against her simply because she has made a mistake. she has acted unwisely, but she has not disgraced herself." "yes, she has disgraced herself and the rest of us along with her. she has married the dying son of a convict. i didn't want to tell you this--i told her----" this was like a slap in the face, and for a moment she was bereft of the cool dignity that had been so pronounced a characteristic of her quiet life. "if you didn't tell me before why do you tell me now?" was her reply. she stood back from him, regathering her scattered reserve, striving to be calm. "but it can't be helped now, john." her gentle dignity reasserted itself. "let time and the something that brightens hopes and softens fears gradually soothe our affliction." she had taken up the major's manner of speech. "mr. taylor, i have never intimated such a thing to you before," she added, "but it was my hope that she might become your wife. there, my dear man, don't let it tear you so." the giant was shaken, appearing to be gnarled and twisted by her words, like a tree in a fierce wind. "i talked to her about you," she continued, "and it was my hope--but now let us be kind to her memory, if indeed we are to regard her simply as a memory." "margaret," said the major, getting up and throwing back his leonine head, "you are enough to inspire me with strength--you always have. but while you may teach me to bear a trouble, you can't influence me to turn counter to the demands of a just resentment. she shan't put her foot in this house again. jim, you can find a more suitable woman, sir. did you hear what became of them after that scoundrel married them? who performed the ceremony? morris? he must never put his foot in my yard again. i'll set the dogs on him. what became of them, jim?" "i didn't hear, but i think that they must have driven to town in a buggy." "well, it really makes no difference what became of them. are you going, jim?" "yes, sir." "won't you stay with us to-night?" "no, i thank you. it's better for me to be alone." he hesitated. "if you want me to i'll find out to-night where they've gone." "oh, no, do nothing of the sort, for i assure you that it makes no difference. let them go to the devil." "john, don't say that, please," his wife pleaded. "but i have said it. well, if you are determined to go, good-night." "good-night." jim strode off into the darkness, but halted and turned about. "major, if i can forgive her you ought to," he said. "you've got common sense to help you, but common sense was never known to help a man that's in my fix." they heard the gate open, heard the latch click behind him as he passed out into the road. toward his lonely home he trod his heavy way, in the sand, in the rank weeds, picking not his course, stumbling, falling once to his knees. the air was full of the pungent scent of the walnut, turning yellow, and in it was a memory of louise. often had he seen her with her apron full of nuts that had fallen from the trees under which he now was passing. he halted and looked about him. the moon was rising and he saw some one sitting on a fence close by the road side. "is that you, jim?" a voice called. "yes. oh, it's you, is it, mr. batts?" "yep, just about. hopped up here to smell the walnuts. takes me away back. they took it pretty hard, didn't they?" "yes, particularly the major. his wife has more control over herself." "or may be less affection," gid replied. "they say she's strong, but i call her cold. hold on and i'll walk with you." he got down off the fence and walked beside the giant. "she's a mighty strange woman to me," the old man said when they had walked for a time in silence. "but there's no question of the fact that she's strong, that is, as some people understand strength. to me, i gad, there is more force in affection than in restraint. she loves her children--no doubt about that--and of course she thinks the world of the major, but somehow she misjudges people. she doesn't understand me at all. but i reckon the majority of men are too deep for a woman. i didn't want to see them in the throes of their trouble, and i says to the englishman, 'it's time to git,' and we got. he wanted me to go over to his house and get some scotch whisky. i told him that the last rain must have left some water in a hollow stump near my house, and that i preferred it to his out-landish drink. and hanged if he didn't think i was in earnest. yes, sir, i knew that girl would marry him; and let me tell you, if i was a youngster i would rather have her love than the love of any woman i ever saw. there's something about her i never saw in any other woman--i gad, she's got character; understand me? she ain't beautiful, hardly handsome, but there's something about her, hanged if i know what it is. but it's something; and i've always found that the strongest charm about a woman is a something that you can't exactly catch--something that is constantly on the dodge. and you bet i've had lots of experience. the major could tell you many a story on me. yes, sir. say, jim, i know how you feel over this affair, and i want you to understand that i'm your friend, first, last and all the time. i've been trying to talk up to the right place, but now i don't exactly know what to say." "don't say anything, uncle gideon." "i reckon that would be about the wisest plan. just wanted to let you know where to find me. strange things happen even in this quiet community, don't they? but i'm woefully sorry that this special thing has happened. i gad, the major snorted so loud that my horse broke loose from the post, and that's the reason i'm stepping around here like a blind dog in a meat house. begin pickin' to-morrow, i reckon?" "i don't know. i had made all my arrangements, but now after what's happened i don't care whether there's a boll picked or not. i'm let down." "don't feel that way, old fellow. you'll be all right in a day or two." "mr. batts, if i didn't know that you were trying to soothe me i would take that remark as an insult. if i thought i wasn't any more steadfast than to be all right in a day or two--if i really believed my character that light, i swear i'd go this minute and drown myself." "why, my dear boy, you know i didn't mean to infer that your heart had no more memory than that. what i meant was that your sense of resignation would demand a hearing, so to speak. let me tell you something. i understand that girl better than her father or mother does--i have made her a special study, and i want to tell you that when i take the trouble to throw my mind on a woman a mystery has to be cleared right then and there. and this is what i want to say: she has married that fellow out of pity. i don't believe she loves him. always was ruled by pity. recollect hearing the major tell of a sudden streak of misfortune that overtook his family when he was a child. his father had to sell several of his slaves, and his old black mammy stood on the block with him in her arms while they were auctioning her off. well, sir, louise cried about that fit to kill herself. we told her how long ago it had happened, and impressed on her the fact that the old woman was soon bought back, but she kept on crying over the cruelty of the thing. yes, sir. well, i turn off here. good night." in the dark the major walked about the yard mournfully calling tom. a negro woman said that she had seen him going down the road, and the old gentleman returned to the porch and sat down. in the sitting room a lamp was burning, and a patch of light fell about his chair. he wanted to tell the young man of the trouble that had fallen upon the household, and yet he dreaded to hear his footstep. tom was so proud of his sister, had always looked up to her, had regarded her whims as an intellectual diversion; and now what a disappointment. how sadly would his heart be wrung. from a distant room came the pling-plang of a banjo. "there's tom, margaret. will you please tell him to come here? i don't want to see him in the light." mrs. cranceford hastened to obey, and the major sat listening. he pushed his chair back out of the patch of light. the banjo hushed its twanging, and then he heard tom coming. the young man stepped out upon the porch. his mother halted in the doorway. "tom," said the major, "i have a desperate piece of news, and i wish i could break it to you gently, but there is no way to lead up to it. your sister has married carl pennington." "yes, so jim taylor told me. met him in the road a while ago. i didn't know that there was anything of the sort on hand. must have kept it mighty quiet. i suppose----" "what, you suppose! what the deuce can you suppose! stand there supposing when i tell you that she has married a dying man." the old gentleman flounced in his chair. "she has thrown herself away and i tell you of it and you want to suppose. what's the matter with you? have you lost all your pride and your sense? she has married a dying man, i tell you." the young fellow began awkwardly to twist himself about. he looked at his mother, standing in the door with the light pouring about her, but her eyes were turned from him, gazing far away into the deepening night. "i know they might think he's dying," he said, "but they might be mistaken. sometimes they believe a man's dying and he keeps on living. wash sanders----" "go back to your banjo, you idiot!" the major shouted. "i'll swear this beats any family on the face of the earth." he got up, knocking over his chair. "go on. don't stand there trying to splutter an explanation of your lack of sense! no wonder you have always failed to pass an examination. not a word, margaret. i know what you are going to say: beats any family on the face of the earth." chapter viii. on the morrow there was a song and a chant in the cotton fields. aged fingers and youthful hands were eager with grabbing the cool, dew-dampened fleece of the fields. the women wore bandana handkerchiefs, and picturesquely down the rows their red heads were bobbing. whence came their tunes, so quaintly weird, so boisterous and yet so full of melancholy? the composer has sought to catch them, has touched them with his refining art and has spoiled them. the playwright has striven to transfer from the field to the stage a cotton-picking scene and has made a travesty of it. to transfer the passions of man and to music-riddle them is an art with stiff-jointed rules, but the charm of a cotton-picking scene is an essence, and is breathed but cannot be caught. here seems to lie a sentiment that no other labor invites, and though old with a thousand endearments, it is ever an opera rehearsed for the first time. but this is the view that may be taken only by the sentimentalist, the poet loitering along the lane. to him it is a picture painted to delight the eye, to soothe the nerves, to inspire a pastoral ode. there is, however, another side. at the edge of the field where the cotton is weighed, stands the planter watching the scales. his commercial instincts might have been put to dreamy sleep by the appearance of the purple bloom, but it is keenly aroused by the opening boll. he is influenced by no song, by no color fantastically bobbing between the rows. he is alert, determined not to be cheated. too much music might cover a rascally trick, might put a clod in the cotton to be weighed. sentiment is well enough, and he can get it by turning to walter scott. none of the planters was shrewder than the major. in his community he was the business as well as the social model. he was known to be brave and was therefore expected to be generous. his good humor was regarded as an echo of his prosperity, and a lucky negro, winning at dice, would strive to imitate his manner. at planting, at plowing and at gathering, no detail was too small or too illusive to escape his eye. his interests were under a microscopic view and all plans that were drawn in the little brick office at the corner of the yard, were rigorously carried out in the fields. in the one place he was all business; in the other there was in him an admixture of good humor and executive thoroughness. he knew how many pounds of cotton a certain man or woman was likely to pick within the working hours of a day, and he marked the clean and the trashy pickers; and the play of his two-colored temperament was seen in his jovial banter of the one and his harsh reprimand of the other. but to-day a hired man stood at the scales to see the cotton weighed. the major walked abroad throughout the fields. as he drew near, the negroes hushed their songs and their swaggering talk. they bowed respectfully to him and to one another whispered his affliction. at noon, when he returned home, the housekeeper told him that his wife was away. he sat down in the library to wait for her. looking out he saw sallie pruitt carrying a jug across the yard. a few moments later he asked for tom and was told that he had just left the house. he tried to read, but nothing interested him. there was nothing but dullness in the newspaper and even ivanhoe had lost his charm. it was nearly three o'clock when mrs. cranceford returned. he did not ask whither she had gone; he waited to be told. she sat down, taking off her gloves. "did you see mr. perdue?" she asked. "no, i have seen no one. don't care much to see any one." "i didn't know but you might have met him. he was here this morning. told me about louise." "what does he know about her?" "he told me where she had gone to live--in that old log house at the far end of the anthony place." "well, go on, i'm listening." "i didn't know that you cared to hear." "then why did you begin to tell me?" she did not answer this question. she waited for him to say more. "of course i'd like to know what has become of her." "i went over to see her," said mrs. cranceford. "the deuce you did." "john, don't talk that way." "i won't. you went to see her." "yes, and in that miserable house, all open, she is nursing her dying husband." the major got up and began to walk about the room. "don't, margaret, i'd rather not hear about it." "but you must hear. no place could be more desolate. the wind was moaning in the old plum thicket. the gate was down and hogs were rooting in the yard. louise did not hear me as i drove up, the wind was moaning so distressfully among the dead plum bushes--she did not know that i was on the place until i entered the room where she sat at the bedside of her husband. she jumped up with a cry and----" "margaret, please don't." "i must tell you, john. i will tell you. she jumped up with a cry and ran to me, and started to take off my cloak, but remembering that there was no fire in the damp room, she let it stay on. she tried to speak, but couldn't. her husband held out his waxen hand, and when i took it i shuddered with the cold chill it sent through me." "margaret, i am going out," said the major, turning toward the door. "if you do, john, i will go with you and tell you as we walk along. please sit down." he sat down with an air of helplessness. he fumbled with his fingers, which seemed to have grown thicker; he moved his foot as if it were a heavy weight. his wife continued: "in the room there was scarcely any furniture, nothing to soften the appearance of bleakness. i asked why no fire had been made, and louise said that she had engaged a negro to cut some wood, but that he had gone away. she had paid him in advance. she would herself have kindled a fire, but there was no axe on the place, and she was afraid to leave her husband long enough to go to the woods to gather sticks. i went out and found the negro dozing in the sun. he was impudent when i spoke to him, but when i told him my name and threatened him with you, he scuffled to his feet and sauntered off, and i thought that we should see no more of him, but soon we heard the lazy strokes of his axe. and shortly afterward we had a fire. louise was in one of her silent moods, but pennington talked as much as his cough would permit him. he said that it was all his fault. 'i told her,' said he, 'that unless she married me i would die blaspheming the name of god, and that if she would save me from hell she must be my wife. i know that it was selfish and mean, but i couldn't help it. and so she has married me to save my soul.' he grew excited and i tried to calm him. i told him that you were angry at first, but that now you were in a better humor toward him." "margaret----" "this appeared to help him, but i saw that louise did not believe me. however, i commanded her to come home and bring her husband with her. but she shook her head and declared that she would never again enter your house until she could in some way discharge the debt of gratitude with which you reproached her, which she says you flaunted in her face at a time when she was greatly distressed." "what! i don't exactly understand." "yes, you do, dear. you reminded her that you had saved her life, and told her that you based your plea for obedience upon your own gallantry." "oh, that was a piece of mere nonsense, a theatrical trick. of course i don't deserve any credit for having saved the life of my own child." "it may have been a theatrical trick with you, but it wasn't with her. she keenly feels your reproach." "confound it, you are both making a monster of me." "no, dear, that is not our design." "our design! have you too, set yourself against me? let me go to old gideon. he's the only friend i've got." "john, you mustn't say that. and why, at this time, should you refer to that old sinner? but let me go on. while i was there the doctor came, and shortly afterward we heard a heavy tread on the flapping boards of the passageway that divides the two sections of the old house." "jim taylor," said the major. "yes, jim taylor. louise jumped up in a flutter. he didn't take any notice of her excitement. 'i heard that you were living here,' he said, 'and knowing what sort of an old place it is, i've come to see if i can be of any use to you.' here he looked about at the cracks in the walls and the holes in the roof. 'and you'll pardon me,' he went on, 'but i took the liberty to bring a carpenter along to patch up things a little. that's him out there at work on the gate.' louise began to cry. he pretended not to notice her. 'it won't take long to make this a very comfortable place,' he went on, 'and i hope you won't feel offended, but i have brought some young chickens and a squirrel or two--in a basket out there in the kitchen. i always was a sort of a neighborly fellow you know.' 'you are the best man in the world,' louise broke out. 'no, not in the world, but i reckon i can stand flat-footed and lift with the most of them,' he replied, assuming that he thought she referred to his strength. 'yes,' he continued, 'and the boys will be here pretty soon with the wagon to haul you some wood. and i hope you'll pardon me again, but nothing would do old aunt nan but she must come over to cook for you and help you take care of mr. pennington until he gets about again. she's the best cook in the whole country. you know the governor of the state once said that she could beat anybody frying a chicken, and----'" "confound his impudence!" exclaimed the major, grinding the floor as he wheeled about, "he's performing the offices that belong to me. and i won't stand it." "the offices that did belong to you, dear, but you have washed your hands of them." "have i? well, we'll see about that. i'll send over there and have everything put to rights. no, i'll send the carriage and have them brought home. i'll be--i say i won't be made a scape-goat of in this way. why, confound----" "john." "yes, i understand, but i won't put up with it any longer. i'll send tom over there--i'll send the law over there and bring them home under arrest." she shook her head. "no, it will be of no use to send for them. louise will not come, and you know she won't. besides, we can make her just as comfortable there as here. it will not be for long, so let her have her own way." "by the blood, she has had it!" "john, have you forgotten that you are a member of the church?" "that's all right. but do you mean by member of the church that i am to draw in my head like a high-land terrapin every time anything is said to me? am i to be brow-beaten by everybody just because i belong to the church? oh, it's a happy day for a woman when she can squash her husband with the church. i gad, it seems that all a married woman wants with a church is to hit her husband on the head with it." "john, now you are the echo of old gid." "i'm not and you know it, but there are times when a man would be excusable for being the echo of the devil. but for gracious sake don't cry. enough to make a man butt his head against the wall. just as a man thinks a woman is stronger than a lion she tunes up and cries. there, margaret, let it all go. there." he put his arm about her. "everything will come out all right. i am wrong and i confess it. i am bull-headed and as mean as a dog." "no, you are not," she protested, wiping her eyes. "yes, i am and i see it now. you are always right. and you may manage this affair just as you see fit. poor little girl. but never mind, it will all come right. let us walk down the lane. it is beautiful down there. the frost has painted things up for you; the sumac bushes are flaming and the running briars on the fences are streams of fire. come on." he took her by the hand and led her away. chapter ix. within a few days a great change was wrought in the appearance of the old log house. the roof, which had been humped in the middle like the back of a lean, acorn-hunting hog, was straightened and reshingled; the yard was enclosed with a neat fence; and the stack chimney which had leaned off from the house as if it would fall, was shoved back and held in place with strong iron bands. and the interior was transformed. soft carpets were spread, easy chairs provided, the rough walls were papered and the windows were curtained. the fire-light fell upon pictures, and a cat had come to take her place at the corner of the hearth; but in the dead of night, when all the birds were hushed, when the wind moaned in the plum thicket, the hollow and distressing cough echoed throughout the house. at evening sorrowful-looking cows would come down the lane, and standing at the gate would low mournfully, an attention which they ever seek to pay a dismal place, but jim taylor entered a complaint, threatened violence and finally compelled their owners to have them driven home before the arrival of their time for lonesome lowing. it was jim's custom to call at morning and at evening. sometimes, after looking about the place, he would merely come to the door and ask after mr. pennington and then go away. one morning when louise answered his tap at the door, she told him that the sufferer was much better and that she believed he was going to get well. "i'm mighty glad to hear it," he replied. "the doctors can't always tell." "won't you come in?" "no, i might worry him." "oh, not in the least. he's asleep anyway, and i'm lonesome. come in, please." he followed her into the house, trying to lessen his weight as if he were walking on thin ice; and the old house cracked its knuckles, but his foot-fall made not a sound. she placed a chair for him and sat down with her hands in her lap, and how expressive they were, small and thin, but shapely. she was pale and neat in a black gown. to him she had never looked so frail, and her eyes had never appeared so deeply blue, but her hands--he could not keep his eyes off them--one holding pity and the other full of appeal. "don't you need a little more wood on?" he asked. "no, it's not cold enough for much fire." "where did you get that cat?" "she came crying around the other day and i let her in, and she has made herself at home." "the negroes say it's good luck for a cat to come to the house." she sighed. "i don't believe in luck." "i do. i believe in bad luck, for it's generally with me. does your mother come every day?" "yes, although i beg her not to." "i reckon she'll do about what she wants to. has the major----" she held up her hand and he sat looking at her with his mouth half open. but at the risk of offending her, he added: "i didn't know but he might have come over." "he would, but i won't let him." "and do you think it's exactly right not to let him?" "i think it is exactly right to do as a something within me dictates," she answered. "he placed me in a certain position----" "but he is more than willing to take you out of it," taylor broke in. "he doesn't want you to remain in that position." "no, he can't take me out of it. he charged me with ingratitude, and i would rather he had driven me off the place. nothing can be much crueler than to remind one of ingratitude; it is like shooting from behind a rock; it is having one completely at your mercy." now she sat leaning forward with her hands clasped over her knees. pennington coughed slightly in his sleep and she looked toward the bed. she straightened up and put the hair back out of her eyes and taylor followed the motion of her hand. "did he eat the squirrel?" "yes, and enjoyed it." the cat got up, stretched, and rubbing against the tongs, knocked them down with a clatter. pennington awoke. louise was beside him in a moment. "ah, it's you, mr. taylor," he said. "yes, but it wasn't me that made the noise." "oh, it didn't disturb me, i assure you. i was just about waking up anyway. that will do, thank you." louise had begun to arrange the pillows. "i'll sit up. see how strong i am. give me a pipe. i believe i can smoke a little." she went to fill a pipe for him, and turning to taylor, he said: "i'm getting stronger now every day; good appetite, sleep first-rate. and i'll be able to walk about pretty soon. oh, they had me dead, you know, but i knew better all the time." louise placed a coal upon his pipe and handed it to him. she said that she was afraid it might make him cough, but it did not. "i have always maintained that there was nothing the matter with my lungs," he said, contentedly blowing rings of smoke. "why, i hadn't a symptom of consumption except the cough, and that's about gone. and my prospects were never better than they are this minute. received a letter yesterday from over in alabama--want me to take a professorship in a college. the first thing you know i shall have charge of the entire institution. and when i get up in the world i want it understood, mr. taylor, that i shall never forget you. your kindness----" "don't speak of it," taylor put in, holding up his hand in imitation of louise. "i've known this little lady, sir, all her life, and i'd be a brute to forget her in time of trouble." "yon are a true-hearted man, mr. taylor, and i shall never forget you, sir." and after a short silence, he added: "all i desire is a chance, for with it, i can make louise happy. i need but little money, i should not know how to disport a large fortune, but i do desire a comfortable home with pictures and books. and i thank the lord that i appreciate the refinements of this life." in silence he smoked, looking up at the rings. "ah, but it was dark for me a short time ago, mr. taylor. they made me believe that i was going to die. we hear a great deal of resignation, of men who welcome the approach of death, but i was in despair. and looking upon a strong man, a man whose strength was thrown upon him, a man who had never thought to take even the slightest care of himself, i was torn with blasphemous rage. it wasn't right. but thank god, i lived through that dark period, and am now getting well. don't you think so?" "why, yes, i can see it. and i'll tell you what we'll do: i'll bring over the dogs pretty soon and we'll go hunting. how does that strike you?" pennington propped himself higher in the bed and put his pipe on a chair. "it has been a long time since i went hunting," he said, musingly. "it seems a long time since i have done anything, except to brood over my failing health. but i will have no more of that. yes, i will go hunting with you." he shoved up the sleeve of his shirt and called his wife's attention. "don't you think i'm getting more flesh on my arm? look here. no dying man has this much muscle. louise, i'm going to get up. there is really no use of my lying here." he threw off the covers and the giant arose and stood looking upon him, smiling sadly. he asked for his clothes, and when louise had brought them he picked at a worn spot and said: "i must get some clothes with the first money i earn. i didn't know that this coat was so far gone. why, look, it is almost threadbare; and the trousers are not much better. let a man get sick and he feels that the world is against him; let him get well and wear poor clothes, and he will find that the world doesn't think enough of him to set itself against him--find that the world does not know him at all." taylor ventured upon the raveled platitude that clothes do not make the man. pennington shook his head, still examining his trousers. "that will do in a copy-book, but not in life," said he. and then looking up as taylor moved toward the door, he asked: "are you going?" "yes, i must get back to see how things are getting along. be over again to-morrow." louise went with him out into the passage. he halted at the log step and stood there, looking at her. "mr. taylor, i can never forget your kindness," she said. "all right, but i hope you won't remember to mention it again." he looked at her hands, looked into her eyes; and frankly she returned his gaze, for it was a gaze long and questioning. "your friendship----" he held up his hand to stop her. "won't you let me speak of that, either?" "you may speak of it, but you must know that it does not exist," he answered, leaning against a corner of the house, still looking at her. "but you don't mean that you are not my friend?" "i mean what i told you some time ago--that there can be no friendship between a big man and a little woman." "oh, i had forgotten that." "no, you hadn't; you thought of it just then as you spoke." "why, mr. taylor, how can you say that?" "i can say it because it is true. no, there can be no friendship between us." "you surely don't mean that there can be anything else." she had drawn back from him and was stiffly erect with her arms folded, her head high; and so narrow was the hard look she gave him that her eyes appeared smaller. her lips were so tightly compressed that dimples showed in her cheeks; and thus with nature's soft relics of babyhood, she denied her own resentment. "on your part i don't presume that there can be anything else," he answered, speaking the words slowly, as if he would weigh them one at a time on the tip of his tongue. "you may think of me as you please, as circumstances now compel you to think, and i will think of you not as i please, but as i must." "please don't talk that way. don't reproach me when i am in such need of--of friendship. one of these days you may know me better, but now you can regard me only as a freak. yes, i am a freak." "you are an angel." "mr. taylor!" again her head was high, and in her eyes was the same suggestion of a sharp squint. "you didn't tell me that i shouldn't think of you as i please." "but i didn't tell you to speak what you might be pleased to think. there, carl is calling me. good-bye." chapter x. jim taylor, too humane to impose the burden of his weight upon a horse, always made his visits on foot, and this day while trudging homeward, he met mrs. cranceford. she had of late conceived so marked a sympathy for him, that her manner toward him was warmly gentle. taylor stepped to the road-side and halted there as she drove up alone in a buggy. with a sorrowful reverence he took off his hat, and she smiled sympathetically; and the lazy old horse, appearing to understand it all, stopped of his own accord. "good morning, jim. have you been over to the house?" "yes, ma'm, just left there." "how is he?" "so much better that i believe he's going to get well." "you don't say so! why, i am----" she was about to say that she was delighted to hear it, but on the giant's face she thought she saw a deeper shadow lying, heard in his voice a softer note of sorrow; and considerately she checked her intended utterance. then they looked at each other and were ashamed. "he was up dressing himself when i left." "you surprise me." "and he has surprised us all, ma'm. i don't believe he's got consumption; his cough has left him. why, he's thinking of taking a place in a college over in alabama." "he is? but i hope he won't take louise so far from home." he shifted his position and sunk his hands deep into his pockets. "i guess he thinks she can't be so very far from home as long as she is with him." "but it makes no difference what he thinks." mrs. cranceford persisted. "he must not take her over there. why, i should think he could find employment here." jim looked far away, and she added: "is your cotton turning out well?" "first-rate, and i want to sell it as soon as i can. i've got to go away." "go away!" she repeated. "you don't mean it?" "yes, ma'm, i do. if he gets well they won't have any more use for me and i might as well go off somewhere and take a fresh start; and besides, i can't keep from showing that i love her, and no matter how cool she might be toward me it couldn't help but pain him. and there are people in this neighborhood mean enough to talk about it: no longer ago than yesterday that strapping alf joyner threw out a hint of this sort, and although he meant it in fun, maybe, i snatched him off the fence where he was sitting, and walloped him in the road. no, i can't keep from showing how much i think of her; there is so much of me," he added, with a smile, "that i can't be a hypercrite all over at once." at this she smiled, but her countenance grew serious and she said: "i am sorry you have been compelled to resent an insinuation." she gathered up the lines. "but perhaps you imagine more than is intended. it is easy, and also natural that you should." jim made no reply. she bowed to him, shook the lines, and the old horse moved on. just before reaching a bend in the road, she looked back at him. how powerful was his bearing, how strong his stride; and with all his bigness he was not ungraceful. everywhere, in the fields, along the fences, lay october's wasteful ripeness, but the season was about to turn, for the bleak corner of november was in sight. a sharp wind blew out of a cloud that hung low over the river, and far away against the darkening sky was a gray triangle traced, the flight of wild geese from the north. with the stiffening and the lagging of the breeze came lower and then louder the puffing of a cotton gin. under a persimmon tree jim taylor halted, and with his arms resting on a fence he stood dreamily looking across a field. afar off the cotton pickers were bobbing between the rows. the scene was more dull than bright; to a stranger it would have been dreary, the dead level, the lone buzzard away over yonder, sailing above the tops of the ragged trees; but for this man the view was overspread with a memory of childhood. he was meditating upon leaving his home; he felt that his departure was demanded. and yet he knew that not elsewhere could he find contentment. amid such scenes he had been born and reared. he was like the deer--would rather feed upon the rough oak foliage of a native forest than to feast upon the rich grasses of a strange land. but he had made up his mind to go. he had heard of the charm of the hills, the valleys and the streams in the northern part of the state, and once he had gone thither to acquaint himself with that paradise, but in disappointment he had come back, bringing the opinion that the people were cold and unconcerned in the comfort and the welfare of a stranger. so, with this experience fresh in his mind, he was resolved not to re-settle in his own commonwealth, but to go to a city, though feeling his unfitness for urban life. but he thought, as so many men and women have been forced to think, that life in a crowd would invite forgetfulness, that his slow broodings would find a swift flow into the tide that swallows the sad thoughts of men. a sudden noise in the road broke the web of his musing, and looking about, he recognized low, the englishman. between his teeth the briton held his straight-stem pipe, and on his shoulder he carried his bath tub. "moving?" taylor asked. "ah, good morning. no--not moving. an outrage has been committed. during the night someone punched a hole in the bottom of my bath. don't know who could have done it; most extraordinary, i assure you. one of those ungrateful blacks, i warrant. going this way? i shall be glad of your company. ah, do you happen to know of a tinker?" he asked, as together they walked along the road. "a what?" "a tinker to mend my bath?" "haven't any such thing about here, but i guess the blacksmith can mend your tub. here, let me carry it for you a ways. you must be tired of it by this time." he protested, but taylor took the tub. "thank you. you are very kind, i'm sure. i would have sent it, but these rascals are so untrustworthy. ah, how long do you conjecture it would take one to make his fortune in this community?" "it depends more upon the man than the community," taylor answered. "i know one that never could." "and by jove, i fancy i have a very intimate acquaintance with another. but i rather like it here, you know. i have plenty of room and no one is much disposed to interfere with me except those rascally blacks, and upon my honor i believe they tried to ruin my bath. don't you think you'd better let me take it now?" "no; i'll carry it. wouldn't have known i had it if you hadn't reminded me." "you are very kind, i'm sure. ah, by the way, a very singular man called on me yesterday. mayo, i believe, is his name." "yes, we know him down here. came very near getting a dose of rope once. he tries to be a moses among the negroes, but instead of leading them out of the wilderness he's going to lead them into trouble." "i dare say as much, if they listen to him. but he avers that he doesn't want an office--wants only to see that the blacks get what they are entitled to." "and about the first thing that will be done for him after he gets what he's entitled to," jim replied, "will be the sending of his measure to a coffin maker." "i surmise as much, i assure you. i didn't encourage him to prolong his visit; indeed, i told him that i preferred to be alone." they turned out of the lane into a wood, crossed a bayou, and pursuing their way a short distance further, taylor halted, and handing the englishman his tub, pointed to a path that crossed the road. "that will take you to the blacksmith shop," he said. "ah, you are very kind," low replied, shouldering his treasure. he turned down the path, but after going a short distance stopped and faced about. "i say, there!" he cried. "oh, taylor. just a moment. i wouldn't mind having you over any evening, you know. you are a devilish decent fellow." "all right; you may look for me most any time. take you out 'possum hunting some night." low was now humping himself down the path, and taylor turned to pursue his way homeward, when once more the englishman faced about and shouted: "you are very kind, i'm sure. i shall be delighted." jim taylor was master of a small plantation and sole inhabiter of the house wherein he was born. in the garden, under a weeping-willow tree, were the graves of his parents and of his sister, a little girl, recalled with emotion--at night when a high wind was blowing, for she had ever been afraid of a storm; and she died on a day when a fierce gale up the river blew down a cottonwood tree in the yard. she and louise were as sisters. at her grave the giant often sat, for she was a timid little creature, afraid to be alone; and sometimes at night when the wind was hard, when a cutting sleet was driving, he would get out of his bed and stand under the tree to be near her. it was so foolishly sentimental of so strong a man that he would not have dared to tell anyone, but to the child in the grave he told his troubles. so, on this morning, when the wind was gathering its forces as it swept the fields, as the clouds were thickening far away among the whitish tops of the dead cypress trees, he went straightway to the weeping-willow, passed the grave of his father, his mother, and sat down beside the stone that bore the name and the age of the little one. chapter xi. when mrs. cranceford returned home early in the afternoon, she told the major, whom she found pacing up and down the long porch, that pennington was up and walking about the house. she told him, also, that he was resolved upon taking louise to alabama, and added that she herself would oppose this determination up to the very moment of departure. the major grunted. "what right have you to do that?" he asked. "why should you meddle with the affairs of a man that is seeking to make a living for his wife?" "john, you are laughing at me and i know it. here lately you make light of everything i say." the season was changing, he felt its influence, and he shook with good humor as he walked. "john, you are so tickled that you can't answer me." "why, i could answer you very easily if i only knew what you want me to say." this broke her whimsical resentment of his droll playfulness; she laughed with him, and taking his arm, walked up and down the porch. they talked of many things--of louise's persistent stubbornness, and of a growing change in the conduct of tom--his abstraction and his gentleness. he had left uncut the leaves of a sporting review, had taken to romances, and in his room had been found, sprawled on foolscap, an ill-rhymed screed in rapturous praise of soulful eyes and flaxen hair. mrs. cranceford knew that he must be in love; so did the major, but he could not conjecture the object of so fervid a passion. but his wife had settled upon the object and was worried, though of her distress she had not spoken to tom, so recent had been the discovery of the tell-tale blotch of ink. but she would as soon as an opportunity offered. "it will soon pass," said the major. "i don't think he intends to marry her." "marry her!" his wife exclaimed. "i would rather see him dead than married into a family of white trash. she may be a most amiable young person and all that, but he shan't marry her. it would break my heart, and i vow she shall never come here. why, she came from the pine woods and is a cracker." "but the cracker may have a most gallant and well-born origin, my dear," the major replied. "the victim of a king's displeasure is not insignificant; he must have been a force." "what! do you approve of it?" she demanded, pulling away from him. "is it possible that you would not oppose his marriage into such a family as hers must be?" "i don't think, my dear, that her father was in the penitentiary." "john, that is unworthy of you. i was grieved at louise's marriage, and you know it." in prankishness he sought a refuge; he laughed, but she did not follow him. for a moment her black eyes were hard, then came a look of distress--and tears. he put his arm about her. "why, my dear, i didn't mean to hurt your feelings; bless your life, i didn't. why, of course, he shan't marry her. who ever heard of such a thing? i'll talk to him--thrash him if you say the word. there, it's all right. why, here comes gid." she went into the house as batts came up, glancing back at him as she passed through the door; and in her eyes there was nothing as soft as a tear. the old fellow winced, as he nearly always did when she gave him a direct look. "are you all well?" gideon asked, lifting the tails of his long coat and seating himself in a rocking chair. "first-rate," the major answered, drawing forward another rocker; and when he had sat down, he added: "somewhat of an essence of november in the air." "yes," gid assented; "felt it in my joints before i got up this morning." from his pocket he took a plug of tobacco. "i thought you'd given up chewing," said the major. "last time i saw you i understood you to say that you had thrown your tobacco away." "i did, john; but, i gad, i watched pretty close where i threw it. fellow over here gave me some stuff that he said would cure me of the appetite, and i took it until i was afraid it would, and then threw it away. i find that when a man quits tobacco he hasn't anything to look forward to. i quit for three days once, and on the third day, about the time i got up from the dinner table, i asked myself: 'well, now, got anything to come next?' and all i could see before me was hours of hankering; and i gad, i slapped a negro boy on a horse and told him to gallop over to the store and fetch me a hunk of tobacco. and after i broke my resolution i thought i'd have a fit there in the yard waiting for that boy to come back. i don't believe that it's right for a man to kill any appetite that the lord has given him. of course i don't believe in the abuse of a good thing, but it's better to abuse it a little sometimes than not to have it at all. if virtue consists in deadening the nervous system to all pleasurable influences, why, you may just mark my name off the list. there was old man haskill. i sat up with him the night after he died, and one of the men with me was harping upon the great life the old fellow had lived--never chewed, never smoked, never was drunk, never gambled, never did anything except to stand still and be virtuous--and i couldn't help but feel that he had lost nothing by dying. haven't seen louise, have you?" "no; but i have about made up my mind to go over there, whether she wants me or not." "i believe i would, john. we haven't long to stay here, and nothing sweetens our sojourn like forgiveness. i don't mean it in sacrilege, but christ was greatest and closest to his father when he forgave the thief." "that's true," said the major. "you may not be able to think very coherently, gid, but sometimes you stroll into a discussion and bark the shins of thought." "easy, john. i am a thinker. my mind is full of pictures when your fancy is checkered with red and blue lines. so you are willing to forgive her?" he added after a pause. "yes, more than willing. but she isn't ready to be forgiven. she has some very queer notions, and i'll be hanged if i know where she picked them up. at times she's most unnatural." "don't say that, john. i gad, sir, what right has one person to say that another person is unnatural? who of us is appointed to set up the standard and gauge of naturalness? who is wholly consistent? you may say the average man. ah, but if everyone conformed to the average there would be nothing great in the world. there is no greater bore than the well-balanced man. he wears us out with his evenness. you know what he's going to say before he says it." "i grant you all that; but the well-balanced man made it possible for the genius to make the world great. genius is the bloom that bursts out at the top of commonplace humanity." "yes, that's all very well; but just at present i'd like to have a little liquor. be easy, though, and don't let the madam know what you're after." "there's not a drop in the house, gid, but there's a demijohn in the office. let's step out there." "no, i believe not, john," the old fellow replied, with a shudder. "can't you bring it out?" "she'll see me if i do. you must go with me. whisky that's not worth going after is not worth drinking." "you are right, john; but you have stated one of those truths that are never intended to be used except in the absence of something else that might have been said. plain truths are tiresome, john. they never lend grace to a conversation." "what do you know about the graces of conversation? you are better fitted to talk of the disgraces of conduct." "slow, john. but i know that a truth to be interesting must be whimsical or so blunt that it jolts." "but didn't it jolt you when i said that you must go into the office after the liquor?" "yes; but cruelly, john. you must never jolt cruelly. i gad, i'm getting old. do you realize that we have known each other intimately for thirty-five years?" mrs. cranceford came out upon the porch. "ah," said old gid, without changing his tone, and as if he were continuing a moral discourse, "thirty-five years ago we heard an old circuit-rider preach at gum springs, and while we could not subscribe to his fiery doctrine, being inclined to the broader and more enlightened faith of the episcopal church, yet the fervor and sincerity of his utterances made a lasting impression on us. madam, i hear with much pleasure that mr. pennington is better." "yes, he is feeling quite improved," she replied, merely glancing at him. "did the major think enough of him to tell you?" the major looked at gid, winked at him, and the old fellow believing that he knew what was wanted, thus answered: "yes, ma'am, but i first heard it from the priest. he knows everything, it seems. i met him down the road and had quite a talk with him. by the way, i read a number of years ago a most edifying book, 'the prince of the house of david.' you doubtless have it in your collection, and may i ask you to lend it to me?" she had but small faith in the old fellow's sincerity, and yet she was pleased to see him manifest an interest in so godly a book. "yes, and i will get it for you," she answered, going straightway to look for it; and when she had passed through the door, gid snatched a bottle out of his pocket and held it out toward the major. "here, john, hurry out there and fill this up while she's gone. meet me around at the gate. quick!" "why, you old rascal, do you suppose me capable of complicity in such a fraud?" "oh, that's all right, john. hurry up. i could get liquor, plenty of it, but yours always hits me where i live. i'm sick, i tell you, and hang it, i'm getting old. you don't seem to realize that i'm an old man, not long for this vain world. take it, john, and hurry up. confound it, you won't be deceiving her; it would be an advantage taken of her unreasonable prejudice. you never saw me drunk and never will. thunderation, here she comes!" he stuffed the bottle back into his hip pocket and the major threw himself back with a loud laugh. mrs. cranceford, handing the book to gid, cast a suspicious look at the major, who continued to shake. "why, what has amused you so?" she asked. and now old gid was nodding and chuckling in hypocritical diversion. "i was just telling him of the first time i borrowed a copy of this book," he said. "walked four miles to get it, and when i returned, some rascal had greased the foot-log and i slipped off into the creek. oh, it's very funny now, but it wasn't then; had to fight to keep from losing the book and came within one of drowning. well, i must go. ma'am, i'm a thousand times obliged to you for this store-house of faith, and i assure you that i'll take the best of care that it shall come back to you in good condition. by the way, john, is your office locked? i'll step out there and get that paper." "yes, it's locked. i'll go with you." "oh, never mind. let me have the key." "but you can't find the paper." "well, let it go; i can get it some other time." the major, slyly shaking, walked with him to the end of the porch. "you've played thunder," the old fellow whispered. "i didn't think it of you. i gad, every chance you get you hoist me on your hip and slam the life out of me. sick as a dog, too. again, ma'am," he added, turning about, "let me thank you for this book. and major," he said aloud, and "damn you," he breathed, "i hope to see you over my way soon." he swore at his horse as he mounted, and throwing back a look of reproach, he jogged off down the road. but he had not proceeded more than a mile when a boy, urging a galloping horse, overtook him and gave him a bundle; and therein he found a bottle of whisky, with these words written in red ink and pasted on the glass: "you are an old fool." chapter xii. all day the clouds had been gathering, hanging low over the fields. at evening came a downpour of rain, and at night a fitful wind was blowing--one moment of silence and then a throb of rain at the windows. in his office the major sat, looking over the affairs of his estate. it was noted that he preferred a stormy night thus to apply himself; the harshness of figures, the unbending stubbornness of a date, in his mind seemed to find a unity with the sharp whistle of the wind and the lashes of rain on the moss-covered roof. before him, on yellowing paper, was old gid's name, and at it he slowly shook his head, for fretfully he nursed the consciousness of having for years been the dupe of that man's humorous rascality. the plantation was productive, the old fellow had gathered many a fine crop, and for his failure to pay rent there could be no excuse, except the apologies devised by his own trickish invention. year after year, in his appeals for further indulgence, he had set up the plea of vague obligations pressing upon him, some old debt that he was striving to wipe out and from which he would soon be freed; and then, no longer within the tightening grasp of merciless scoundrels, he would gratefully devote the proceeds of his energies to the discharge of the obligations held so lightly over him by the noblest man on earth. once he returned from new orleans, whither he had gone to sell his cotton, with the story that he had been knocked senseless and robbed of his wallet, and in proof of this he produced a newspaper account of the midnight outrage, and exhibited a wound on the head, inflicted by the bludgeon of the footpad. and with such drollery did he recite this story that the major laughed at him, which meant, of course, that his tenure of the old plantation was not to be disturbed. the memory of this rascally trick came back to the major as he sat there looking over his papers. he recounted it all as a reminiscence of his own weakness, and he was firmly and almost angrily resolved that this season the old fellow should not waddle from under his obligations. amusement was well enough; to laugh at a foible was harmless, but constantly to be cheated was a crime against his wife and his children. children? yes, for out of no calculation for the future did he leave louise. there came a tap at the door. mrs. cranceford had sent a negro boy with an umbrella and a lantern. the night was wild, and the slanting rain hit hard. before he reached the house the wind puffed out his lantern, leaving him to stumble through the dark. as he stepped upon the porch there was a loud "halloa" at the gate, and just at that moment he heard his wife's voice. "john, go out there and see who that is," she said. he went round to the gate. his wife stood on the porch waiting for him. presently he came back, walking rapidly. "who is it, dear?" "a negro man. margaret, we must go at once to louise. pennington is dying." with an inarticulate note of astonishment she fled to her room, to prepare herself for the journey, and the major loudly commanded the carriage to be brought out. lanterns flashed across the yard, under the streaming trees, and flickered in the gale that howled about the barn. pale, impatient, and wrapped in a waterproof, mrs. cranceford stood at the front doorway. the carriage drew up at the gate. "are you ready?" the major asked, speaking from the darkness in the midst of the rain. "yes," she answered, stepping out and closing the door. "where is tom?" the major inquired. "he hasn't come home." "he ought to go. i wonder where he can be." "he could be most any place," she answered; and as she stepped under the umbrella to walk with him to the gate, she added: "but i think he is at wash sanders' house." he helped her into the carriage, took a seat beside her, and shut the door with a slam. "as fast as you can!" he shouted to the driver. they sat a long time in silence, listening to the rain and the hoofs of the horses sloshing in the wet sand. the carriage stopped. "what's the matter?" "de bayou, sah." "drive on." "de bridge is full o' holes." "drive through." "de water's mighty high." "drive through." down they went with a splash. the carriage swayed, was lifted, was swung round--the horses lunged; one of the doors was burst open and the water poured in. mrs. cranceford clung to the major, but she uttered not a word. up the slippery bank the horses strained. one of them fell, but he was up in a moment. firmer footing was gained, and the road was reached. now they were in a lane. the major struck a match and looked at his watch. it was nearly two o'clock. across the fields came a light--from louise's window. the carriage drew up at the gate. "that you, major?" a voice asked. "yes. why, how did you get here, jim?" "tore down the fences and rode across the fields." "how is he?" the major asked, helping his wife to the ground. "i haven't been in--been walking up and down out here. thought i'd wait for you." at the entrance of the passageway louise met them. she kissed her mother, saying not a word. the major held out his arms toward her. she pretended not to notice this complete surrender; she took his hand and turned her face from him. "my poor little girl, i----" she dropped his hand, opened the door of a room opposite the dying man's chamber and said: "step in here, please. mother, you and jim may come with me." the old man broke down. "my precious child, god knows----" "will you please step in here? i will come with you. mother, you and jim----" she pointed to the door of her husband's room. in sorrowful obedience the major bowed his head and crossed the threshold. in the room was a fire and on the mantel-piece a lamp was burning. "sit down," she said. "louise, i have not deserved this." "take the rocking chair, please." he stood with his hands resting on the back of the chair. "why do you hold me off with such stubbornness? why continue to be so unnatural a child, so incomprehensible a woman?" even now he did not forget to measure his sentences, but with the depth of his earnestness his voice was wavering, "you know----" "yes, i know," she broke in, looking full at him, and her face smote him with pity. "but this is no time for explanations." she turned toward the door. "are you going to leave me?" he asked, following her. "yes. mother will tell you all that is to be told." she went out and closed the door. the major walked softly up and down the room, listening, but he heard nothing save the creaking of the house and the moaning of the wind in the old plum thicket. a long time passed, and then mrs. cranceford entered. her eyes were wet with tears. "it is all over," she said. at the moment the major made no reply. he led her to a chair, and when she had sat down, looking up at him, he leaned over her and said: "margaret, i know you can't help appreciating my position; and i feel that i am the keenest sufferer under this roof, for to me all consolation is denied. now, what is expected of me? i am going to make no more protests--i am going to do as i am instructed. what is expected of me?" "go home, dear, and wait until i come," she answered. "but doesn't that seem hard, margaret?" "yes; but it is her wish and we must not oppose it." "i will do as you say," he replied, and kissing her he added: "if you can, make her feel that i love her. tell her that i acknowledge all the wrong." he stepped out into the passage, but he came back to the door, and standing there for a moment, he said: "make her feel that i love her." chapter xiii. pennington was buried in the yard of the church wherein he had taught school. no detail of the arrangements was submitted to the major. for a time he held out that the family burial ground was the proper place for the interment, under the trees where his father and his mother were laid to rest, but louise stood in strong opposition to this plan, even though appearances called for its adoption. so, after this, the major offered no suggestion. at the grave there was no hysterical grief. the day was bleak and the services were short. when all had been done, the major gently put his arm about his daughter and said that she must go home with him. "not now," she replied; and she did not look up at him. "but please don't worry over me; don't feel that you have to do something. mother is going with me, and after that you may know what i intend to do. please don't urge me. let me have my way just a little longer." he stepped back from her and mrs. cranceford took her arm and led her away. the major slowly followed them. he felt the inquisitive look of a neighbor, and his shoulders stiffened. in a buggy the mother and the daughter had followed the hearse; the major, tom and big jim taylor were driven in the family carriage. louise was to go back to the desolate house. the major stoutly opposed this, pleaded with her after she had seated herself in the buggy, clutched the spoke of a muddy wheel as if he would hold her back. she took the lines from her mother, tossed them upon the horse, folded her arms, and in silence waited. "john, dear," said mrs. cranceford, "let us drive on. there, please don't attract the attention of those people. you know what gossips they are." the major spoke to louise. "will you answer me one question?" "yes, sir." "is it your intention to live alone in that wretched house?" "no, sir; but i must go there to think." the major stepped back, and with a handkerchief wiped his muddy hand. "margaret, i leave her with you," he said. shortly after the major reached home his wife arrived, but louise was not with her. "i could do nothing," she said. "when we drove up to the gate she jumped out and declared that i must come on home. i pleaded with her, but she wouldn't yield. two old women were in the house and she said that they were company enough; she wanted to think and they would not distract her thoughts. i told her that if she would agree to let me stay i would not say a word, but she shook her head. 'you shall hear from me to-morrow,' were her words, 'but you must leave me to myself to-night. it is of no use to urge me.' i saw that it wasn't, and i drove away. i declare i can't make her out." "most unreasonable creature i ever saw," the major replied, uneasily walking up and down the room. "she has made me contemptible in the eyes of this neighborhood, and now appears determined to disgrace herself." "don't say that, john." "why not? it's a fact." "it is not a fact. i am not afraid of a daughter of mine disgracing herself. it's only bad blood that disgraces itself." "i am not so sure about that when women throughout the entire country are striving to be unnatural. by the blood----" "john." he wheeled about and looked at her. "but i ask you if it isn't enough to make a saint pull out his hair? simply opposed her marriage, used legitimate argument, and afterward begged like a dog. isn't it enough to make me spurn the restraints of the church and take up the language of the mud-clerk?" "no, dear; nothing should prompt you to do that. you have a soul to be saved." "but is it necessary that my life should be tortured out of me in order that my soul may be saved? i don't care to pay such a price. is it put down that i must be a second job? is a boil the sign of salvation?" "for goodness' sake don't talk that way," she pleaded, but she had to turn her face away to hide her smile from him. "but i've got to talk some way. just reflect on her treatment of me and how i have humbled myself and whined at her feet. and i ask what may we not expect of such a creature? is it that she wants to be different from anyone else? let me tell you one thing: the woman who seeks to be strongly individualized may attain her aim, but it leads to a sacrifice of her modesty. i say she is in danger of disgracing herself." mrs. cranceford shook her head. "you wait and we shall see. no member of my family was ever disgraced. i may be distressed at her peculiarities, at times, but i shall never be afraid for her conduct." early the next morning a negro brought a letter from louise. mrs. cranceford hastened to the office to read it to the major. it appeared to have been written with care and thus was it worded: "my dear mother:--i am thankful that i am not to look upon the surprise and sorrow you must feel in reading this letter. i hardly know how to rake together and assort what i desire to say, but i will do the best i can, and if you fail to understand me, do not charge it against yourself, but list it with my other faults. what i have recently gone through with is quite enough to unstring the nerves of a stronger woman than i am, and what must be my condition? worn out and weary of any life that i could conceive of here--don't you see how i am floundering about? but give me time and in all honesty you shall know the true state of my mind. many a time father has said that he did not understand me, and more than once you have charged me with being strange. but i am sure that i have never tried to be mysterious. i have had thoughts that would not have appeared sane, had i written them, but i have never been foolishly romantic, although my education has been far from practical. the first thing i remember was a disappointment, and that was not being a boy. it may be a vanity, but at that early age i seemed to recognize the little privileges given to a boy and denied a girl. but as i grew older i was shocked by the roughness and cruelty of boys, and then i was pleased to reflect that i was of gentler mold. at some time of life i suppose we are all enigmas unto ourselves; the mystery of being, the ability to move, and the marvelous something we call emotion, startles us and drives us into a moody and speculative silence. i give this in explanation of my earlier strangeness. i could always talk readily, but never, not even to you, could i tell completely what i thought. most young people are warned against the trash that finds its way--no one appears to know how--into the library of the home, but i remember to have been taken to task for reading mannish books. and in some measure i heeded the lecture thus delivered, but it is to mannish books that i owe my semblance of common sense." "what is she trying to get at?" the major broke in. "have you read it? if you have, tell me what she says." "i am reading it now," his wife replied; and thus she continued: "the strongest emotion of my life has been pity, and you know that i never could keep a doll nor a trinket if a strong appeal was made for it. i grew up to know that this was a weakness rather than a virtue, but never has my judgment been strong enough to prevail against it. and this leads me to speak of my marriage. that was the result of pity and fear. let me see if i can make you understand me. that poor man's condition smote my heart as never before had it been smitten. and when he made his appeal to me, hollowed-eyed and coughing, i trembled, for i knew that my nature would prompt me to yield, although i might fully estimate the injustice to myself. so my judgment fought with my sense of pity, and in the end, perhaps, might have conquered it, but for the element of fear which was then introduced. the question of his soul was brought forward, and he swore that i would send it to heaven or to hell. in the light of what i have read, and in the recollection of what i have often heard father say in his arguments with preachers, perhaps i should have been strong enough to scout the idea of a literal torment, but i could not. you remember old aunt betsy taylor, jim's black mammy. when i was very young she was still living on the place, and was to me a curiosity, the last of her race, i was told. i did not know what this meant, but it gave her words great weight. once she pictured hell for me, the roaring furnace, the writhing of the damned, and no reason and no reading has ever served to clear my mind of her awful painting. with her as the advocate i could hear the groans of lost souls; and in my childish way i believed that the old woman was inspired to spread the terrors of perdition; nor has education and the little i have seen of society, wholly changed this belief. so when mr. pennington swore to me that if i refused to marry him he would die blaspheming the name of god, my judgment tottered and fell. i sit here now, looking at the bed whereon he died. you saw him breathe his last, saw his smile of peace and hope. that smile was my reward. for it i had wrung the heart of my father and wiped my feet upon his pride. but i had sent a soul above. i have set myself to the task of perfect frankness, and i must tell you that in my heart there was not the semblance of love for him, love as you know it; there was only pity and i can say that pity is not akin to love. yes. i sold myself, not as many a woman has, not as i would have been praised and flattered for doing--not for money, but to save a soul. this is written at night, with a still clock above me, the hands recording the hour and the minute of his death, and the light of the sun may fade my words and make them ghastly, but i am revealing, to my mother, my inner self." mrs. cranceford paused to wipe her eyes, and the major, who had been walking up and down the room, now stood looking through the window at the sweep of yellow river, far away. "but does she say when she is coming home?" he asked without turning his head. "read on, please." the sheets were disarranged and it was some time before she obeyed. "read on, please," he repeated, and he moved from the window and stood with his hands resting on the back of a chair. mrs. cranceford read on: "there is one misfortune of mine that has always been apparent to you and that is my painful sensitiveness. it was, however, not looked upon as a misfortune, but rather as a fault which at will i might correct, but i could no more have obviated it than i could have changed my entire nature. when father charged me with ingratitude i realized the justice of the rebuke (from his point of view), while feeling on my side the injustice of the imputation, for i was not ungrateful, but simply in a desperate state of mind. i am afraid that i am not making myself clear. but let me affirm that i do not lose sight of the debt i owe him, the debt of gallantry. i had always admired him for his bravery, and hundreds of times have i foolishly day-dreamed of performing a life-saving office for him. but the manner--and pardon me for saying it--the arrogance which he assumed over me, wounded me, and the wound is still slowly bleeding. but in time it will heal, and when it does i will go to him, but now i cannot." "but she must come to me or let me go to her!" the major broke in. "i confess that i didn't understand her. why, there is heroism in her composition. go ahead, margaret. she's got more sense than all of us. go ahead." mrs. cranceford continued: "i can conceive of nothing more useless than my life at home would be. the truth is, i must do something, see something, feel the throb rather than the continuous pressure of life. thousands of women are making their way in the world. why should not i? and it is not that i mean wholly to desert you or to love you less, but i must go away, and before this letter reaches you i shall be on my journey----" mrs. cranceford's trembling hands let the paper fall. the major grabbed it up, fumbled with it, put it upon the desk and sat down. in silence they looked at each other, and their vision was not clear. "read on," he said. "we can stand anything now." she wiped her eyes and obeyed him: "shall be on my journey. i have in mind a certain place, but what place it is i must not tell you. if i succeed i shall let you know, and if i fail--but i will base nothing upon the probability of failure. i know that you will look upon this almost as an act of insanity, and carrying out my resolve to be frank, i must say that i do not know but that it is. it is, though, the only course that promises relief and therefore i must take it. you must not charge me with a lack of love for you and never must you lose faith in me. it is singular that after all these years, after all our confidences, i should choose a pen wherewith to make myself known to you, and you may call me a most unnatural daughter, but you must charge my unnaturalness to nature, and nothing that nature does should appear unnatural when once we have come to understand it. i have money enough to last me until i can secure employment. i hope that i know what sort of employment it may be, but as there is in my hope a fear of failure, i will not tell you. my training has not been systematic enough to enable me to be a school teacher, for i know a little of many things, but am thorough in nothing. but in some other line the mannish books may help me. in reading this over i realize that i am vain and affected. but put it down as another frankness. god bless you and good-bye." "i told you she would disgrace herself," the major exclaimed, slapping his hand upon the desk. "she has done nothing of the sort," his wife replied, stepping out and closing the door. chapter xiv. the neighbors were curious to know why louise had left home and whither she was gone. day and night they came to ask questions, and though told that she was visiting relatives in kentucky, they departed suspecting that something must be wrong. the gossips were more or less busy, and jim taylor snatched another idler off the fence and trounced him in the sand. weeks passed and no letter came from louise. the major worried over her until at last he forbade the mention of her name. during the day mrs. cranceford was calm and brave, but many a time in the night the major heard her crying. every sunday afternoon jim taylor's tread was heard on the porch. to the major he talked of various things, of the cotton which was nearly all picked, of the weakening or strengthening tendency of the market, but when alone with mrs. cranceford his talk began and ended with louise. but in this he observed the necessity for great care, lest the major might hear him, and he chose occasions when the old gentleman was in his office or when with gid he strolled down into the woods. in the broad parlor, in the log part of the house, jim and mrs. cranceford would sit, hours at a time; and never did she show an impatience of his long lapses of silence nor of his monotonous professions of faith in the run-away. and upon taking his leave he would never fail to say: "i believe we'll hear from her to-morrow; i am quite sure of it." in the midst of the worry that followed the young woman's departure, there had been but one mention of the young man's affair with the niece of wash sanders. mrs. cranceford had spoken to him, not directly, but with gentle allusion, and he had replied with an angry denunciation of such meddlesomeness. "i'm not going to marry a dying woman," he declared; "and i'm not going to take up any faded ninny that you and father may pick out. i'm going to please myself, and when you decide that i mustn't, just say the word and i'll hull out. and i don't want to hear anything about crackers or white trash, either. that's me." his mother must have agreed that it was, for the weeks went by and not again did she drop a hint of her anxiety. one rainy afternoon the major and old gid were sitting on a tool-box under the barn shed, when father brennon came riding down the road. "as they say over the creek, light and look at your saddle!" the major shouted. with a nod and a smile the priest rode through the gate, dismounted, gave his horse over to a negro who, in answer to a shout, had come forward from some mysterious precinct of the barn-yard, shook hands with the major and gid, and gracefully declining a seat on the tool-box, rolled a barrel from against the wall and upon it seated himself. "more in accordance with the life of a priest," he said, tapping the barrel with his knuckles. "it is rolling." "ah," replied the major, "and a barrel may also typify the reckless layman. it is often full." the priest gave to this remark the approval of a courteous laugh. even though he might stand in a slippery place, how well he knew his ground. to call forth a weak joke and then to commend it with his merriment--how delightful a piece of flattery. and it can, in truth, be said that in his heart he was sincere. to be pleasing was to him an art, and this art was his second nature. "mr. brennon," said the major (and under no compulsion would he have said father), "i have thought a great deal of the argument we had some time ago; and i have wondered, sir, that in coming to this community to proselyte the negro, you did not observe the secrecy with which the affairs of your church are usually conducted. but understand, please, that i do not mean to reflect upon the methods of your creed, but simply wonder that you have not followed a recognized precedent." the priest had taken hold of the chine at each end of the barrel and was slowly rolling himself backward and forward. "i fail to see why any secrecy should be observed in my work," he replied. "the catholic church has never made a secret of doing good--for we believe in the potency of example. if we elevate the moral condition of one man, it is well that another man should know it. the methodist holds his revival and implores the sinner to come forward and kneel at the altar. and as it were, i am holding a revival--i am persuading the negro and the white man as well to kneel under the cross. should there be any secrecy in such a work?" "well, no, not when you put it that way. but you know that we look upon the catholic religion as a foreign religion. it does not somehow seem native to this soil. it is red with the pomp of monarchy, it has the ceremonious restraint of the king's court; it hasn't the free noise of a republic. i will not question its sincerity or the fact that it has in view the betterment of man, but to us it will always seem an importation." "it was here first," the priest replied, gravely smiling. "it discovered this country." "we must grant that," the major rejoined, "but still i insist that the native born american regards it as a foreign institution, foreign to his nature, to his sense of liberty, if not to his soul." "my dear major, christ is foreign to no soil. the earth is his father's foot-stool. the soul of man is the abiding place of the love of the saviour, and no heart is out-landish. what you may call liberty is an education, but the soul as god's province is not made so by training, but came with the first twinkling of light, of reason, the dawn of time." "that's about as straight as any man can give it," old gid joined in. "but what puzzles me is why god is more at home in one man's heart than in another. he fills some hearts with love and denies it to others; and the heart that has been denied is cursed, through no fault of its own--simply because it has not received--while the other heart is blessed. i reckon the safest plan is to conclude that we don't know anything about it. i don't, and that settles it so far as i'm concerned. i can't accept man's opinion, for man doesn't know any more about it than i do; so i say to myself, 'gideon batts, eat, drink and be merry, for the first thing you know they will come along and lay you out where the worm is whetting his appetite.' you have raked up quite a passle of negroes, haven't you, colonel?" the priest looked at him, but not resentfully. "my work has not been without a fair measure of success," he answered, now sitting upright and motionless. "you must have noticed that we are building quite a large church." "so i see," said the major. "and you still believe that you are going to preserve the negro's body as well as save his soul." "we are going to save his soul, and a soul that is to be saved serves to protect its habitation." "but you foresee a race war?" "i foresee racial troubles, which in time may result in a war of extermination." "i agree with you, mr. brennon," the major replied. "as time passes it will become more and more clear that the whites and the negroes cannot live together. their interests may be identical, but they are of a different order and can never agree. and now let us face the truth. what sowed the seeds of this coming strife? emancipation? no, enfranchisement. the other day mr. low gave me a copy of the london spectator, calling my attention to a thoughtful paper on this very subject. it deeply impressed me, so much so that i read parts of it a number of times. let me see if i can recall one observation that struck me. yes, and it is this: 'we want a principle on which republicans can work and we believe that the one which would be the most fruitful is that the black people should be declared to be foreign immigrants, guests of the state, entitled to the benefit of every law and every privilege, education, for example, but debarred from political power and from sitting on juries, which latter, indeed, in mixed cases, ought to be superseded by properly qualified magistrates and judges.' the paper goes on to show that this would not be oppressive, and that the blacks would be in the position of a majority of englishmen prior to , a position compatible with much happiness. but the trouble is we have gone too far to retrace our steps. it was easy enough to grant suffrage to the negro, but to take it away would be a difficult matter. so what are we to do? to let the negro exercise the full and unrestrained measure of his suffrage, would, in some communities, reduce the white man to the position of political nonentity. and no law, no cry about the rights of a down-trodden race, no sentiment expressed abroad, could force the white man to submit quietly to this degradation. upon the negro's head the poetry of new england has placed a wreath of sentiment. no poet has placed a wreath upon the brow of the california chinaman, nor upon the head of any foreign element in any of the northern states. then why this partiality? is the negro so gentle that he must always be defended, and is the white man of the south so hard of heart that he must always be condemned?" "what you say is perfectly clear to me," the priest replied, "and it is natural that you should defend your position." "it is the only position and the only course left to a thinking and a self-respecting white man," the major rejoined. "yes, i will agree to that, too." "ah, and that's the trouble, mr. brennon. you agree while you oppose." "my dear major, i am not here to oppose, nor to destroy, but to save fragments when the hour of destruction shall have come." "but if your church believes that it can save fragments why doesn't it exert itself to save the whole?" "major, salvation comes of persuasion and persuasion is slow." "yes, and let me tell you that your form of religion will never become popular among the negroes. the negro is emotional, and to make a display of his religious agitation is too great a luxury to be given up. your creed entails too much belief and too little excitement; upon the layman it doesn't confer sufficient importance. the negro must shout and hug. the quiet mysticism of the divine spirit does not satisfy him. he wants to be exorcised; he wants what is known as the mourners'-bench jerks. if his brother loves him he doesn't want a quiet assurance of that fact, conveyed by a year of conduct; he demands a noisy proof, the impulse of a moment of joy." with a slow shake of his head old gid confirmed this view, and the priest looked on, gravely smiling. "you have now touched upon a mistaken phase of the negro's character," said he. "and to make my point clear, i must speak plainly with regard to the appearance of our form of worship. i must present it as it impresses the ignorant and the superstitious. in doing so i make myself appear almost irreverent, but in no other way can i show you the possibilities of my work among the colored race. mystery appeals to the negro. behind all mystery there is power. under the influence of the sensationalist the negro may shout, demand an impulsive proof of love, hug his brother; but in his heart god is a fearful and silent mystery. and the catholic church shows him that the holy spirit is without noise. in the creation of the great tree there has not been a sound; all has been the noiseless will of god. it is not difficult to show him that ours was the first church; it may be shown that the protestant bible held him a slave; and above all we prove to him that in the catholic church there is no discrimination against his color, that a negro may become a cardinal. we convince him that shouting is but a mental agitation and a physical excitement. i have know many a negro, on the scaffold, to renounce the religion which for years he had practiced, and with cool discernment embrace the parent church. the germ of catholicism is in his blood. he cannot be a free thinker. the barbarian is subdued by the solemn and majestic form of the church of rome, while he might regard with disdain the intricate reason of the presbyterian faith. and in this respect the negro is akin to the barbarian. he is moved by music and impressed by ceremony." "you are plain-spoken, indeed," the major replied. "the boldness with which you recount your shams is most surprising. i didn't expect it." "i told you that i would be bold." "but you didn't say that you would acknowledge your insincerity." "nor have i done so. i have simply shown you why our church appeals to the superstitious blood of the african. to accomplish a good we must use the directest means. if i were seeking to convert you, i should adopt a different method. i would appeal to your reason; convince you of a truth which the wisest men have known and still know--that the catholic church is god's church. it is now time for me to go," he added, after a short pause. "please tell your man that i want my horse." chapter xv. at the close of a misty day jim taylor stood at the parlor door to take his leave of mrs. cranceford. during the slow hours of the afternoon they had talked about louise, or sitting in silence had thought of her; and now at parting there was nothing to be added except the giant's hopeful remark, "i believe we'll hear from her to-morrow; i am quite sure of it." repetition may make a sentiment trite, and into a slangish phrase may turn a wise truism, but words spoken to encourage an anxious heart do not lose their freshness. "yes, i am quite sure of it," he repeated. and the next day a letter came. it bore no post mark; the captain of a steamboat had sent it over from a wood-yard. the boat was an unimportant craft and its name was new even to the negroes at the landing, which, indeed, must have argued that the vessel was making its first trip on the arkansas. the communication was brief, but it was filled with expressions of love. "i am beginning to make my way," the writer said, "and when i feel that i have completely succeeded, i will come home. my ambition now is to surprise you, and to do this i must keep myself in the dark just a little longer. i have tried to imagine myself a friendless woman, such as i have often read about, and i rather enjoy it. love to jim." the major was in his office when the letter was brought, and thither his wife hastened to read it to him. "what is it?" he asked as she entered the room. "a letter from louise? i don't want to hear it." "john." "i don't want to hear another crazy screed from her. where is she? is she coming home? read it." during the reading he listened with one hand cupped behind his ear--though his hearing was not impaired--and when the last word had been pronounced, he said: "likes to be mysterious, doesn't she? well, i hope she'll get enough of it. if her life has been so much influenced by sympathy why has she felt none of that noble quality for us? where is she?" "the letter doesn't say. it is not even dated, and it is not post-marked." "did it come in a gale? was it blown out of a mysterious cloud?" "it came from the wood-yard, and the man who brought it said that it had been left by the captain of the mill-boy, a new boat, they say." "well, it's devilish----" "john." "i say it's very strange. enjoys being mysterious. i wonder if she equally enjoys having the neighbors talk about her? sends love to jim. well, that isn't so bad. you'd better have some one take the letter over to him." "i sent him word by the man who brought the letter that we had heard from her." no further did the major question her, but taking up a handful of accounts, he settled himself into the preoccupation in which she had found him, but the moment she went out and closed the door, he got out of his chair and with his hands behind him, walked up and down the room. at the window he halted, and standing there, looked down the river, in the direction of the cape of sand whereon louise had stood, that day when pennington coughed in the library door; and in his mind the old man saw her, with her hands clasped over her brown head. he mused over the time that had passed since then, the marriage, the death, the dreary funeral; and though he did not reproach himself, yet he felt that could he but recall that day he would omit his foolish plea of gallantry. for the coming of jim, mrs. cranceford had not long to wait. she was in the parlor when he tapped at the door. after she had called, "come in," he continued to stand there as if he were afraid of meeting a disappointment. but when he had peeped in and caught sight of her smiling face, his cold fear was melted. "here it is," she said, holding the letter out to him. almost at one stride he crossed the room and seized the letter. in the light of the window he stood to read it, but it fluttered away from him the moment he saw that there was a greeting in it for himself. he grabbed at it as if, possessing life, it were trying to escape, and with a tight grip upon it he said: "i knew she would write and i am sure she would have written sooner if--if it had been necessary." mrs. cranceford was laughing tearfully. "oh, you simple-hearted man, so trustful and so big of soul, what is your love not worth to a woman?" "simple-hearted? i am nothing of the sort. i try to be just and that's all there is to it." "no, jim taylor, there's more to it than that. a man may be just and his sense of justice may demand a stricter accounting than you ask for." "i guess you mean that i'm weak." "oh, no," she hastened to reply, "i don't mean that. the truth is i mean that you give something that but few men have ever given--a love blind enough and great enough to pardon a misdeed committed against yourself. it is a rare charity." he did not reply, but in the light of the window he stood, reading the letter; and mrs. cranceford, sitting down, gave him the attention of a motherly fondness, smiling upon him; and he, looking up from the letter which a pleasurable excitement caused to shake in his hand, wondered why any one should ever have charged this kindly matron with a cold lack of sympathy. so interested in his affairs was she, so responsive to a sentiment, though it might be clumsily spoken, so patient of his talk and of his silence, that to him she was the roman mother whom he had met in making his way through a short-cut of latin. "jim." "yes, ma'm." "i want to ask you something. have you talked much with tom lately?" "not a great deal. he was over at my place the other night and we talked of first one thing and then another, but i don't remember much of what was said. why do you want to know?" "can't you guess?" "don't know that i can. i was always rather slow at guessing. and don't let me try; tell me what you mean?" "you are as stupid as you are noble." "what did you say, ma'm?" again he had given his attention to the letter. "oh, nothing." "but you must have said something," he replied, pressing the letter into narrow folds, and appearing as if he felt that he had committed a crime in having failed to catch the meaning of her remark. "oh, it amounted to nothing." he stupidly accepted this decree, and smoothing out the letter and folding it again, requested that he might be permitted to take it home; and with this reply she gladdened him: "i intended that you should." at evening old gid came, with many a snort and many a noisy stamp at the dogs prancing upon the porch. into the library he bustled, puffing and important, brisk with the air of business. "john," he said, as he sat down, "the last bale of my cotton has been hauled to the landing. it will be loaded to-night and to-morrow morning i'm going with it down to new orleans; and i gad, i'll demand the last possible cent, for it's the finest staple i ever saw." "i thought you were going to bunch in and sell with me," the major replied. "i intended to, john, but you see i'm too far ahead of you to wait. i don't like to discount my industry by waiting. the truth is, i want the money as soon as i can get it. i am chafing to discharge my debts. it may be noble to feel and acknowledge the obligations of friendship, but the consciousness of being in debt, a monied debt, even to a friend, is blunting to the higher sensibilities and hampering to the character. now, you've never been in debt, and therefore you don't know what slavery is." "what! i've owed fifty thousand dollars at a time." "yes, but you had a way of getting out from under it, john. we don't deserve any credit for paying a debt if it comes easy, if it's natural to us. why, a man with the faculty of getting out from under a debt is better off and is more to be envied than the man who has never known what it is to walk under a weight of obligations, for to throw off the burden brings him a day of real happiness, while the more prudent and prosperous person is acquainted merely with contentment. you've had a good time in your life, john. on many an occasion when other men would have been at the end of the string you have reached back, grabbed up your resources and enjoyed them. yes, sir. and you have more education than i have, but you can never hope to rival me in wisdom." the major was standing on the hearth, and leaning his head back against the mantel-piece, he laughed; and from mrs. cranceford's part of the house came the impatient slam of a door. "it's a fact, john. and within me there is just enough of rascality to sweeten my wisdom." "there is no doubt as to the rascality, gid. the only question is with regard to the wisdom." "easy, john. the wisdom is sometimes hidden; modesty covers it up, and if the rascality is always apparent it is my frankness that holds it up to view. yes, sir. but my wisdom lacks something, is in want of something to direct it. pure wisdom can't direct itself, john; it is like gold--it must have an alloy. you've got that alloy, and it makes you more successful as a man, but sometimes less charming as a companion. the part of a man that means business is disagreeable to a gentle, humor-loving nature like mine. i perceive that i've got my speculative gear on, and i'm bold; yes, for i am soon to discharge a sacred obligation and then to walk out under the trees a free man. but i'm naturally bold. did you ever notice that a sort of self-education makes a man adventurous in his talk when a more systematic training might hold him down with the clamps of too much care?" "yes, might inflict him with the dullness of precision," the major suggested, smiling upon his guest. "that's it, and for this reason half-educated men are often the brightest. i read a book--and i reckon i'm as fond of a good book as any man--without bringing to bear any criticisms that scholars have passed upon it. but with you it is different." "gid, you ascribe scholarship to me when in fact you are far more bookish than i am. you sit in your den all alone and read while i'm shut up in my office going over my accounts. from care you have a freedom that i can never hope to find." "john, in comparison with me you don't know what care is." the major leaned against the mantel-piece and laughed. "it's a fact, john. why, i have care enough to kill a statesman or strain a philosopher. look at me; i'm old and don't amount to anything, and that is one of the heaviest cares that can settle down upon man. wise? oh, yes, we'll grant that, but as i before remarked, my wisdom lacks proper direction. it is like ill-directed energy, and that, you know, counts for nothing. i once knew a fellow that expended enough energy in epileptic fits to have made him a fortune. he'd fall down and kick and paw the air--a regular engine of industry, but it was all wasted. but he had a brother, a lazy fellow, and he conceived the idea of a sort of gear for him, so that his jerkings and kicks operated a patent churn. so, if i only had some ingenious fool to harness me i might do something." "why," said the major, "i wouldn't have you otherwise than what you are. suppose you were to become what might be termed a useful citizen, truthful and frugal----" "hold on, john," gid broke in, holding up his hands. "you distress me with your picture. when i hear of a frugal man i always imagine he's hungry. yes, sir. but let me tell you, i'll be a man of affairs when i come back from new orleans. you may be assured of that. i'm going to scatter money about this neighborhood. why, every lout within ten miles square, if he's got fifteen dollars, holds his opinion above mine. ah, by a lucky chance i see that your demijohn is in here. and now just fill up this bottle," he added, producing a flask as if by a sleight-of-hand trick, "and i will bid you good-night." chapter xvi. a neighboring planter, having just returned from new orleans, told the major that in the french market he had met gid, who had informed him that for his cotton he had received a premium above the highest price, in recognition of its length of fibre and the care with which it had been handled. the part of the statement that bore upon the length of fibre was accepted by the major, but he laughed at the idea that gid's care should call for reward. but so good a report was pleasing to him and he told his wife that her denunciation of the old fellow must soon be turned into praise. and with cool thoughtfulness she thus replied: "john, is it possible that at this late day you are still permitting that man to fill your eyes with dust? has he again wheedled you into the belief that he is going to pay you? it does seem to me that your good sense ought to show you that man as he really is." they were at the dinner table. the major shoved back his chair and looked at his wife long and steadily. "margaret," said he, "there is such a thing as persecution, and you are threatened with a practice of it. but do i believe he is going to pay me? i do. and naturally you want to know my reason for thinking so." "yes, i should like to know. i suppose your kindness rather than your judgment has found a reason. it always does." "good; and the reason which a kindness discovers, though the search for it may be a mistake, is better than the spirit that inspires a persecution. however, we won't indulge in any fine-drawn argument; we will----" "search for another reason when one is exploded," she suggested, victoriously smiling upon him. "oh, you mean that i really haven't found one. to tell you the truth i haven't a very strong one. but in some way he has convinced me of his sincerity. i have forced upon him the understanding that at least a good part of the money must be paid, and the fact that he took me seriously, forms, perhaps, the basis of my belief in his desire to face his obligations. we shall see." several days passed, but they saw nothing of gid. it was known that he was at home, for jim taylor had told the news of his return. at this neglect the major was fretted, and one morning he sent word to gid that he must come at once and give an account of himself. it was nearly noon when the old fellow arrived. clumsily he dismounted from his horse, and meekly he made his way into the yard, tottering as he walked. he appeared to have lost flesh, and his skin was yellow with worry and with want of sleep. the major came forward and they met and shook hands under a tree. from an upper window mrs. cranceford looked upon them. "gid, i didn't know what had become of you. i heard of you after you had received for your cotton more than the market price, and----" "it was a fine shipment, john. have you a rope handy? i want to hang myself. and why? because i don't expect anyone to believe my statement; but john, as sure as i am alive this minute, my pocket was picked in the french market. hold on, now. i don't ask you to believe me, for i won't be unreasonable, but i hope i may drop dead this moment if i wasn't robbed. and that's the reason i have held back. get the rope and i'll hang myself. i don't want to live any longer. i am no account on the face of the earth. i sang like a cricket when i might have been more in earnest, and now when my condition is desperate, the fact that i have been foolish and careless takes all weight from my words. as i came along my old horse stumbled, and i didn't try to check him--i wanted him to fall and kill me. get me the rope." the major took off his hat and leaned against the tree. with humility, with drooping patience, gid waited for him to speak, and his ear was strained to catch the familiar word of hope, or mayhap the first bar of a resounding laugh. the first words escaped him; he heard only their cold tone without comprehending their meaning: "i want you to get off that place just as soon as you can; and i want you to go as you came--with nothing. i have laughed at you while you were cheating me; i have placed a premium upon your worthlessness and rascality. there is no good in you. get off that place just as soon as you can." "john----" "don't call me john. you are a hypocrite and a deadbeat. yes, you have sung like a cricket and i have paid dearly for your music. don't say a word to me; don't open your lying mouth, but get out of this yard as soon as your wretched legs can carry you, and get off that place at once." the major turned his back upon him, and the old fellow tottered to the gate. with an effort he scrambled upon his horse and was gone. he looked back as if he expected to see a hand upraised, commanding him to stop; he listened for a voice inviting him to return; but he saw no hand, heard no voice, and onward down the road he went. in the highway he met a man and the man spoke to him, but he replied not, neither did he lift his heavy eyes, but rode onward, drooping over the horse's neck. he passed the house of wash sanders, and from the porch the invalid hailed him, but he paid no heed. upon reaching home, or the cypress log house which for him had so long been a free and easy asylum, he feebly called a negro to take his horse. into the house he went, into the only habitable room. it was at best a desolate abode; the walls were bare, the floor was rotting, but about him he cast a look of helpless affection, at the bed, at a shelf whereon a few books were piled. he opened a closet and took therefrom a faded carpet-bag and into it he put rousseau's confessions, then an old book on logic, and then he hesitated and looked up at the shelf. all were dear to him, these thumbed and dingy books; many a time at midnight had they supped with him beside the fire of muttering white-oak coals, and out into the wild bluster of a storm had they driven care and loneliness. but he could not take them all. painfully he made his selections, nearly filled his bag, leaving barely room for an old satin waistcoat and two shirts; and these he stuffed in hastily. he put the bag upon the bed, when with fumbling he had fastened it, and stood looking about the room. yes, that was all, all except a hickory walking cane standing in a corner. onward again he went with his cane on his shoulder and his bag on his back. at the bars down the lane a dog ran up to him. "go to the house, jack," he said, and the dog understood him and trotted away, but in the old man's voice he heard a suspicious note and he turned before reaching the house and followed slowly and cautiously, stopping whenever the old fellow turned to look back. at the corner of a field gid halted and put down his bag, and the dog turned about, pretending to be on his way home. in the field was a pecan tree, tall and graceful. year after year had the old man tended it, and to him it was more than a tree, it was a friend. upon the fence he climbed, sitting for a moment on the top rail to look about him; to the tree he went, and putting his arms about it, pressed his wrinkled cheek against its bark. he turned away, climbed the fence, took up his bag and resumed his journey toward the steamboat landing. far behind, on a rise in the road, the dog sat, watching him. the old man turned a bend in the road, and the dog, running until his master was again in sight, sat down to gaze after him. far ahead was the charred skeleton of a gin house, burned by marauders many years ago, and here he was to turn into the road that led to the landing. he looked up as he drew near and saw a horse standing beside the road; and then from behind the black ruin stepped a man--the major. "gid," he said, coming forward, "i believe we're going to have more rain." the old man dropped his bag, and the dog far down the road turned back. "wind's from the northwest, gid." he put his hand on the old fellow's shoulder. "don't touch me, john; let me go." "why, i can't let you go. look here, old man, you have stood by me more than once--you stood when other men ran away--and you are more to me than money is." "let me go, john. i am an old liar and an old hypercrite. my pocket was not picked--i lost the money gambling. let me go; i am a scoundrel." he stooped to take up his bag, but the major seized it. "i'll carry it for you," he said. "too heavy for as old a man as you are. come on back and raise another crop." "i haven't a thing to go on, john. can't even get feed for the mules. give me the satchel." "you shall have all the feed you want." "but your wife----" "i will tell her that the debt is paid." "john, your gospel would take the taint out of a thief on a cross. and i was never so much of a man as you now make me, and, i gad, i'm going to be worthy of your friendship. let me remind you of something: that old uncle of mine in kentucky will leave me his money. it's cold-blooded to say it, but i understand that he can't live but a short time. i am his only relative, and have a hold on him that he can't very well shake off. he'll beat me out of my own as long as he can, but old miz nature's got her eye on him. yes, i'll try it again and next year i'll let you sell the crop. but say, john, at one time i had them fellows on the hip, and if i had cashed in at the right time i would have hit 'em big. get your horse and we'll hook the satchel over the horn of the saddle." along the road they walked toward home, the major leading the horse. for a time they were silent, and then the major said: "as i came along i was thinking of that bully from natchez. he would have killed me with his derringer if you hadn't broken his arm with your cane." "oh, yes; that red-headed fellow. it has been a long time since i thought of him. how the pleasant acquaintances of our younger days do slip away from us." "yes," the major laughed, "and our friends fall back as we grow old. friendship is more a matter of temperament than----" "of the honesty of the other party," gid suggested. "yes, you are right. honesty doesn't always inspire friendship, for we must be interested in a man before we can become his friend; and mere honesty is often a bore." when they reached the gate that opened into gid's yard, the major shook hands with the old fellow and told him to resume his authority as if nothing had happened to interrupt it. "i will, john; but something has happened to interrupt it, and that interruption has been my second birth, so to speak. i passed away at twelve o'clock and was born again just now. i won't try to express my feelings, i am still so young; for any profession of gratitude would be idle in comparison with what i am going to do. i've got your friendship and i'm going to have your respect. come in and sit awhile, won't you?" "not now, but i'll come over to-night." "good. and remember this, john; i'm going to have your respect." chapter xvii. with a generous and perhaps weak falsehood the major sought to assure his wife that gid had paid a part of his debt, and that a complete settlement was not far off, but with a cool smile she looked at him and replied: "john, please don't tax your conscience any further. it's too great a strain on you. let the matter drop. i won't even say i told you so." "and as much as you might want the subject to be dropped you can't let it fall without reminding me--but we will let it drop; we'll throw it down. but you have your rights, margaret, and they shall be respected. i will tell him that out of respect to you he must stay away from here." "that is very thoughtful, dear; but does it occur to you that your continued intimacy with him, whether he comes here or not, will show a want of respect for me?" "you don't give a snap whether he pays his debts or not. you simply don't want me to associate with him. no, it has not occurred to me that i am not showing you proper respect and neither is it true. margaret, do you know what is the most absurd and insupportable tyranny that woman can put upon man? it is to choose a companion for her husband." "with me, dear, it is not tyranny; it is judgment." "oh, yes; or rather, it is the wonderful intuition which we are taught to believe that woman possesses. i admit that she is quick to see evil in a man, but she shuts her eyes to the good quality that stands opposite to offset it." "oh, i know that i haven't shrewdness enough to discover a good trait; i can recognize only the bad, for they are always clearly in view. it is a wonder that you can respect so stupid a creature as i am, and i know that you have ceased to have a deeper feeling for me." "now, margaret, for gracious sake don't talk that way. oh, of course you've got me now, and i have to flop or be a brute. yes, you've got me. you know i respect your good sense and love you, so what's the use of this wrangle. there, now, it's all right. i'll promise not to go near him if you say so. and i have made up my mind to attend church with more regularity. i acknowledge that i can go wrong oftener than almost any man. respect for you!" he suddenly broke out. "why, you are the smartest woman in this state, and everybody knows it. come on out to the office and sit with me." sometimes the major, with a pretense of having business to call him away at night, would go over to old gid's house, and together they would chuckle by the fire or nod over roasting potatoes. they talked of their days on the river, and of their nights at natchez under the hill. to be wholly respectable, a man must give up many an enjoyment, but when at last he has become virtuous, he fondly recounts the escapades of former years; and thus the memory of hot blood quickens the feeble pulse of age. sometimes old gid would meet the major at the gin house and joke with him amid the dust and lint, but he always came and departed in a roundabout way, so that mrs. cranceford, sitting at the window, might not be offended by his horse and his figure in the road. a time came when there was an interval of a week, and the old fellow had not shown himself at the gin house, and one night the major went to the cypress log home to invade his retirement, but the place was dark. he pushed open the door and lighted the lamp. the fireplace was cheerless with cold ashes. he went to a cabin and made inquiry of a negro, and was told that mr. batts had been gone more than a week, and that he had left no word as to when he intended to return. greatly worried, the major went home; wide awake he pondered during long hours in bed, but no light fell upon the mystery of the old man's absence; nor in the night nor at breakfast did the major speak of it to his wife, but silently he took his worry with him to his office. one morning while the planter was at his desk, there came a storming at the dogs in the yard. "get down, boys. don't put your muddy paws on me. hi, there, bill, you seven years' itch of a scoundrel, take my horse to the stable." the major threw open the door. "don't come out, john!" gid shouted, coming forward among the prancing dogs. "don't come out, for i want to see you in there." he appeared to have gained flesh; his cheeks were ruddy, and his grasp was strong as he seized the major's hand. "how are you, john?" "why, old man, where on earth have you been?" "i have been in the swamp for many years, but now i touch the ground only in high places." he boldly stepped into the office, and as he sat down the sweep of his coat-tails brushed chattel mortgages and bills of sale from the desk. "only in high places do my feet touch the ground, john. i have just returned from kentucky. and i bring the news that my old uncle is no more to this life, but is more to me than ever." "and you were summoned to his bedside," said the major, striving to be serious, but smiling upon him. "not exactly. you might say that i was summoned by a lawyer to his chest-side. he left me no word of affection, but his money is mine, and on many a half-dollar of it i warrant you there is the print of his tooth. give me your check-book, john." "wait a while, gid. let us accustom ourselves to the situation." "no; let us get down to business. i am impatient to pay a mildewed debt. god's love was slow, john, but it came. how much do i owe?" "i don't believe i'd pay it all at once, gid. leave a part to be met by the next crop." "all right; but it's yours at any time. the only way i can use money is to get rid of it as soon as possible. make out a check for two-thirds of the amount and i'll put my strong hand to it. but you haven't congratulated me." "no," the major replied, with a drawl, "for i felt that it would have too much the appearance of my own greed. i have hounded you--" the old fellow seized him, and stopped his utterance. "don't say that, john. you have kept me out of hell and you ought to complete my heaven with a congratulation." they shook hands, looking not into each other's eyes, but downward; the major pretended to laugh, and old gid, dropping his hand, blustered about the room, whistled and stormed at a dog that poked his head in at the door. then he sat down, crossed his legs; but finding this uncomfortable, sprawled himself into an easier position and began to moralize upon the life and character of his uncle. "he always called me a fool with an uproarious fancy, an idiot with wit, and a wise man lacking in sense. he denied himself everything, and it strikes me that he must have been the fool. i wish he had gathered spoil enough to make me rich, but i reckon he did the best he could, and i forgive him. we must respect the dead, and sometimes the sooner they are dead the sooner we respect them. let me sign that thing. oh, he hasn't left me so much, but i won't quarrel with him now. what was it the moralist said?" he asked, pressing a blotting pad upon his name. "said something about we must educate or we must perish. that's all right, but i say we must have money. without money you may be honest," he went on, handing the check to the major, "but your honesty doesn't show to advantage. money makes a man appear honorable whether he is or not. it gives him courage, and nothing is more honorable than courage. the fact that a man pays a debt doesn't always argue that he's honest--it more often argues that he's got money. accident may make a man honest just as it may make him a thief." "your log fire and your old books haven't done you any harm, gid." "they have saved my life, john. and let me tell you, that a man who grows gray without loving some old book is worse than a fool. the quaint thought of an old thinker is a cordial to aged men who come after him. i used to regret that i had not been better educated, but now i'm glad that my learning is not broader--it might give me too many loves--might make me a book polygamist. i have wondered why any university man can't sit down and write a thing to startle the world; but the old world herself is learned, and what she demands is originality. we may learn how to express thought, john, but after all, thought itself must be born in us. there, i have discharged an obligation and delivered a moral lecture, and i want to tell you that you are the best man i ever saw." "now you are talking nonsense, gid. why, you have been just as necessary to me as i have to you. in a manner you have been the completion of myself." "ah," gid cried, scuffling to his feet and bowing, "i have the pleasure of saluting mrs. cranceford. some time has passed since i saw you, ma'am, and i hope you will pardon my absence." the major sprawled himself back with a laugh. mrs. cranceford, standing on the door sill, gave gid a cool stare. "won't you please come in?" he asked, courteously waving his hand over the chair which he had just quitted. "no, i thank you." "ah, i see you are surprised to see me in here. there was a time when it would have strained my boldness, but now it is a pleasure. i am here on business. to me business is a sweet morsel, and i delight myself with rolling it under my tongue. ma'am, i have just signed a check. my dear old uncle, one of the most humane and charming of men, has been cruelly snatched from this life; and as he found it impossible to take his money with him, he left it to me." "i hope you will make good use of it," she replied, with never a softening toward him. "i am beginning well," he rejoined, surprised that she did not give him a kindlier look. "i am discharging my obligations, and before night i'll call on the rector and give him a check." she smiled, but whether in doubt as to his sincerity or in commendation of his purpose he could not determine. but he took encouragement. "yes, ma'am, and as i have now become a man of some importance, i am going to act accordingly. i am free to confess that my first endeavor shall be to gain your good opinion." "and i'll freely give it, mr. batts, when i believe you merit it." "to desire it, ma'am, is of itself a merit." she laughed at this, and the major laughed, too, for he saw that no longer should he be compelled to defend his fondness for the old fellow. "i am more than willing to confess my mountain of faults," gid went on, smiling, and his smile was not disagreeable. "i am more than willing to do this, and when i have--and which i now do--your christian heart must forgive me." she laughed and held out her hand, and with a gallantry that would have been reminiscent, even in old virginia, he touched it with his lips. "come here, margaret," said the major, and when she turned toward him, smiling, he put his arms about her, pressed her to his breast and fondly kissed her. chapter xviii. mrs. cranceford's surrender was not as complete as gid's fancy had fore-pictured it; he had expected to see her bundle of prejudices thrown down like christian's load; and therefore the dignity with which she looked upon the establishment of his honor was a disappointment to him, but she invited him to stay for dinner, and this argued that her reserve could not much longer maintain itself. with pleasure he recalled that she had given him her hand, but in this he feared that there was more of haughtiness than of generosity. and at the table, and later in the library, he was made to feel that after all she had accepted him merely on probation; still, her treatment of him was so different from what it had been, that he took the courage to build up a hope that he might at last subdue her. to what was passing the major was humorously alive, and, too keenly tickled to sit still, he walked up and down the room, slyly shaking himself. mrs. cranceford asked gid if he had read the book which she had loaned him, the "prince of the house of david," and he answered that when at last he had fallen asleep the night before, the precious volume had dropped beside his pillow. there were some books which he read while sitting by the fire, and some whose stirring qualities moved him to walk about as he gulped their contents; but with a godly book he must lay himself down so that he might be more receptive of its soothing influence. then he reviewed the book in question, and did it shrewdly. with the jewish maiden and the roman centurion going to see the strange man perform the novel rite of baptism in the river of jordan, he looked back upon the city of jerusalem; and further along he pointed out judas, plodding the dusty road--squat, sullen, and with a sneer at the marvel he was destined to see. "i believe you have read it," the major spoke up, still slyly shaking himself. "read it! why, john, i have eaten it. i gad, sir--pardon me, ma'am." with a nod she pronounced her forgiveness. the slip was but a pretense, foisted to change the talk to suit his purpose. "ah," said he, "i have not yet weeded out all my idle words, and it grieves me when i am surprised by the recurrence of one which must be detestable; but, ma'am, i try hard, and there is always merit in a sincere trial." "yes, in a sincere trial," she agreed. "yes, ma'am; and--now there's john laughing at me fit to kill himself; and bless me, ma'am, you are laughing, too. am i never to be taken seriously? are you thus to titter true reformation out of countenance? but i like it. but we are never tired of a man so long as we can laugh at him; we may cry ourselves to sleep, but who laughs himself to slumber? ma'am, are you going to leave us?" he asked, seeing that mrs. cranceford was on her feet. "but of course you have duties to look after, even though you might not be glad to escape an old man's gabble. i _call_ it gabble, but i know it to be wisdom. but i beg pardon for seeming vanity." a dignified smile was the only reply she made, but in the smile was legible the progress his efforts were making. "john," he said, when she was gone, "that sort of a woman would have made a man of me." "but perhaps that sort of a woman wouldn't have undertaken the job," the major replied. "slow, john; but i guess you're right." "i think so. women may be persistent, but they are generally quick to recognize the impossible." "easy. but again i guess you're right. i gad, when the teachings of a man's mother leave him unfinished there isn't a great deal of encouragement for the wife. a man looks upon his wife as a part of himself, and a man will lie even to himself, john." "by the way," the major asked, sitting down, "have you seen that fellow mayo since he came back?" "yes; i met him in the road once, but had no words with him." "it would hardly do for me to have words with him," the major replied; and after a moment of musing he added: "i understand that he's organizing the negroes, and that's the first step toward trouble. the negro has learned to withdraw his faith from the politician, but labor organization is a new thing to him, and he will believe in it until the bubble bursts. that fellow is a shrewd scoundrel and there's no telling what harm he may not project." "then why not hang him before he has time to launch his trouble? there's always a way to keep the cat from scratching you. shoot the cat." "no," said the major, "that won't do. it would put us at a disadvantage." "yes; but i gad, our disadvantage wouldn't be as great as his. nobody would be willing to swap places with a man that's hanged." "that's all very well, but we would be the aggressors, and distant eyes would look upon him as a martyr." "yes, i know; but isn't it better to have one man looked on as a martyr than to have a whole community bathed in blood?" "it might be better for us, but not for our children. a blood-bath may be forgotten, but martyrdom lives in the minds of succeeding generations." "john, there spoke the man of business. you are always looking out for the future. i have agreed with myself to make the most of the present, and so far as the future is concerned, it will have to look out for itself--it always has. was there ever a future that was not prepared to take care of itself? and is there a past that can be helped? then let us fasten our minds to the present. let me see. i wonder if we couldn't train a steer to gore that fellow to death. and i gad, that would do away with all possibility of martyrdom. what do you say?" "nothing more on that subject; but i can say something concerning another matter, and it will interest you more than the martyrdom of all history." "then out with it. i demand to be interested. but don't trifle with me, john. remember that an old man's hide is thin." "i'll not trifle with you; i'll startle you. sixty years ago, the grandfather of admiral semmes made whisky in the tennessee mountains." "but, john, that was a long time ago, and the old man is dead, and here we are alive. but he made whisky sixty years ago. what about it?" "the brother of the admiral lives in memphis," the major continued, "and the other day he sent me a bottle of that whisky, run through a log before you were born." gid's mouth flew open and his eyes stuck out. "john," he said, and the restraint he put upon his voice rippled it, "john, don't tamper with the affections of an old and infirm man. drive me off the bayou plantation, compel me to acknowledge and to feel that i am a hypercrite and a liar, but don't whet a sentiment and then cut my throat with it. be merciful unto a sinner who worships the past." he sat there looking upward, a figure of distress, fearing the arrival of despair. the major laughed at him. "don't knock me down with a stick of spice-wood, john." the major went to a sideboard, took therefrom a quaint bottle and two thin glasses, and placing them upon a round table, bowed to the bottle and said: "dew of an ancient mountain, your servant, sir." and old gid, with his mouth solemnly set, but with his eyes still bulging, arose, folded his arms, bowed with deep reverence, and thus paid his respects: "sunshine, gathered from the slopes of long ago, your slave." mrs. cranceford stepped in to look for something, and the play improvised by these two old boys was broken short off. the major sat down, but gid edged up nearer the table as if preparing to snatch the bottle. upon the odd-shaped flask she cast a look of passing interest, and speaking to the major she said: "oh, that's the whisky you got from memphis. don't drink it all, please. i want to fill up the camphor bottle----" gid sat down with a jolt that jarred the windows, and she looked at him in alarm, fearing at the instant that death must have aimed a blow at him. "camphor bottle!" he gasped. "merciful heavens, ma'am,' fill up your camphor bottle with my heart's blood!" at this distress the major laughed, though more in sympathy than in mirth; and mrs. cranceford simply smiled as if with loathness she recognized that there was cause for merriment, but when she had quitted the room and gone to her own apartment, she sat down, and with the picture in her mind, laughed in mischievous delight. "help yourself," said the major. gid had spread his hands over the whisky as if to warm them in this liquidized soul of the past. "pour it out for me, john. and i will turn my back so as not to see how much you pour." "go ahead," the major insisted. "but i am shaken with that suggested profanation, that camphor bottle, and i'm afraid that i might spill a drop. but wait. i am also bold and will attempt it. gods, look at that--a shredded sunbeam." "don't be afraid of it." "i was waiting for you to say that, john. but it is reverence, and not fear. that i should have lived to see this day is a miracle. shall i pour yours? there you are." they stood facing each other. with one hand gid held high his glass, and with the other hand he pressed his heart. their glasses clinked, and then they touched the liquor with their lips, sipped it, and gid stretched his neck like a chicken. to have spoken, to have smacked his mouth, would have been profane. there is true reverence in nothing save silence, and in silence they stood. gid was the first to speak, not that he had less reverence, but that he had more to say and felt, therefore, that he must begin earlier. "like the old man of israel, i am now ready to die," he said, as he put down his glass. "not until you have had another drink," suggested the major. "a further evidence, john, of your cool judgment. you are a remarkable man. most anyone can support a sorrow, but you can restrain a joy, and in that is shown man's completest victory over self. no, i am not quite ready to die. but i believe that if a drop of this liquor, this saint-essence, had been poured into a camphor bottle, i should have dropped dead, that's all, and peter himself would have complimented me upon the exquisite sensitiveness of my organization. pour me just about two fingers--or three. that's it. if the commander of the alabama had taken a few drinks of his grandfather's nectar, the confederacy would have wanted a blockade runner." "you don't mean to say that it would have softened his nerve, do you?" "oh, no; but his heart, attuned to sweet melody, would have turned from frowning guns to a beautiful nook in some river's bend, there to sing among flowers dripping with honey-dew. i gad, this would make an old man young before it could make him drunk." the major brought two pipes and an earthen jar of tobacco; and with the smoke came musings and with the liquor came fanciful conceits. to them it was a pride that they could drink without drunkenness; in moderation was a continuous pleasure. when gid arose to go, he took an oath that never had he passed so delightful a time. the major pressed him to stay to supper. "oh, no, john," he replied; "supper would spoil my spiritual flow. and besides, i am expecting visitors to-night." he hummed a tune as he cantered down the road; and the major in his library hummed the same tune as he stretched out his feet to the fire. as gid was passing the house of wash sanders, the endless invalid came out upon the porch and called him: "won't you 'light?" "no, don't believe i've got time," gid answered, slacking the pace of his horse. "how are you getting along?" "not at all. got no relish for victuals. don't eat enough to keep a chicken alive. can't stand it much longer." "want to bet on it?" gid cried. "what's that?" "i say i'm sorry to hear it." "glad to know that somebody sympathizes with me. well, drop in some time and we'll take a chaw of tobacco and spit the fire out." nothing could have been more expressive of a welcome to wash's house. to invite a man to sit until the fire was extinguished with the overflow of the quid was with him the topknot of courtesy. "all right," gid shouted back; and then to himself he said: "if i was sure that a drink of that old whisky would thrill him to death i'd steal it for him, but i'd have to be sure; i'd take no chances." a horse came galloping up behind him. dusk was falling and the old man did not at once recognize mayo, the labor organizer of the negroes. but he knew the voice when the fellow spoke: "what's the weather about to do?" "about to quit, i reckon," gid answered. "quit what?" "quit whatever it's doing." "pretty smart as you go along, ain't you?" "yes, and when i stop, too." "strains you to answer a civil question, i see." the old man turned in his saddle and jogged along facing the fellow, and some distance was covered before either of them spoke. "are you trying to raise a row with me?" gid asked. "i want to know for if you are i can save you a good deal of time and trouble." "sort of a time-saver," said mayo. "yes, when i'm not a recruiter for eternity." "i don't believe i follow you." "wish you would, or ride on ahead. now look here," he added, "i just about know you when i see you, and as i don't make friends half as fast as i do enemies--in other words, as i am able to grasp a man's bad points quicker than i can catch his good ones--i would advise you not to experiment with me. you haven't come back here for the benefit of the community, and if we were not the most easy-going people in the world, we'd hang you and then speculate leisurely as to what might have been your aim in coming here." mayo grunted. he was a tall, big, stoop-shouldered fellow. he rode with his knees drawn up. he had a sort of "ducking" head, and his chin was long and pointed. he grunted and replied: "i guess this is a free country or at least it ought to be." "yes," gid rejoined, still facing him, "but it won't be altogether free for such as you until the penitentiaries are abolished." "oh, i understand you, mr. batts. you are trying to work up a chance to kill me." "good guess; and you are trying to help me along." "but i want to tell you that if you were to kill me you wouldn't live to tell the tale. i don't want any trouble with you. i'm not here to have trouble unless it's shoved on me. i am going to do one thing, however, trouble or no trouble; i am going to demand that the colored people shall have their rights." "and at the same time i suppose you are going to demand that the white man shall not have his." "no, won't demand that he shan't have his rights, but that he shan't have his way." "not have his way with his own affairs? good. and now let me tell you something. want to hear it?" "i'm not aching to hear it." "well, i'll give it to you anyway. it's this: the first thing you know a committee of gentlemen will call on you and offer you the opportunity to make a few remarks, and after you have made them you will thereafter decline all invitations to speak. at the end of a rope the most talkative man finds a thousand years of silence. long time for a man to hush, eh? well, our roads split here." "how do you know?" "because i turn to the right." "but may be my business calls me over that way." "don't know about that, but i'm going to turn into this lane and i don't want you to come with me. do you hear?" mayo did not answer. gid turned into a road leading to the right, and looking back he saw that mayo was riding straight ahead. "at any rate he ain't afraid to say what he thinks," the old man mused. "got more nerve than i thought he had, and although it may make him more dangerous, yet it entitles him to more respect." his horse's hoof struck into a patch of leaves, heaped beneath a cottonwood, and from the rustling his ears, warmed by the old liquor, caught the first bars of a tune he had known in his youth; and lifting high his voice he sang it over and over again. he passed a negro cabin whence often had proceeded at night the penetrating cry of a fiddle, and it was night now but no fiddle sent forth its whine. a dog shoved open the door, and by the fire light within the old man saw a negro sitting with a gun across his lap, and beside him stood two boys, looking with rapture upon their father's weapon. throughout the neighborhood had spread a report that the negroes were meeting at night to drill, and this glance through a door gave life to what had been a shadow. he rode on, and his horse's hoof struck into another patch of leaves, but no tune arose from the rustle. the old man was thinking. in a field of furrowed clouds the moon was struggling, and down the sandy road fell light and darkness in alternating patches. far away he saw a figure stepping from light into darkness and back again into light. into the deep shadow of a vine-entangled tree he turned his horse, and here he waited until he heard footsteps crunching in the sand, until he saw a man in the light that lay for a moment in the road, and then he cried: "hello, there, jim taylor!" "is that you, uncle gideon?" "yes, gideon's band of one. come over here a moment." "i will as soon as i can find you. what are you doing hiding out in the dark? the grand jury ain't in session." "no, i gad, but something else is," he replied. jim came forward and put his hand on the horn of the old man's saddle, which as an expert he did in spite of the shying of the horse; and then he asked: "well, what is it, uncle gideon?" "you've heard the rumor that the negroes are drilling at night." "yes, what of it?" "it's a fact, that's what there is of it. just now i rode quite a ways with mayo and he was inclined to be pretty sassy; and right back there i looked into gabe little's cabin and saw him with a gun across his lap." "well, what of that? haven't the negroes had guns ever since the war, and hasn't a man got the right to sit with his gun across his lap? uncle gideon, i'm afraid you've been putting too much new wine into an old bottle." "soft, jimmie; it was old liquor, sixty years at least. but i gad, it strikes me that you are pretty glib to-night. you must have heard something." "no, not since mrs. cranceford got the letter, but that was enough to last me a good while." "didn't hear about my bereavement, did you?" "what, you bereaved, uncle gideon? how did it happen?" "at the imperious beck and call of nature, jimmie. my uncle died and inflicted on me money enough to make a pretense of paying my debts, and i've made such a stagger that even mrs. cranceford has admitted me into the out-lying districts of her good opinion. but that's got nothing to do with the business in hand. let's go back yonder and find out why that negro sits there suckling his gun to sleep." "but if he suckles it to sleep there's no harm in it, uncle gideon." "ah, clod-head, but it may have bad dreams and wake up with a cry. let's go back there." "are you in earnest?" "as earnest as a last will and testament." "then let me tell you that i'll do nothing of the sort. you don't catch me prowling about a man's house at night, and you wouldn't think of such a thing if you were strictly sober." "jimmie, you never saw me drunk." "no, but i've seen you soberer that you are now." "an unworthy insinuation, jimmie. but having great respect for your plodding judgment, i will not go to the negro's cabin, but will proceed rather to my own shanty. and i want you to come with me. tom cranceford and sallie pruitt will be there and in the shine of the fire we'll cut many a scollop. what do you say?" "uncle gideon, don't you know how strongly opposed mrs. cranceford is to tom's----" "bah, law-abiding calf. they are going to marry anyway, so what's the difference? jimmie, the most useless man in the world is the fellow that keeps just within the law. but perhaps it isn't your law-abiding spirit so much as it is your fear. in blind and stupid obedience there is a certain sort of gallantry, and in trotting to mrs. cranceford's cluck you may be wise." "it's not that i'm afraid of offending her," the giant said. "the girl is too good for tom any day, or for any of us when it comes to that, but the distress of his mother haunts me, and i don't want that girl's affection for tom to haunt me too. i don't want to see them together if i can help it. one haunt at a time is enough. but i tell you this, if it should come to a question i would decide in favor of the girl." "jimmie, you are improving. yes, i am doing you great good. i found your mind an insipid dish and i have sprinkled it with salt and pepper. you are right. always decide in favor of the young, for the old have already had their disappointments. well, i'll go. lift your paw. my horse can't move out from under its weight." "all right," said the giant, laughing and stepping back. "by the way," he added, "tell tom to be sure and meet me at the landing at two o'clock to-morrow. we are going down to new orleans." "what, alone? i ought to go along to take care of you. i could steer you away from all the bad places and by this means you would naturally stumble on the good ones. i'll see you when you get back." at home the old man had lighted his fire and was listening to its cheerful crackle when his visitors came, laughing. with a boisterous shout tom kicked the door open, and when the girl remonstrated with him, he grabbed her and kissed her. "that's all right," old gid cried. "one of these days the penitentiary doors will open for you without being kicked in. ah, delightful to see you, my dear," he said, bowing to the girl; "refreshing to see you, although you come with a scamp. sit down over there. i gad, you are a bit of sunshine that has lost its way in the night." about her head she had wound a scarf of red yarn, and as she stood taking it off, with the fire-light dancing among the kinks of her flax-like hair, the old man stepped forward to help her. "hands off," said tom. "don't touch her." "wolfish protector of a lamb," the old man replied, "i ought to throw you out; but it is not my mission to cast out devils." the girl sat down on a bench and tom took a seat beside her; and with many a giggle and a "quit that, now," they picked at each other. old gid, in his splint-bottomed chair, leaned back against the wall and feasted his eyes upon their antics. "kittens," said he, "i will get you a string and a button. ah, lord, i was once a delicious idiot." "and you've simply lost your deliciousness," tom replied. "ah, and in its place took up age. but with it came wisdom, thomas." "but didn't it come too late?" "the wise utterance of a foolish youth," said the old man. "yes, thomas, it came too late. wisdom is not of much use to an old codger. he can't profit by it himself and nobody wants his advice. did i ever tell you about the girl i loved? ah, she was glorious. june was in her mouth and october fell out of her hair." "and you didn't marry her because she was poor, eh?" "no, but because she was rich, jimmie. she wanted me not; and she married a wealthy fool and the imbecile made her happy. i could almost forgive her for not loving me, for i was a mate on a steamboat, but to let that fool make her happy--it was too much and i cast her out of my mind. but when is your wedding to take place? in the sweet light of a distant moon or within the sunshine of a few days?" "hanged if i know." "tom!" cried the girl, putting her hands over his mouth, "that's no way to talk." "i said it to make you do that," he replied, his voice latticed by her fingers and sounding afar off. he took her hands and pressed them to his cheek. "a pretty picture, and i'll long remember you as you now sit on that bench," said the old man. "sallie, how old are you?" he asked. "i don't know, sir. pap and mother couldn't put it down 'cause they didn't know how to figger, and when i got so i could figger a little they had dun forgot the year and the day of the month. most of the time when i'm by myself i feel old enough, but sometimes uncle wash calls me foolish and then i'm awful young. but aunt martha never calls me foolish 'cause i help her in the kitchen." there came a scratching at the threshold. the old man got out of his tilted chair and opened the door, and a dog, prancing in, lay down in front of the fire, with his nose between his outstretched paws. "what a pretty dog," said the girl, and with a look out of one eye and with a slight wag of the tail the dog acknowledged the compliment. "oh, he's gallant," gid replied, sitting down. "and he knows when a truth has been told about him." "no good at hunting, is he?" tom asked. "he is not a sportsman," gid answered. "he pays his keep with companionship. i sit here and read him to sleep nearly every night. he tries to keep awake, but he can't. but as long as i read a lively book he'll lie there and look up at me as if he enjoys it, and i believe he does, but 'benton's thirty years in the american senate' will knock him most any time. and old whateley's logic makes him mighty drowsy. i reckon you cubs have been to supper. if you haven't you may make yourselves at home and cook something. old aunt liza cooks for me, out there in the other room, but she's generally away in the service of her church and then i have to shift for myself." "we've been to supper," the girl spoke up, "but if you want something to eat i'll cook it." "bless your life, not a bite," the old man protested. "to eat now would canker a memory. i took sacrament over at the major's. now, i'm going to lean back here and i may talk or i may drop off to sleep, and in either event just let me go. but if i doze off don't wake me, not even when you get ready to leave. just pull the door to and that's all." "ain't you afraid to sleep here all by yourself?" the girl asked. "i'd be afraid somebody'd slip in and grab me." "i could scarcely blame any one for grabbing you, my dear," the old man replied, smiling upon her, "but as for myself, the grabber would get the worst of it." a long time they sat and talked of neighborhood happenings, the death of a burly man who it was never supposed could die before wash sanders was laid away; they talked of the growing dissatisfaction among the negroes, of the church built by father brennon, of the trip to be taken to new orleans by jim and tom. the fire-light died down. a chunk fell and the dog jumped up with a sniff and a sneeze. old gideon took no notice, for leaning back against the wall he was softly snoring. "let us leave him just as he is," said tom. "but it looks cruel," the girl replied. "he suffers from sleeplessness; to wake him would be more cruel. let's do as he told us." the girl put the bench out of the way, that he might not fall over it in the dark; and out of the room they tip-toed and silently they closed the door. by the hand he led her to the road, and with a coo and a song they strolled homeward. the clouds were scattered and acres of light lay on the cleared land; but the woods were dark and the shadows were black, and he walked with his arm about her. they heard the galloping of a horse and stepped aside to let the rider pass, and when he had passed, with his head in the moonlight and his horse in the dark, the young man said: "i know that fellow." "why didn't you speak to him?" she asked. "because it wouldn't do for me to have any words with him. he's the man that's trying to organize the negroes." he left her at wash sanders' gate; he heard her feet upon the steps, and looking back he caught the kiss she threw at him. chapter xix. a steamboat ride to new orleans will never lose its novelty. romance lies along the lower river. the land falls away and we look down upon fields bounded by distant mist, and beyond that dim line one's fancy gallops riotously. not alone the passenger, but the seasoned captain of the boat stands musing and motionless, gazing upon the scene. in his mind he could carry the form and the rugged grandeur of a mountain; upon a crag he could hang his recollection, but this flat endlessness is ever an unencompassed mystery. the wind from the gulf was soft, and the two friends stood on the hurricane-deck, charmed with a familiar view. "it is just as new to me now as it was when i was a boy, coming along here with my father," said the giant. "and yet i don't see what makes it interesting, no woods, nothing but a house here and there." "it always makes me think i'm going over the flat side of the globe, and i catch myself wondering what's just beyond," tom replied. "there's the city 'way round yonder. how long do you want to stay?" "i don't know exactly." "got any particular business down here?" "no," he said, hesitatingly. "none that i know of." "just pleasure, is it?" "well, i reckon we might call it that." "might call it that? but i know why i'm here. i've come because you wanted me to. there is nothing going on that i care to see. what is it you're after?" "oh, just want to look around a little." "all right, old fellow, i'm with you, but as soon as you get tired of looking around i wish you'd let me know. it seems to me that i've been gone a month already. you know why." "yes, i know; but you've got a consolation that i never had--you know what to expect when you get back." "yes, that's true, and may be you'll know what to expect one of these days." from the museful distance the giant removed his gaze and upon the boy at his side he bent a kindly look. "i have been reading a good deal of late," he said, "and old gid has told me that i am improving, but i have found no book to speak a word of comfort to me. i took the heartache away back yonder--but we won't talk about it. we'll poke around down here a day or two and then go home." "but hang it, i thought you came to enjoy yourself and not to conjure up things to make you sad." "you are right, and you shan't hear any more sad talk out of me." it was early in the forenoon when they stepped ashore and stood upon the old levee. the splendid life of the mississippi steamboat is fading, but here the glow lingers, the twilight at the close of a fervid day. no longer are seen the gilded names of famous competitors, "the lee," "the natchez," but unheralded boats are numerous, and the deck-hands' chorus comes with a swell over the water, and the wharf is a jungle of trade. in the french market they drank black coffee, listening to the strange chatter about them, and then aimlessly they strolled away. "what's your programme?" the boy asked. "haven't any." "do you want to call on any of the cotton buyers?" "no, don't care to see them." "all right; i'll walk until you say quit." and thus they passed the day, with strolling about, halting to look at an old tiled roof, a broken iron gate, a wrought iron balcony, a snail-covered garden wall; and when evening was come they went to a hotel to rest; but no sooner had night fallen than they went out again to resume their walk. "look here," said tom, beginning to lag, "i don't want to kick, but i'd just like to know why i am fool enough to walk all day like a mule on a tread-mill?" "you said you'd walk with me." "said i would! haven't i?" "yes," the giant drawled, "in a manner." "if i haven't walked i don't know what you call walking. you have made a machine of me, a corn-planter. would you mind telling me where we are going now?" "i confess i don't know," the giant answered. "then let us look around and find out. right now i'd rather be in old gid's house, sitting with somebody on a bench--and i'm going back to-morrow. what fun is there in poking about this way like a couple of gawks? you even pull me away from the supper table to tramp up and down these streets. hang it, i don't want to see people. every face i see is----" "a disappointment," said the giant. "then why do you take the crowded side of the street? let's go in here and sit down a moment." they had halted in front of a music hall. from within proceeded the husky song of a worn-out negro minstrel. "you may go in but i'll walk on," jim replied. "it's nothing but a dive. i'll go on down to the corner and wait for you. don't stay long." jim strode away and tom went into the beer hall. at the far end was a stage, and on it stood the minstrel, dimmed by intervening tobacco smoke. the floor was covered with damp saw-dust. the place was thronged with a motley crowd, sailors, gamblers, with here and there a sprinkle of wayward respectability. painted girls attended the tables and everywhere was the slopping of beer and the stench of the cigarette. tom was about to turn away when the sight of a company gathered about a table halted him; and through the smoke his vision leaped and rested upon--louise. there was a rush, an over-turning of a table, the toppling over of a tipsy man, and tom stood confronting her. in a loud voice he cried: "what the devil are you doing here?" she got up and held out her hand, but resentment entered her mind and she drew it back. "what are _you_ doing here?" she replied. "i've as much right here as you have." "i'll show you about that!" he roared, his anger lifting his voice high above the grumble and the sharp clack of the place. "i'll drag you out!" beside her sat a solemnly-respectable man, and up he got and quietly said: "your language is most insulting, sir." tom did not wait to weigh the remark; indeed he did not hear it, for like a bull-dog in a fury he lunged at the quiet man's throat, laid hold of his collar, shoved him off to arm's length, and struck him, but the blow glanced and the man jerked away. and then amid loud cries, the over-turning of tables and the smashing of glasses, the furious youngster felt himself seized by many hands. but he was a tiger and they could not bear him to the floor. he broke loose and sprawled one man upon the saw-dust. others rushed upon him and again he was in a tangle and a tug, but he tore himself from their hands, got a square blow at the proprietor of the house and knocked him senseless. for a moment he was free, and this moment was not left unimproved. from an upturned table he wrenched a leg, and swinging it above his head he cleared his way to a side door, and snatching it open, he sprung out into a small court, just as the police were entering at the front of the house. in the court a dim light was burning; at the end, but a few yards away, was a rusty iron gate, and whether or not it was locked he never knew, for throwing down his weapon he laid hold of a bar and with a jerk he tore the gate from its rust-eaten hinges, threw it against a wall and was out in the street. now he ran, through an open space, into another street, and then he walked, panting, looking back. it must have been difficult to explain the cause of the disturbance for the police had not followed him. he halted under a lamp hung above a narrow doorway. his hat was gone, his coat was torn, and the bosom of his shirt was in shreds. the short street was deserted, but he fancied that he heard footsteps, and quickly he walked to a corner, and turning, saw jim standing under a lamp-post not far away. the giant was not looking toward him, and not hearing his easy approach, did not turn his head until tom was almost within the shade-rim of the lamp. "why, what the deuce have you been doing?" the giant cried, reaching him at a stride. "you look like a drowned rat, and your neck is clawed. what have you been doing?" "row," the boy panted. "in that place? come back and we'll clean it out. come on." "no," said tom, "let's get away from here. i've got something to tell you. let's circle round here somewhere and get a hat. i'll tell you when we get back to the hotel, and you won't care to walk any more to-night after i've told you." jim might have been burning to know more, but he said nothing, for dogged patience was a part of his heroism. he took the boy's arm and led him away, to a place where a hat was bought, and thence to the hotel; and not until they were shut in a room did tom attempt to tell his story. and it was even then some minutes before he could proceed. his anger was gone and sorrow was upon him. several times he choked. and then he told his story. with hard steps the giant walked about the room, saying not a word; but he drooped as he halted at the window, as he stood looking out upon the glimmering lights, far below. "you said i wouldn't want to walk to-night, but i must," he spoke, and his voice had a smothered sound. "i am going out to look for her. and now you know why i have been walking all day, gazing at the faces in the crowd." he had turned from the glimmering lights and was looking at tom. "i traced that letter she wrote, and in my mind i settled that it must have come from this place. but i didn't tell your mother what i suspected; i kept it to myself." "if you go out again i'll go with you, jim." "no, i insist upon going alone." he went out; and when he returned, just before the dawn, he found the boy asleep on a chair. he took him up, put him upon a bed and sat himself down at a window; and when tom awoke, along toward ten o'clock, the giant was still sitting there. "jim." "well." "how long have you been in?" "don't know." "you didn't--didn't find her?" "no. i went to the place where you had the fight--wish to the lord i had been with you--but of course couldn't learn anything. i was--was afraid to ask about her. but i tramped around all night, and i went into all sorts of places, looking for her, and all the time afraid that i might find her. god, what am i talking about! afraid of finding her! why, she couldn't be in a place where--where she oughtn't to be." "but she was!" the boy cried, bounding out upon the floor. "she was and--great god, i can hardly believe it, i don't realize it! i have been so swallowed up that i haven't thought about her much lately--she's crazy, jim. oh, she must be. she was the purest-minded girl----" the giant stopped him with an uplifting of his ponderous hand. "don't say any more. don't say she _was_ pure-minded. she _is_ pure-minded. i will find her and she shall tell me----" "she can't tell you anything to clear herself, jim. she's lost--she's crazy." "she's an angel," said the giant. "my dear jim, she's my sister and i loved her, but angels can't go----" "don't say it." "i won't, but don't you be foolish. truth is truth, and we have to look at it whether we want to or not." he walked up and down the room. "who would have thought that such a thing could happen?" he went on. "it's a dream. but why did she leave home when she knew how much we all loved her? what made her run away from you when she knew how you loved her? jim, i'm going home to-day. are you coming with me?" "no, i'm going to stay here and look for her." "and when you have found her she'll treat you as she did me. she'll say she has as much right there as you have. i don't believe it's any use. better come home with me." "no, i'm going to look for her, and if she'll marry me i'll bring her home." "jim, she is my sister, but--i won't say it. i love her, but i would rather have seen her dead than where i saw her last night. i'm going home." "wait a moment." for a time he pondered and then he said: "you may tell your mother, but don't tell the major." "but why should it be kept from him? he ought to know it. we'll have to tell him some time." "some time, may be, but not now, and don't you even hint it to him, and don't you tell sallie. don't tell any one but your mother. do you hear?" "yes, and i reckon you're right. i'll do as you tell me. well, it's time and i'm going." jim went with him to the levee, saw him on a boat and then resumed his search throughout the town. but he asked no questions; and three days later when he went aboard the home-bound boat, he knew no more than he had known the night when the boy had told his story. chapter xx. the night was rainy and a fierce wind was blowing. the major and his wife were by the fire in the sitting-room, when there came a heavy tread upon the porch, but the knock that fell upon the door was gentle. they knew who had come, and the door was opened for jim taylor. quietly he responded to their greeting, and with both hands he took off his slouch hat, went to the fireplace and over the blaze shook it. "put myself in mind of a wet dog," he said. "didn't think to shake outside. how are you all getting along?" he was looking at mrs. cranceford, but the major answered him. "in the same old way. tilt that cat out of the rocking-chair and sit down." "have you heard of the death of mrs. wash sanders?" mrs. cranceford asked, fearing that the major might get ahead of her with this piece of news, but all along determined that he should not. "no, i haven't," he said; but his want of surprise was not satisfying, and mrs. cranceford said: "i mean mrs. wash sanders." "yes, i know; but this is the first i've heard of it. i came from the boat right up here. so the poor woman's dead? she never knew anything but hard work. how long was she sick? shouldn't think she could take the time to be sick long, poor soul." "she was not in bed more than two days. it was awful, the way she suffered. and all the time wash was whining that he couldn't eat anything, as if anybody cared. i never was so provoked at a man in my life. i'd like to know who cares whether he eats another bite or not. actually, i believe he thought the neighbors had come to sympathize with him instead of to nurse his wife. and when she was dead he went about blubbering that he couldn't live but a few days." "he'll outlive us all," said the major. "he told us yesterday that he was threatened with convulsions, and gid swore that a convulsion was about the last thing he ought to fear, that he was too lazy to entertain such an exertion." in this talk jim felt not even the slightest interest. he wanted to talk about louise. but not in mrs. cranceford's manner nor in her eyes when she looked straight at him was there a hint that tom had told her that the girl had been seen. perhaps the boy had decided to elect him to this unenviable office. the major asked him about his trip, but he answered as if he cared not what he said; but when shortly afterward the major went out, taylor's unconcern fell from him and he stood up and in tremulous anxiousness looked at mrs. cranceford, expecting her to say something. surely tom had told her nothing, for she quietly smiled at him as he stood there, awkwardly and distressfully fumbling with himself. "i have a letter from her," she said. taylor sat down hard. "a letter from her!" "yes; received it this morning." "but has tom told you anything?" "yes; everything." "and she has written to you since then?" "yes; i will show you." on a corner of the mantel-piece was a work-box, and unlocking it, she took out a letter and handed it to him. "read it," she said, "and if you hear the major coming, put it away. some references in it would have to be explained, and so i have decided not to let him see it." he took the letter, and standing where the light from the hanging lamp fell brightest, read the following: "my dear mother:--by this time tom must have told you of our meeting. and what a meeting it was. he was worse than an orang-outang, but i must say that i admire his courage, and i struggled to help him when he was in the thick of his fight, but my friends tore me away, realizing that flight was our only redemption. of course you will wonder why i was in such a place, and i don't know that i can explain in a satisfactory manner to you, and surely not to father. i would have introduced tom to my friends had he given me time, but it appears that he was in too much of a hurry to attend upon the demands of politeness. fight was boiling in his blood and it had to bubble out. mother, i was with a slumming party. do you know what a slumming party is? it is a number of respectable people whom curiosity leads into the resorts of crime and vice. society thinks that it makes one wiser, and that to know the aspect of depravity does not make one less innocent. but i know that you will not approve of a slumming party, and i cannot say that i do. the rev. h. markham, whose sermons you must have read, was with me. as the champion of virtue he has planned and executed an invasion of the haunts of iniquity, and his weekly discourses here are very popular, particularly with women. well, he was sitting beside me, and i have since thought that it must have been a great shock to his dignity when tom struck him; but his greatest solicitude was the fear that the occurrence might be spread by the newspapers, and to keep it out was his first care. that night on business i left the city, and i write this in a quiet, arcadian neighborhood. it is with pleasure that i feel myself a success in the work which i have chosen. what work? you naturally ask. but that is my secret, and i must hold it just a little longer." here several lines were erased and a fresh start taken. "i have longed to look upon the dear faces at home; but mingled with my love is a pride. i am determined to make something of myself. simply to be an honest, patient, upright woman, in love with her home, is no longer enough. life demands more than this, or at least woman demands it of life. and to be somebody calls for sacrifice as well as ability and determination. absence from home is my sacrifice, and what my effort is you shall know in due time. it will surprise you, and in this to me will lie a delight. my associates tell me that i am different from anyone else, but this difference they put down as an individuality, and success in my field is won only by the individual. within two weeks from this day i shall be with you, and then my little ant-hill of mystery will be torn to pieces. i am going to show you all how i love you; i am going to prove to you that what has appeared odd and unlady-like were but leadings to my development." more lines were erased, and then the letter thus proceeded: "for some time i have had it in mind to make sallie pruitt a present, but as i have no idea as to what she might like best, i enclose twenty dollars, which you will please give to her. do you see my hero often? i think of him, dream of him, and my heart will never know a perfect home until his love has built a mansion for it." the letter was fluttering in the giant's hand. "who--who--what does she mean?" "she means you, stupid!" mrs. cranceford cried. he looked up, dazed; he put out his hand, he grabbed his hat, he snatched the door open and was out in the wind and the rain. chapter xxi. with rain-soaked sand the road was heavy, and to walk was to struggle, but not so to the giant treading his way homeward. coming, he had felt the opposition of the wind, the rain and the mushy sand, but returning he found neither in the wind nor in the sand a foe to progress. his heart was leaping, and with it his feet were keeping pace. in his hand he held the letter; and feeling it begin to cool in his grasp, he realized that the rain was beating upon it; so, holding in common with all patient men the instincts of a woman, he put the wet paper in his bosom and tightly buttoned his coat about it. suddenly he halted; the pitiful howling of a dog smote his ear. at the edge of a small field lying close to the road was a negro's cabin, and from that quarter came the dog's distressful outcry. jim stepped up to the fence and listened for any human-made noise that might proceed from the cabin, but there came none--the place was dark and deserted. "they have gone away and left him shut up somewhere," he mused, as he began to climb the fence. the top rail broke under his weight, and his mind flew back to the day when he had seen louise in the road, confronted by the burly leader of a sheepfold, for then with climbing a fence he had broken the top rail. he found the dog shut in a corn-crib, and the door was locked. but with a jerk he pulled out the staple, thinking not upon the infraction of breaking a lock, but glad to be of service even to a hound. "come out, old fellow," he called, and he heard the dog's tail thrashing the corn husks. "come on." the dog came to the door, licking at the hand of his rescuer; and jim was about to help him to the ground when a lantern flashed from a corner of the crib. "what are you doing here?" a voice demanded. a white man stepped forward and close behind him a negro followed. "what are you doing here?" the white man again demanded. "getting a dog out of trouble." "getting yourself into trouble, you'd better say. what right have you to poke about at night, breaking people's locks?" "none at all, i am forced to acknowledge. i hardly thought of what i was doing. my only aim was to help the dog." "that will do to tell." "yes, i think so. and by the way, what right have you to ask so many questions? you don't live here." "but he does," the white man replied, swinging his lantern toward the negro. "gabe little lives here." "that you, gabe?" taylor asked. "yas, whut de white folks has left o' me." "all right. you are well enough acquainted with me to know that i wouldn't break a lock----" "but you have, sir," the white man insisted. "not exactly; but i have drawn the staple. by the way, whose dog is this?" the dog had jumped out and was frisking about taylor's legs. "it's a setter and doesn't belong to you, gabe." "dat's fur me ter say, sah," the negro sullenly replied. "that so? well, i guess i'll keep him until i find out his owner." "that's neither here nor there!" the white man almost shouted. "the question is, what right have you got to go to a man's house at night and break his lock?" "none, i tell you; and i'm not only willing to pay all damages, but will answer to the law." "the law!" and this time he shouted. "law to protect a negro's lock? let us hear no more about the law. what we want is justice, and we're going to have it, sooner or later." "who are you, anyway?" the giant asked. "oh, yes, you are mr. mayo, i believe. well, i'll bid you good-night." "wait. you have invaded this man's premises and committed a violence." "that's a fact, and i'm sorry for it." "yes, you are now, but how will you feel about it to-morrow? you'll forget all about it, and that's the way the colored man is treated in this infernal state. no, gabe," he quickly added, taking hold of the negro's arm, "put it up. the time ain't ripe." the negro had drawn a knife, opening it with a spring, and with a loud snap he closed it. "we mustn't be the first to strike, although they break into our houses," mayo said; and then speaking to taylor he added: "you may go." the giant threw back his head and laughed. "i may go. why, if it wasn't for the fact that i'm feeling particularly happy to-night, i'd mash your mouth for that. i should think that your poor fool there would teach you better than to talk to me that way. but i'll be a better friend to you than you have taught him to be--i'll give you some very useful advice. if you should ever see me coming along the road, turn back or climb the fence, for i might not be in as good humor as i'm in now." he whistled and strode away, with the dog trotting at his heels; and by the time he gained the road the occurrence had almost wholly passed out of his mind, so fondly did his heart leap at the thought of the letter in his bosom. upon reaching a gate that opened into his meadow, he looked about and whistled for the dog, but the setter was gone. "you were howling for your master," the giant said, "and the greatest service i could do you was to let you go to him. all right, old fellow, we are both happier for having met." he went into the house, lighted his lamp, sat down, read the letter; he went out and stood under the weeping-willow. "if i am foolish," he said, "it is delicious to be a fool, and god pity the wise. but i don't know what to do with myself. yes, i do; i'll go over and see old gideon." he considered not the increasing rain, the dreariness of the road, the moanful wind in the tops of the trees; he felt that to be alone was to suppress a part of his happiness, that his light and talkative heart must seek a hearing for the babbling of its joy. so off he strode, and as he climbed over a fence, he laughingly jolted himself upon the top rail to see whether it would break. it did not, and he laughed to find a stick of old timber strong enough to support his weight. he called himself a lumbering fool and laughed again, sitting there with the rain beating upon him. a short distance down the road was a wagon-maker's shop, and against the outside wall a ladder was leaned. he thought of the ladder as he bore to the edge of the road to avoid the deep ruts cut by the cotton-wagons, and fearful that he might pass under it and thus invite ill luck, he crossed to the other side. he smiled at this weakness, instilled by the negroes, but he did not recross the road until he had passed far beyond the shop. the old black mammy was lovable and affectionate, but she intimidated man with many a superstition. chapter xxii. in old gid's house a light was burning, and as the giant drew near, he caught a fragment of a flat-boatman's song. he made no noise, but a dog inside scented his approach and announced it with a whimsical bark. gid opened the door. "why, here's jim taylor, as wet as a drowned bear. come in." sitting by the fire was the major, with his coat off and his shirt collar unbuttoned. "why, james," said he, "you are making the rounds to-night. sit down here and dry yourself. and look at you, mud up to your knees. why do you tramp about this way? why don't you ride?" "too heavy," the giant answered. "then, i gad," gid replied, dragging his bench from against the wall and sitting down upon it, "i know i'd ride. do men ride for their own comfort or for the horse's? and what difference do a few extra pounds make to a horse? why, if you were a horse somebody would ride you. you are not fat, jim; you are just big. and a horse doesn't mind a well-proportioned fellow; it's the wabbling fat man that riles him. i owned a horse once that would have been willing to go without corn a whole week for a chance to kick a fat man; and i put it down as an unreasonable cruelty until i found out that he had once belonged to a fellow that weighed three hundred pounds." "and you afterward owned him," said the major, winking at jim. "that's what i said, john." "now, gid, i don't want to appear captious, but are you sure you ever owned a horse?" "i bought that horse, john. i confess that it was with borrowed money, but under the law he was mine. ah, lord," he sighed, "self-imposed frankness will be gone when i am taken from you. and yet i get no credit." "no credit!" cried the major. "credit has kept you from starving." "tip-toe, john; my nerves are tight-strung. would have starved! a befitting reproach thrown at genius. look up there!" he shouted, waving his hand at the shelf whereon were piled his dingy books. "they never owned a horse and they lived on credit, but they kept the world from starving to death. and this reminds me that those sweet potatoes must be about done. your name is among the coals, jim; we've got enough for all hands. wish we had some milk, but i couldn't get any. dogs couldn't catch the cow. you hear of cows giving milk. mine don't--i gad, i have to grab her and take it away from her; and whenever you see milk in my house you may know it's the record of a fight and that the cow got the worst of it." jim sat striving to think of something to say. the presence of the major had imposed a change in his forecast. his meeting of mayo and the negro suddenly recurred to him, and quietly he related the adventure. but the major and gid were not quiet with hearing it. "you ought to have cut his throat!" gid exclaimed. "to-morrow get your gun and shoot him down--both of them, like dogs. who ever heard of such a thing, saying to a gentleman, 'now you may go!' i gad, i'll go with you, and we'll shoot 'em down." "no," said the major, and now with his hands behind him he was slowly pacing the floor. "that won't do." "why won't it do?" gid cried. "has the time come when a white man must stand all sorts of abuse simply because he is white? must he stand flat-footed and swallow every insult that a scoundrel is pleased to stuff into his mouth?" the major sat down. "let me remind you of something," he said. "for the average man, under ordinary circumstances, it is enough to have simple justice on his side, but on our side we must have more than justice. no people in the world were ever situated as we now are, for even by our brothers we shall be deemed wrong, no matter which way we turn." "ah," gid cried, "then what's the use of calculating our turn? if we are to be condemned anyway, what's the----" "hold on a moment," the major struck in, "and i will tell you. sentiment is against us; literature, with its roots running back into the harsh soil of politics, is against us; and----" "no measured oratory, john. get down on the ground." "wait, i tell you!" the major demanded. "i must get to it in my own way. if your advice were followed, we should never be able to elect another president. the bloody shirt would wave from every window in the north, and from the northern point of view, justly so; and reviewed even by the disinterested onlooker, we have not been wholly in the right." "the deuce we haven't!" gid shouted, his eyes bulging. "no, not wholly; we couldn't be," the major continued. "as self-respecting men, as anglo-saxons, we could not submit to the domination of former slaves. it was asking too much. we had ruled the nation, and though we were finally overpowered, we could not accept the negro as a ruler." "john, i know all that as well as you do; we have talked it many a time, but what i want to get at is this: has a man the right to resent an insult? i was never cruel to a negro. i like him in his place, like him better than i do the average white man, to tell the plain truth, for between him and me there is the tie of irresponsibility, of shiftlessness; but i don't want him to insult me; don't want to stand any more from him than i would from a white man. you spoke of not being able to elect another president. why should we put up with so much merely to say that a democrat is president? it doesn't make much difference who's president, foreign nations keep on insulting us just the same. i'd like to see a chief magistrate with nerve enough to say to the south, 'boys, go over and grab off mexico.' that's me." the major laughed. "that's me, too," he replied. "we ought to sweeten this country with cuba," said jim, with his mind on the letter in his bosom. "yes," gid replied, raising his hand, "that's what we ought to do, and----" his hand fell, and he wheeled about and seized a poker. "i'll bet a thousand dollars the potatoes are burned up," he said. "just look there," he added, raking out the charred remains of what was to be a feast. "that's the way it goes. the devil titters when men argue. well, it can't be helped," he went on. "i did my part. if we had settled upon killing that fellow mayo, everything would have been all right. he has not only insulted us but has robbed us as well." "to tell you the truth," said the major, "i'm glad i'm relieved of the trouble of eating." "john, don't say that, for when a southern man loses his appetite for roasted sweet potatoes, he's a degenerate." the major was about to say something, but looking at his watch he jumped up. "gracious, gid, you not only kill your own time but murder mine. it's nearly two o'clock." "sit down, john. don't be snatched." "snatched! wind-bag, you counsel me to blow my life away. hold your lamp out here so that i can see to get on my horse." when gid returned from the passage wherein he had stood to shelter the light, he found jim on the bench, with no apparent intention of taking his leave; and this he construed to mean that the giant had something on his mind. "out with it, jimmie," he said, as he put the lamp upon the mantel-piece. "i'll sit down here as if it was only early candle-lighting, and let you tell me all about it." "how do you know i've got anything to say, uncle gideon?" "how do i know when a dog itches? i see him scratch. you have been sitting there in an itching silence and now you begin to scratch. you are more patient than a dog, for you don't scratch until you have itched for some time. let the fur fly, jimmie." jim laughed, raised his leg and clasped his hands over his knee. "uncle gideon, i reckon i'm the happiest man in cranceford county." the old man sat leaning back against the wall. his coat was off and under his suspenders he had hooked his thumbs. "go on, jimmie; i'm listening." "she has written another letter--did tom tell you anything?" he broke off. "did tom ever tell me anything? did tom ever tell anybody anything? did he ever know anything to tell?" "she has written another letter and in it she confesses--i don't know how to say it, uncle gideon." "well, tell me and i'll say it for you. confesses that she can be happy with no one but you. go on." "who told you? did mrs. cranceford?" "my dear boy, did mrs. cranceford ever tell me anything except to keep off the grass? nobody has told me anything. confesses that you are the only man that can make her happy. now shoot your dye-stuff." "but that's all there is. she says that her heart will never have a home until my love builds a mansion for it." "jimmie, if the highest market price for a fool was one hundred dollars, you'd fetch two hundred." "why? because i believe her when she talks that way--when she gives me to understand that she loves me?" "no; but because you didn't believe all along that she loved you." "how could i when she refused to marry me and married another man?" "that marriage is explained. you've seen the letter she wrote the night before she went away, haven't you?" "yes, her mother showed it to me." "i didn't read it," said gid, "but the major gave me the points, and i know that she married that fellow believing that she was saving his soul." "yes, i read that," said jim, "but i didn't know whether she meant it or not. i reckon i was afraid to believe it." "well, i know it to be a fact--know it because i know her nature. she's just crank enough----" "don't say that," jim protested, unclasping his hands from his knee and straightening up. "don't call her a crank when she's an angel." "that's all right, my dear boy, but heaven is full of the right sort of cranks. who serves god deeper than the religious crank, and if he's not to be rewarded, who is? by crank i don't mean a weak-minded person; i come nearer meaning a genius." "i reckon you mean all right," the giant agreed; and after pondering in silence he asked: "do you reckon she would marry me?" "i know it. and why not? you are a gentleman and a devilish good-looking fellow. why, any woman interested in a fine stock show would be proud of you." at this the giant rubbed his hands together and softly chuckled; but sobering, he said that he could never hope to equal her in thought and quickness of expression, though by reading he would make an effort to attain that end. "don't worry about that, jimmie; and don't you fool yourself that books are everything. they smooth knots, but they don't make timber. oh, you are smart enough--for a woman." "i'm not an idiot," said the giant. "sometimes i can talk without any trouble, and then again i can't say a thing. it's different with you." the old man's egotism awoke--it never more than dozed. "jimmie," said he, "it is violating no compact to tell you that i'm no common man. other men have a similar opinion of themselves and are afraid to spit it out, but i'm bold as well as wise. i know that my opinion doesn't go for much, for i'm too good-humored, too approachable. the blitheness of my nature invites familiarity. you go to a house and make too much of the children, and the first thing you know they'll want to wallow on you all the time. well, i have made too much of the children of the world, and they wallow on me. but i pinch them sometimes and laugh to hear them squeal. there's only one person that i'm afraid of--mrs. cranceford. she chills me and keeps me on the frozen dodge. i always feel that she is reading me, and that makes me more of a rascal--trying to give her something that she can't read. look here, if we expect to get any sleep we'd better be at it." "you go to bed, uncle gideon; i'm going to sit up." "all right; sit there as long as you please." the old fellow got up, and walking stiffly went to the window, drew aside the red calico curtain and looked out. "don't see much promise of a clear-up," he said. "not a star in sight. i always dread the rainy season; it makes people look sad, and i want to see them bright--i am most agreeable to them when they're bright. still, i understand that nothing is more tiresome than eternal sunshine. i wonder if i locked the smokehouse," he went on, turning from the window. "but, come to think, i don't believe i've locked it since about a week ago, when some rascal slipped in and stole nearly all my hams and a bushel of meal. i gad, my old joints work like rusty hinges. well, i'll lie down now. good night, jimmie. don't slip off before breakfast." the giant did not hear him. he sat leaning forward, gazing at the cliffs, the mountains, the valleys in the fire. the rain had ceased, but now and then came a dashing shower, like a scouting party, a guerrilla band sweeping through the dark. to the muser there was no time; time had dribbled out and reverie had taken its place. the fire was dying. he saw the red cliffs grow gray along the edges, age creeping over the rocks; he saw a mountain fall into a whitening valley, and he looked up. it was daylight. he went to the door and looked out, and far across the river the brilliant morning sun was rising from a bath of steam. "you here yet, jimmie?" the bed loudly creaked, and the giant, looking about, found old gid sitting on the edge of his couch, rubbing his eyes. "don't go, for we'll have breakfast now in a minute. i am always glad to look up and find a picture of manliness and strength. it takes me back to my own early days, when i didn't know the meaning of weakness. but i know now--i can feel it all over me. i do think i can dream more foolish things during three to half a dozen winks of sleep than any man that ever lived. now, what could have put it into my mind to dream that i was born with one leg and was trying at a county fair to swap it off for two? well, i hear the old woman setting the table out there. wait till i jump into my clothes and i'll pour a gourd of water for you to wash your face and hands. had a wash-basin round here somewhere, but don't know what became of it. had intended to get another, but have been so busy. but i'll tell you there's nothing like a good wash under a pouring gourd. how's your appetite this morning?" "i don't know." "well, you may find it when you sniff old liza's corn cakes. now what the deuce became of that other suspender? we used to call them galluses in my day. and now where is that infernal gallus? beats anything i ever saw in my life. ah, there it is, over by the window. but how it could have jumped off i don't know. now let me shove into my old shoes and i'll be with you." out in the yard, in a fabulous net of gilded mist they stood, to bathe under the spouting gourd, the mingling of a new day's poetry and the shiftlessness of an old man. "stream of silver in the gold of a resurrected sun," he said, bareheaded and blinking. "who'd want a wash-pan? i gad, jimmie, folks are forgetting how to live. they are putting too much weight on what they can buy for money, unmindful of the fact that the best things of this life are free. look at that gourd, old, with a sewed-up crack in it, and yet to my mind it serves its purpose better than a china basin. well, let's go in now and eat a bite. i'm always hungry of a morning. an old fellow is nearer a boy when he first gets up, you know; but he grows old mighty fast after he's had breakfast." the giant, saying never a word, followed him, the loose boards of the passageway between the two sections of the house creaking and groaning as he trod upon them; and coming to the door he had to stoop, so low had it been cut. "that's right, jimmie, duck or you'll lay yourself out. i gad, the world's full of traps set for big fellows. now sit down there and fall to. don't feel very brash this morning, do you?" "i feel first-rate," jim answered, sitting down. "youth and love mixed," said the old man, placing himself at the head of the board. "and ah, lord, when we grow out of one and forget the other, there's not much left to live for. i'd rather be a young fellow in love than to be an emperor. help yourself to a slab of that fried ham. she'll bring the coffee pretty soon. here she comes now. waiting for you, aunt liza. have some hoe-cake, jimmie. yes, sir; youth and love constitute the world, and all that follows is a mere makeshift. thought may come, but thought, after all, is but a dull compromise, jimmie, a cold potato instead of a hot roll. love is noon, and wisdom at its best is only evening. there are some quince preserves in that jar. help yourself. thought about her all night, didn't you?" "i think about her all the time, uncle gideon." "and jimmie, it wouldn't surprise me if the world should think about her after a while. that woman's a genius." "i hope not," the giant replied, looking up, and in his voice was a note of distress, and in his eyes lay the shadow of a fear. "and why not, jimmie?" "because if she should turn out to be a genius she won't marry me." "that's where your perception is broken off at the end, jimmie. in the matter of marriage genius is mighty skittish of genius--it seeks the constancy of the sturdy and commonplace. i'll try a dip of those preserves. now let me see. after breakfast you'd better lie down on my bed and take a nap." "no, i must go. the major is going over to brantly to-day and i want him to bring me a box of cartridges. i forgot to tell him last night." "oh, you're thinking about mayo, eh?" "well, i don't know but he did cross my mind. it occurred to me that he might waylay me some night, and i don't want to stand out in the road and dance while he's shooting at me." "that's right," said the old man. "a fellow cuts a mighty sorry figure dancing under such circumstances. i've tried it." he shoved his chair back from the table and jim got up to take his leave. "look out for the door, jimmie. duck as you go under or it will lay you out. traps set all through life for fellows of your size." jim was not oppressed with weariness as he strode along the highway, for in the crisp air a tonic was borne, but loss of sleep had made his senses dreamy, and all things about him were touched with the spirit of unreality--the dead leaves fluttering on the underbrush, the purple mist rising from the fields, the water-mirrors flashing in the road; and so surrendered was he to a listless brooding, forgetful even that he moved along, that he did not notice, up the road, a man leap aside into the woods. the man hid behind a tree, with his eye on the giant and with the barrel of a pistol pressed hard against the bark. jim passed on, with his hands in his pockets, looking down; and when a clump of bushes, red with frost-dyed leaves, hid him from view, mayo came out from behind the tree and resumed his journey down the road. the major had mounted his horse at the gate and was on the point of riding forth when jim came up. "why, good-morning, james," the old gentleman heartily greeted him. "have you just crawled out of that old man's kennel? i see that the old owl must have kept you up all night. why, sir, if i were to listen to him i'd never get another wink of sleep." "i kept myself up," said the giant; and then he added: "i wanted to see you this morning, not very bad, but just to ask you to get me a box of forty-fours when you go to brantly to-day." "i'm glad to find you so thoughtful," said the major. "and i want to tell you right now that you've got to look out for yourself. but staying up all night is no way to begin. go on into tom's room and take a nap." the major whistled as he rode along, not for want of serious reflection, for he could easily have reached out and drawn in trouble, but because the sharp air stirred his spirits. nowhere was there a cloud--a speckless day in the middle of a week that had threatened to keep the sky besmirched. roving bands of negro boys were hunting rabbits in the fields, with dogs that leaped high in low places where dead weeds stood brittle. the pop-eyed hare was startled from his bed among brambly vines, and fierce shouts arose like the remembered yell of a confederate troop. the holidays were near, the crops were gathered, the winter's wood was up, the hunting season open, but no negro fired a gun. at this time of the year steamboatmen and tavern-keepers in the villages were wont to look to titus, eli, pompey, sam, caesar and bill for their game, and it was not an unusual sight to see them come loaded down with rabbits and quails caught in traps, but now they sat sullen over the fire by day, but were often met prowling about at night. this crossed the major's mind and drove away his cheerful whistling; and he was deeply thinking when someone riding in haste reined in a horse abreast of him. looking up he recognized the priest. "why, good morning, mr. brennon; how are you?" "well, i thank you. how far do you go?" "to brantly." "that's fortunate," said the priest, "for i am selfish enough to let you shorten the journey for me." "i can't do that," the major laughed, "but we can divide it. i remember overtaking a man one miserable day out in the indian territory. he was ignorant, but he was quaint; he couldn't argue, but he could amuse, and he did until he called me a liar, and there our roads split. don't think, from my telling you this, that i am in the least doubt as to the desirability of your company on the road to brantly. been some time since i've seen you, mr. brennon." "yes; i have been very busy." "and successfully so, i suppose." "i am not in a position to complain," said the priest. "by the way, will you answer a few questions?" "gladly, if they're answerable." "i think they are. now, the negroes that come into your communion tell you many things, drop idle gossip that may mean much. did any of them ever drop a hint of preparations which their brethren may or may not be making to demand some unreasonable concession from the white people of this community?" "what i have seen i am free to relate to you," the priest answered, "but as to what has been told--well, that is quite another matter. i have seen no preparations, but you doubtless remember a conversation we had some time ago, and on that occasion i think we agreed that we might have trouble sooner or later." "yes, we were agreed upon that point," the major replied, "but neither of us professed to see trouble close at hand. for some time i have heard it rumored that the negroes are meeting at night to drill, but i have paid but little attention, giving them credit for more sense than to believe that their uprising could be more than a short, and, to themselves, a disastrous, struggle; but there is one aspect that impresses me, the fact that they are taking no notice of the coming of christmas; for when this is the case you must know that the negro's nature must have undergone a complete change. i don't quite understand it. why, sir, at present they can find no possible excuse for revolt. the crops are gathered and they can make no demand for higher wages; no election is near and they can't claim a political cause for disaffection. if they want better pay for their labor, why didn't they strike in the midst of the cotton-picking? that would have been their time for trouble, if that's what they want." "perhaps they hadn't money enough to buy equipment, guns and ammunition," the priest suggested. "perhaps they needed the money that the gathering of the crops would bring them." the major looked at him. "i hadn't thought of that," he said. "but surely the negroes have sense enough to know that the whites would exterminate them within a week." it was some time before father brennon replied. his deliberation led the major to believe that he would speak from his abundant resources; and the planter listened eagerly with his head turned to one side and with his hand behind his ear. "it is possible," the priest began, "that the negro had been harangued to the conviction that he is to begin a general revolt against capital, that labor organizations everywhere will rise up when they hear that he has been bold enough to fire his gun." the major's shoulders stiffened. "sir, if you have known this, why haven't you as a white man and a southern gentleman told us of it? why haven't you warned us?" the priest smiled. "your resentment is just," said he. "but the truth is, it was not formulated as an opinion until late last night. i called at your house this morning and was told that you had set out for the county-seat. and i have overtaken you." the major reined up his horse. both horses stopped. "mr. brennon, you are a gentleman, sir. my hand." they shook hands and rode on. the major was deep in thought. "it has all been brought about by that scoundrel mayo," he said at last. "he has instilled a most deadly poison into the minds of those people. i will telegraph the governor and request him to send the state militia into this community. the presence of the soldiers will dissolve this threatened outbreak; and by the blood, sir, mayo shall be convicted of treason against the state and hanged on the public square in brantly. and that will be an end of it." the priest said nothing, and after a time the major asked: "how are you getting on with your work?" "i am greatly encouraged, and i wish i had more time." "what do you mean by that?" "i have told you that the church can save the negro. do you know a negro named bob hackett?" "yes; he was a worthless politician, but they tell me that he has withdrawn from active politics and gone to work. what about him?" "he is now a communicant of the church," the priest answered. "he acknowledges a moral authority; and i make bold to say that should trouble come, he will take no part in it. and i make still bolder to say that the church, the foster mother of the soul of man, can in time smooth all differences and establish peace and brotherly regard between the white man and the negro. the ethiopian cannot change his skin, but true religion whitens his soul and makes him our brother." "your sentiment is good," replied the major, "but religion must recognize an impossibility. the white man and the negro can never hold each other in brotherly regard. never." "don't say never, major. men pass from fixed prejudices; the church is eternal in its purpose. don't say never." "well, then, sir," cried the major, standing in his stirrups, "i will not say never; i will fix a time, and it shall be when the pyramids, moldered to dust, are blown up and down the valley of the nile." he let himself down with a jolt, and onward in silence they rode. and now from a rise of ground the village of brantly was in sight. the priest halted. "i turn back here," he said. "mr. brennon," the major replied, "between you and me the question of creed should not arise. you are a white man and a gentleman. my hand, sir." chapter xxiii. brantly long ago was a completed town. for the most part it was built of wood, and its appearance of decay was so general and so even as to invite the suspicion that nearly all its building had been erected on the same day. in the center of the town was the public square, and about it were ranged the business houses, and in the midst of it stood the court house with its paint blistered and its boards warping. it was square, with a hall and offices below. above was the court room, and herein was still heard the dying echo of true oratory. on the top of this building, once the pride of the county, was a frail tower, and in it was a clock, always slow. it was never known to record an hour until that hour had long since been due. sometimes it would save up its strokes upon the bell until fifty or more were accumulated, and then, in the midst of an intense jury trial, it would slowly turn them loose. a mathematician, a man who kept the dates of late and early frosts, had it in his record that the hammer struck the bell sixty-eight times on the afternoon when john maffy was sentenced to be hanged, and that the judge had to withhold his awful words until this flood of gathered time was poured out. once or twice the county court had appropriated money to have the clock brought back within the bounds of reason, but a more pressing need had always served to swallow up the sum thus set aside. a stone planted at one corner of the public square marked the site of a bit of bloody history. away back in the fifties a man named antrem, from new england, came to brantly and, standing where the stone now stands, made an abolition speech. it was so bold an impudence that the citizens stood agape, scarcely able to believe their ears. at last the passive astonishment was broken by a slave-owner named peel. he drew two pistols, handed one to the speaker, stepped off and told him to defend himself. the new englander had nerve. he did defend himself, and with deadly effect. both men were buried on the public square. a railway had skipped brantly by ten long and sandy miles, and a new town springing up about a station on the line--an up-start of yesterday, four-fifths of it being a mere paper town, and the other fifth consisting of cheap and hastily built stores, saloons, boarding houses, a livery stable, a blacksmith shop, and a few roughly constructed dwellings--clamored for the county seat; and until this question was finally settled old brantly could not look with confidence toward any improvement. indeed, some of her business men stood ready to desert her in the event that she should be beaten by the new town, and while all were bravely willing to continue the fight against the up-start, every one was slow to hazard his money to improve his home or his place of business. whenever a young man left brantly it was predicted that he would come to no good, and always there came a report that he was gambling, or drinking himself to death. the mere fact that he desired to leave the old town was fit proof of his general unworthiness to succeed in life. the major rode into town, nodding at the loungers whom he saw on the corners of the streets, and tying his horse to the rack on the square, went straightway to the shop of the only hardware dealer and asked for cartridges. "my stock is running pretty low," said the dealer, wrapping up the paste-board box. "i've sold more lately than i ever sold in any one season before, and yet there's no game in the market." the major whistled. "who has been buying them?" he asked. "come to think of it i have sold the most to a frenchman named larnage--lives over on the potter place, i believe. and that reminds me that i'll have a new lot in to-day, ordered for him." "do you know anything about that fellow?" the major asked. "not very much." "well, don't let him have another cartridge. keep all you get. we'll need them to protect life and property." "what! i don't understand." "i haven't time to explain now, for i'm reminded that i must go at once to the telegraph office. come over to the court-house." the major sent a dispatch to the governor and then went to the county clerk's office where he found the hardware dealer and a number of men waiting for him. the report that he was charged with serious news was already spread about; and when he entered, the clerk of the county court, an old fellow with an ink-blot on his bald head, came forward with an inquiry as to what had been meant when the major spoke of the cartridges. the major explained his cause for alarm. then followed a brief silence, and then the old fellow who kept the records of the frosts and the clock, spoke up with the assertion that for some time he had expected it. "billy," he said, speaking to the clerk, "i told you the other day that we were going to have trouble mighty soon. don't you recollect?" "don't believe i do, uncle parker." "but i said so as sure as you are standing there this minute. let me try a little of your tobacco." the clerk handed him a plug, and biting off a chew, the old man continued: "yes, sir, i've had it in mind for a long time." "everybody has talked more or less about it," said the clerk. "oh, i know they have, billy, but not p'intedly, as i have. yes, sir, bound to come." "the thing to do is to over-awe them," said the major. "i have just telegraphed the governor to send the militia down here. and by the way, that fellow mayo ought to be arrested without delay. billy, is the sheriff in his office?" "no, major, he's gone down to sassafras to break up a gang of negro toughs that have opened a gambling den. he'll be back this evening and i'll have the warrant ready for him by the time he gets back. any of us can swear it out--reckon all our names better go to it." "yes," the major agreed, "we'd better observe the formalities of the law. the militia will undo all that has been done, and as for the fellow that brought about the inquietude, we'll see him hanged in front of this door." old man parker, who kept the records, nudged his neighbor and said: "inquietude is the word. i told my wife last night, says i, 'nancy, whenever you want the right word, go to john cranceford.' that's what i said. major; and i might have said go to your father if he was alive, for he stood 'way up among the pictures, i tell you; and i reckon i knowd him as well as any man in the county. i ricollect his duel with dabney." "he was to have fought a man named anderson green," replied the major, "but a compromise was effected." "yes," said parker, "green's the man i was tryin' to think of. it was shelton that fought dabney." "shelton fought whitesides," said the major. the men began to titter, "well, then, who was it fought dabney?" "never heard of dabney," the major answered. "well, i have, and somebody fought him, but it makes no difference. so, in your father's case a compromise was effected. the right word again; and that's what makes me say to my wife, 'nancy, whenever you want the right word go to john cranceford;' and, as i said a while ago, your father either, for i knowd him as well as any man, and was present at the time he bought a flat-boat nigger named pratt boyce." "my father was once forced to sell, but he never bought a negro," the major replied. "that so? well, now, who was it bought pratt boyce? you fellers shut up your snortin'. i reckon i know what i'm talkin' about." the county judge and several other men came in and the talk concerning the threatened negro outbreak was again taken up. "it seems rather singular," said the judge, "that we should worry through a storm of politics and escape any very serious bloodshed and reach a climax after all these years. of course when two races of people, wholly at variance in morals and social standing, inhabit the same community, there is always more or less danger, still i don't think that the negroes have so little sense----" "ah, the point i made," the major broke in. "but you see a labor plank has been added to their platform of grievance." parker nudged his neighbor. "i says, says i, 'nancy, john cranceford for the right word.'" "there's something in that," the judge replied. "nothing can be madder than misled labor. we have been singularly free from that sort of disturbances, but i suppose our time must come sooner or later. but i think the militia will have a good effect so far as the negroes themselves are concerned. but of course if the soldiers come and the trouble blows over without any demonstration whatever, there will be considerable dissatisfaction among the people as to why such a step should have been taken. uncle parker," he added, turning to the record-keeper, "think we'll have much cold weather this winter?" parker did not answer at once. he knew that glibness would argue against due meditation. "i see a good many signs," he slowly answered. "hornets hung their nests on the low limbs of the trees, and there are other indications, still it largely depends on the condition of the wind. sometimes a change of wind knocks out all calculations, still, i feel assured in saying that we are goin' to have a good deal of frost first and last; but if the militia don't get here in time we are mighty apt to have it hotter before we have it colder. last night while i sat at home by the fire a smokin' of my pipe, and nancy a-settin' there a-nittin' a pair of socks for a preacher, i looks up and i says, 'there's goin' to be trouble in this community before many changes of the moon,' i says, and i want at all surprised to-day when the major here come a-ridin' in with his news. don't reckon any of you ricollect the time we come mighty nigh havin' a nigger uprisin' before the war. but we nipped it in the bud; and i know they hung a yaller feller that cost me fifteen hundred dollars in gold." the old man was so pleased to find himself listened to by so large a company that he squared himself for a longer discourse upon happenings antedating the memory of any one present, but attention split off and left him talking to a neighbor, who long ago was weary of the sage's recollections. wisdom lends its conceit to the aged, and parker was very old; and when his neighbor gave him but a tired ear, he turned from him and boldly demanded the major's attention, but at this moment the telegraph operator came in with a dispatch. and now all interests were centered. the major tore open the envelope and read aloud the following from the governor: "troops are at competitive drill in mississippi. have ordered them home." the major stood leaning with his elbow on the top of the clerk's tall desk. he looked again at the dispatch, reading it to himself, and about him was the sound of shuffling feet. "well, it won't take them more than twenty-four hours to get home," he said, "and that will be time enough. but billy, we'd better not swear out that warrant till they come." "that's wise," said the judge, a cautious man. "his followers would not stand to see him taken in by the civil authorities; it's not showy enough." and parker, speaking up, declared the judge was right. "i ricollect the militia come down here once durin' the days of the carpet-baggers, and----" "but let no one speak of the dispatch having been sent to the governor," said the judge. "billy, when the sheriff comes back you'd better tell him to appoint forthwith at least a hundred deputies." "in fact," the major replied, "every law-abiding man in the county might be declared a deputy." old parker found his neighbor and nudged him. "i says to my wife, 'nancy,' says i, 'whenever you want the right idee, go to john cranceford and you'll get it.'" "that's all right, uncle parker," the irritated man replied. "i don't give a continental and you needn't keep on coming to me with it." "you don't? then what sort of a man are you?" "you boys quit your mowling over there," the county clerk commanded. "major," said the judge, "the troops will doubtless come by boat and land near your place. don't you think it would be a good idea for you to come over with them? the truth is you know our people are always more or less prejudiced against militia, and it is therefore best to have a well-known citizen come along with them." "i don't know but that you are right," said the major. "yes, i will come with them." he bade the men good day and turned to go, and out into the hall the judge came following him. "by the way, major," said he, "you are of course willing to take all responsibility; and i'd a little rather you wouldn't mention my name in connection with the militia's coming down here, for the ordering out of troops is always looked upon as a sort of snap judgment." "i thought you said that you were not going to run for office again," the major bluntly replied. the judge stammered and though the hall was but dimly lighted, the major saw that his face was growing red. "i have reconsidered that," confessed the politician, "and next season i shall be a candidate for re-election." "and i will oppose you, sir." "oppose me? and why so?" "because you've got no nerve. i believe, sir, that in your smooth way you once took occasion to say that gideon batts was a loud-mouth and most imprudent man. but, sir, there is more merit in the loud bark of a dog than in the soft tread of a cat. i will oppose you when the time comes, but i will shoulder the responsibility of martial law in this community. good day, sir." "major----" "i said good day, sir." the old gentleman strode hotly out to the rack where his horse was tied, and thereabout was gathered a number of boys, discussing the coming danger which in their shrewdness they had keenly sniffed. among them he distributed pieces of money, wherewith to buy picture books, he said, but they replied that they were going to buy powder and he smiled upon them as he mounted his horse to ride away. in the road not far distant from the town he met larnage, the frenchman. the day before he would have passed him merely with a nod, as he scarcely knew him by sight and had forgotten his name; but the hardware dealer had recalled it and upon it had put an emphasis; so, reining up his horse, he motioned the man to stop. "how long have you been in this neighborhood?" the major asked. at this abruptness the frenchman was astonished. "i do not understand," he replied. "yes you do. how long have you been here?" "oh, i understand that, but i do not understand why you should ask." "but can't you tell me?" "i can be so obliging. i have lived here two years." "and how long in the united states?" "ten years. and now will you have the goodness to tell me why you wish to know? will you be so kind as i have been?" "well, to be frank, i don't hear a very good report of you." "but who is appointed to make a report of me? i attend to my own business, and is this a bad report to make of a citizen of the country? if you will have the goodness to pardon me i will ride on." "wait a moment. why are you buying so many cartridges?" the frenchman shrugged his shoulders. "has not the citizen of the country a right to spend his money? i have heard that the major is polite. he must not be well to-day. shall i ride on now? ah, i thank you." onward the frenchman rode, and gazing back at him the major mused: "the frog-eater gave me the worst of it. but i believe he's a scoundrel all the same. i didn't get at him in the right way. sorry i said anything to him." chapter xxiv. upon reaching home shortly after nightfall the major found visitors waiting for him in the library--wash sanders, old gid, jim taylor, low, and a red bewhiskered neighbor named perdue. a bright fire was crackling in the great fire-place; and with stories of early steamboat days upon the mississippi, gid was regaling the company when the hero of the yarn opened the door and looked in. getting to their feet with a scuffle and a clatter of shovel and tongs (which some one knocked down) they cried him a welcome to his own house. "gentlemen," said the major, "just wait till i eat a bite and i'll be with you. have you all been to supper?" "we have all been stuffed," gid took the liberty to answer, "all but wash sanders and he----" "don't eat enough to keep a chicken alive," sanders struck in. "wish i could eat with you, major, but i ain't got no relish for vidults. but i'm glad to know that other folks ain't that bad off. jest go on and take your time like we want here waitin' for you." while the major was in the dining-room, gid came out and told him that the priest had said to him and to others that it might be well to call at the major's house immediately upon his return from brantly. "he's all right," said the major, getting up and taking the lead toward the library. and when he had sat down in his chair, bottomed with sheep-skin, he told his friends of his fears of a negro insurrection, of the dispatch and of the answer from the governor; and he related his talk with the frenchman, whereupon low, the englishman, spoke up: "i know that chap. it wouldn't surprise me to learn that he put some rascally black up to the trick of punching that hole in my bath. for a time he came about my place quite a bit, you know, but i gave him to understand one day that i vastly preferred to choose my own associates. and you may rest with the assurance that he will be against the whites. ah, with a frenchman it is never a question as to which side he shall take. by jove, he always finds out which side the englishman is on and then takes the other. i have brought with me a bit of scotch whisky and i shall be pleased to have you gentlemen join me." "wait a minute," said the major. "i have some liquor that was distilled sixty years ago by the grandfather of the commander of the alabama. we'll try that first." "good!" cried the briton. "i can't deny the alabama claim, you know." and then he added: "most extraordinary, i assure you." "just wait till you smack your mouth on it," said gid. "why, sir, there's the smile of a goddess in each drop and a 'paradise regained' in a swallow. sit down, wash sanders--a swig of it would shoot you into the air like a rocket." "but really, mr. gid, i think a little of it would help my appetite," sanders replied, looking anxiously toward the major. "appetite!" gid cried. "you can eat the hind leg of a rhinoceros right now." "do you mean to insult me, sir?" sanders retorted, weakly bristling up; and the major turning from the sideboard, with the odd-shaped bottle and several glasses in his hands, looked at batts and said: "don't, gid." "all right, but i was joking," the old rascal declared. "wash and i always prank with each other. you can take a joke, can't you, wash?" "with the best of them," sanders answered. "yes, sir, and before the doctors proved to me that i couldn't get well i was joking all the time." he raised his hand and with his long finger nail scratched his chin. "but they showed me that i couldn't get well and if that ain't enough to sadden a man's life i don't know what is." "now, gentlemen," said the major, "i want you to help yourselves, and not be afraid, for the glasses are shallow and the bottle is deep." the red bewhiskered man perdue, who had said nothing, took out his quid of tobacco and with a loud "spat," threw it against the chimney-back. "i'll join you," he said, grinning. "never saw any liquor too old for me." they stood and touched glasses. gid walled his eyes like a steer, and with a rub of his breast and an "ah-hah," he nodded at low. "what do you think of that?" he cried. "isn't it a miracle?" "ah, it is very smooth," low answered, sipping. "most uncommon i should think." "smooth," said gid. "did you say smooth? it is as silk woven in the loom of a dream. wash, how does it strike you?" "i think it will help me," sanders answered. "help you!" and under his breath gid added: "ought to kill you." "what did you say?" sanders asked. "said it wouldn't kill you." "oh, i think not. really, after a while i might be tempted to go out and eat something. how are you gettin' along, perdue?" "shakin' hands with my grandfather in the speret," perdue declared, and running his fingers through his fiery whiskers he laughed with a hack that cut like the bleat of a sheep. "jim," said the major, turning to taylor, who had not left his seat, "you'd better try a little. it won't hurt you." "no, thank you, major, i'm afraid of it." "let him alone," gid spoke. "one drink of this and he'd carry off the gate, posts and all and leave them on the hill. don't tempt him." "gentlemen," said perdue, "i have always made it a rule never to repeat anything that my children say, for i know how such a thing bores folks, but i will tell you what my son ab said the other night. his mother was gettin' him ready for bed--just a little more, major. there, that's a plenty. mother was gettin' him ready for bed and he looked up----" "i feel the blood of youth mounting from the feet of the past to the head of the present," gid broke in. "i can jump a ten rail fence, staked and ridered." "and i'm pretty jumpy myself," the major declared. "but what were you going to say, perdue?" "i was goin' to say that i always make it a rule never to repeat anything that my children say, for i have often had fellers bore me with the smart sayin's of their children--and i know that most every man thinks that his children are the brightest in the country and all that--but the other night as my wife was gettin' ab ready for bed he looked up----" "we never had any children at our house," said wash sanders, scratching his chin with his polished finger-nail, "but i jest as good as raised one nephew. you remember dan, don't you, major?" "mighty well. went to texas, didn't he?" "yes, and got to cowboyin' around and was killed." "i recall that he was a very bright young man," said the major. "but what were you going to say, perdue?" "i was goin' to say that i always make it a rule never to tell anything that my children say, knowin' how it seems to pester folks, for i have been nearly bored to death by fellers breakin' in and tellin' what they of course thought was a powerful smart thing, said by one of their children--so i am mighty keerful about such things, makin' it a rule never to repeat anything said by my children, but the other night as my wife was gettin' ab ready for bed----" "somebody's hollering helloa at the gate," said jim. "hush a minute. there it is again." the major went out and presently returned, bringing with him a large blue envelope. "it's from the county clerk," he said, sitting down and breaking the seal. "brought by a deputy sheriff, and he said that he had ridden hard all the way and was in a great hurry to get back. let's see what old billy has to say." and now having put on his spectacles, he read aloud the following: "marcus t. berry, sheriff of this the county of cranceford, in the state of arkansas, did on this day seek to break up a den of negro gamblers at sassafras, in the before mentioned county of cranceford, and state as above set forth, and while in the discharge of his duty, was then and there fired upon and so desperately wounded that in his home in the town of brantly, seat of the said county of cranceford, state as before mentioned, he now lies at the point of death. the negroes claimed that they were not gambling, but engaged in lawful merchandise; but be that as it may, the sheriff and his posse were there and then fired upon, and besides the wounding of the sheriff, two men were killed outright, to-wit, one james mattox and one leon smyers, and the same were left there. the sheriff managed to make his escape, albeit he was followed and repeatedly fired upon. and be it known that the report now reaches here that the atrocity did not cease with the firing on of the sheriff's posse, but that a sharp fight afterward took place between negroes and white men near by; and we are now informed that a strong force of negroes, at the instance of one mayo, is now gathering in the southwestern part of the county, preparatory to a march upon this, the seat of the county of cranceford. therefore, it behooves all good citizens to meet in the before mentioned town for the defense of life and property, as it is here that the blow is to fall. william n. haines, clerk of the county of cranceford, in the state of arkansas." scarcely observing a pause the major had read the letter, and no word of surprise had been spoken by his listeners; and now in silence they looked at one another, gid with his mouth open, sanders with an expression of pain. "well," said the major, "that settles it." "by jove," the englishman burst out, "i should rather say unsettles it. i can't conceive of a settlement on that basis, you know. those blacks are positively annoying. first they punch a hole in my bath and then they fire on a sheriff's party. i should call it a most extraordinary approach toward the settlement of a difficult problem. but now, gentlemen, if you'll join me we'll take a bit of scotch whisky." old gid looked hard at him. "what?" said he, "insult old semmes' liquid music with a hot breath of peat smoke! never, sir. and consequently i'll take another glimpse at this mountain sunrise." the englishman laughed. "you have a most extraordinary way of boasting, you know. you may take your sunrise on the mountain, but i prefer this moonlight in the heather. a glass about half full of water, please. thank you, very kind i assure you." the briton sat and sipped his scotch while the major paced up and down the room, hands behind him, deep in thought. but soon he took his chair again, a proof that what now was to come was not a speculation but the outline of a plan of action. "where's tom?" he asked, nodding at gid, but with an eye upon wash sanders. "over at my house," wash sanders answered. "well, when you go home, take this message to him. say that i said go at once to the neighbors for five miles below your house, along the county road, and tell them that trouble of a serious nature has come--tell them to meet, men, women and children, at my house by daylight in the morning. have him remind them that his house, on account of its situation high above the river, is the easiest to defend, and that it will accommodate more people than any other house in the neighborhood. tell the men, of course, to bring their arms and all the ammunition they have. explain that a sufficient number of men will be left here to protect the women and children, while the large majority of us will make all possible haste to the county seat. tell the men to come mounted. now is it clear to you?" "major," wash sanders spoke up with more than his usual show of spirit, "the doctors have condemned my body but they hain't condemned my mind. it is clear to me, sir, and i will go now." "all right," said the major. "and jim," he added, "you do the same with the upper end of the road." the giant was smoking. he stood his pipe against a corner of the fire-place, got up and without saying a word, strode away. wash sanders was soon gone, after halting at the door to say that he might not be able to eat enough to keep a setting hen alive, but that he reckoned he could pull a trigger with any man that ever came over the pike. and now the major, old gid and the englishman sat looking into the fire. "war time, gid," said the major. "yes, without banners and without glory," the old fellow replied. "you are right. in the opinion of the majority of americans, bravery on our part will be set down as a cruelty and a disgrace. the newspaper press of the north will condemn us. but we can't help that, for a man must protect his home. mr. low, there is nothing so unjust as politics." "we have had many examples of it in england, sir." "yes," said the major, "there have been examples of it everywhere. in this country political influences have narrowed some of the broadest minds." "in england political prejudices have killed poets," the englishman said. "and now," gid put in, "while you are discussing the evil i will try a little more of the good. john, have another peep at the blue dome above?" "no, i must go and give mrs. cranceford old billy's letter." "won't it alarm her?" the englishman asked. "oh, not in the least," the major answered, and old gid smiled. "you couldn't scare her with a bell-mouth blunderbuss," he declared. the major now had reached the door, but turning back he said: "you gentlemen better sleep here to-night." in a state of apparent alarm the englishman sprang to his feet. "my bath," he cried. "no, i can't stop. i must have my bath." "but you can bathe here." "oh, no, i must have my own tub, you know. but i shall be here early at morning. i must go now. good night," he added, reaching the door. "you are very kind, i assure you." and when thus he had taken his leave, the major, pointing at a lamp, said to gid: "end room down the porch. go to bed." chapter xxv. early at morning, just as the dawn began to pale the sandy bluffs along the shore, and while the cypress bottoms still lay under the blackness of night, there came the trampling of horses, the low tones of men, the sharp, nervous voices of women, and the cries of children untimely gathered from their trundle-beds. the major and his wife were ready to receive this overflow of company. a spliced table was stretched nearly the full length of the long hall, and a great kettle of coffee was blubbering on the fire. there were but three negroes on the place, one man and two women--the others had answered a call at midnight and had gone away. but the remaining ones were faithful; at a drowsy hour they left their beds and with no word of complaint took it upon themselves to execute a new and hurried task. "bill," said the major, "i want you and your wife and polly to understand that i never forget such faithfulness as you are now showing, and when i come back--but now is the best time. here are ten dollars apiece for you and you must remember that as long as i live you shall never want for anything." fifty men arrived before the east was flushed with the sun. it was decided that ten of these, including wash sanders, should be left to protect the women and children. the least active were chosen. all but the younger ones had followed lee through the dark days of his last campaign. the major took command and martial law prevailed. he buckled on no sword but he looked like a soldier; and short, sharp sentences that he had forgotten at the close of the war now came back to him. "make ready, men. time passes. mount." there were pale faces in the hall and at the gate where the men sat their horses, ready to ride, but there was bravery and no tears. the command was drawn up; the major, not yet mounted, stood talking to wash sanders, when suddenly down the road a chant arose. all eyes were turned that way, and strange to them was the sight they beheld--the catholic priest, with slow and solemn pace, treading the middle of the road, holding high aloft a black crucifix; and behind him followed the negro members of his church, men, women and children. he was leading his people to the hills--out of danger. as the head of this weird procession came opposite the gate, where now the major stood with folded arms, the priest gravely smiled and higher held his crucifix. and then, silently, and looking neither to the right nor to the left, came out the three negroes who had remained at home; and taking up the chant they joined their brothers and sisters. they marched solemnly onward, turned into a road that led to the hills, the wind hushing their chant, but the black cross still seen high above their dusky, upturned faces. for full five minutes the major stood in silence, gazing, and then hastily mounting, he shouted: "forward!" and his troop swept down the road. he chose the nearest course and it lay by the old house wherein louise had lived; and again he heard the wind moaning in the ragged plum thicket. along the road the scattered houses were deserted, and in many a cabin the fire-place was cold, and many a door stood open. not a negro was seen--yes, one, an old man drawn with rheumatism, sitting on a bench, waiting for the sun to warm his joints. when the major and his troop rode into the town they found it quiet--under the weight of a heavy dread. they were looked upon from windows, where men were posted, waiting; and obeying a shouted instruction, the major led his men to a long, low shed not far from the scene of expected blood-flow, to stable their horses. following them came old billy, the county clerk; and when the horses had been put away, he came up and thus addressed the major: "you are to take command." "all right. what has been done?" "not much of anything. nothing could be done except to wait." "how many men have we?" "it is surprising how few," old billy answered. "we didn't realize how weak the white population was until danger came. we have about three hundred, and more than a thousand negroes are marching on the town. we held a sort of council this morning and agreed that we'd better post as many as we can in the court-house. it commands all the streets and besides we must save the records." they were now marching toward the court-house. "where are the women and children?" the major inquired. "in the brick warehouse with a force of men near." "well, i suppose you've done all you can. it would be nonsense to engage them in the open, but with our men posted about the square not more than two-thirds of them can get action at once. those poor devils are as well armed as we and are wrought upon by fanaticism. it is going to be desperate for a time. at first they'll be furious. has any one heard of mayo?" "he's at their head and the frenchman is with him." "how is the sheriff?" "dead." they filed into the court-house, where a number of men were already gathered, posted above and below. "bring an axe and cut loop-holes," the major commanded. "when the fight begins you can't very well fire from the windows. how are you, uncle parker?" "able to be about, major. you wan't old enough for the mexican war, was you? no, of course not. but i was there and this here fightin' agin such odds puts me in mind of it." "good morning, major." it was the voice of the county judge. "good morning, sir. i see you have a gun. don't you think it impolitic? but pardon me. this is no time for ill-humored banter." the judge bowed. "now i recall john cranceford, the soldier," said he. "this is a great pity that has come upon us, major," he added. "worse than that," the major replied. "it is a curse. the first man who landed a slave in america ought to have been hanged." "and what about the men who freed them?" "they were american soldiers, sir, as brave a body of men as ever trod the face of the earth. captain batts, what are you trying to do there?" "thought i'd take a nap," old gid answered. "you can wake me up when the fight begins--don't want to miss it." "if you go to sleep i will court-martial you, sir. superintend the cutting of the loop-holes." "all right, don't believe i'm very sleepy anyway;" and as he shuffled away the englishman turned to the major and asked: "and is he game, sir?" "as a lion," the major answered. "but he blows, you know," said the englishman. "and so does a lion roar, sir," the major rejoined. the major inspected the other posts, to the right and left of the square, and then took active command of the lower floor of the court-house; and when the holes had been cut gid was told to command the floor above. tom cranceford was ordered to serve on the floor above. at this he began to grumble, pouting that he couldn't be in the rush if one should come; but the major stormed at him. "it is more dangerous up there if that's what you want, and i'll be with you now and then to see that you are kept busy. march this instant or i'll drive you to home duty under wash sanders." from the windows and the loop-holes guns could be seen bristling everywhere, and the minutes that passed were slow and weary with waiting. directly across from the court-house was a broad and low brick store house, with but a single window above, facing the square; and the major looking at it for a time, turned to the old clerk and said: "that building is the strongest one in town, but no men appear to be posted in it. why so?" "the rear wall is torn out and the men would be unprotected from behind," the clerk answered. "the wall was pulled down about a month ago. evans was going to have the house built deeper into the lot so he could use it as a cotton shed, but hasn't." "bad that it was left that way. how long since the last scout came in?" "about an hour and a half." "and where was the enemy then?" "in the neighborhood of gum springs." "that's bad. the militia won't have time to get here." the major went above, where he found gid's men posted at the windows and the loop-holes. "how is everything?" he asked. "lovely, john." "don't call me john." "all is well, major." "good." and after a time he added: "the south road is so crooked that we don't command it very far, therefore look sharp. back to your post!" he stormed as perdue looked up from his loop-hole. "this is no time for idleness." "i wonder what time we eat," said gid. "you may never eat another bite," the major answered. "then i don't reckon there's any use to worry about it, john, or major, i mean." the major returned to the floor below. "this is getting to be quite a lark," said the englishman. "it's beastly cruel to fight, but after all it is rather jolly, you know." "i'm glad you think so, sir; i can't," the major replied. "i regard it as one of the worst calamities that ever befell this country." "do you think there will be much pillage by the blacks--much burning of houses?" "possibly, but to sustain their cause their commander will hold them in some sort of check. he is looking out for the opinion of labor unions, the scoundrel. he is too sharp to give his war a political cast." "ah, but to butcher is a beastly way to look after good opinion. what's that?" the englishman cried. from afar, through the stillness that lay along the south road, came the popping of rifles; and then all was still. then came the sounds of hoofs, and then a riderless horse dashed across the square. "steady, men, they are upon us!" the major shouted, and then all again was still. from the windows nothing could be seen down the road, and yet the advance guard must be near, for a gun was fired much closer than before. now upon the square a rider dashed, and waving his hat he cried: "they are coming through the fields!" he dismounted, struck his horse with his hat to drive him out of danger and ran into the court-house. the major met him. "they will be here in no time," the man said. "but how they got so close without my seeing them is a mystery to me. but of course i expected to see them in the road and didn't look for them in the fields. and that ain't all. they've got a cannon." "what!" the major exclaimed, and the men at the loop-holes looked back at him. "yes," the scout went on, "and i know all about it. just before the war ended an enormous gun was spiked, dismantled and thrown into a well way down on the dinkler place. it was got out a good while afterward and the spike drilled out, and since then it has been used for a christmas gun. well, they've got that thing on an ox wagon, but they've got no way to fire it for----" the guns to the right and left of the square blurted out, then came a roar and a yell, and in an instant the opposite side of the square was black with negroes pouring out from behind the low brick building. with a howl and a rush they came, but from three sides volley after volley was poured into them, the white men using their shot guns. the effect was terrible, and soon the square was cleared of all but the dead and the wounded. a cessation fell, and mayo's voice could be heard, shouting at his men. he saw that to attempt to take the house by storm was certain death, so to comparative safety behind the house and into a deep-cut road a little farther back he withdrew his men. he had not expected so early to find such opposition, and his aim was to crush with the senseless weight of force, but the shot-guns were too deadly. now he was cool and cautious. the fire from the whites was straggling. suddenly out from behind the brick building rushed three black giants, torches in hand, making desperately for the court-house. it was indeed a forlorn hope, for one by one they fell, the last, so death-defying was he, that he fell upon the steps and his torch flew from his hand into the hallway and crackled on the floor. a man reached out to grasp it, but a shattered arm was drawn back. "not you, major!" cried old parker. outward he leaned, grabbing at the torch, but mayo's guns swept the hall. and when they drew the old man back, he brought the snapping pine, but left his life. they laid him out upon the floor, stood for a moment sadly to view him; and through a hole a bullet zipped and beside him fell a neighbor. "back to your places!" the major commanded. now the guns on the opposite side of the square were silent. "they are lying low and our men can't reach them," said the major. "what are they up to now? preparing for another charge?" "worse than that," said the man who had seen them in the fields. "they have hoisted that cannon up into the brick building and are going to poke it through the window. see there! see that big log up-ended? that's to brace it. from where i lay i saw them just now breaking up an old stove out in the lot and they are going to load with the fragments. i killed two of them, but they got the stove away. listen, don't you hear them pounding it up?" "and this house will afford no more protection that so much paper," said the major, speaking low. "we have badly planned our defense. we are ill protected from bullets, and a cannon will blow us into the air." and then, moving from one to another, he looked through the loop-holes. "train every gun on that window," he commanded, "and shoot if a finger is seen." up the stairs he bounded. old gid was walking up and down the room, softly whistling. "pretty peppery, major," he said, pointing to three bodies stretched upon the floor. "yes," the major replied, "and it will be worse. we are doomed." "how so? keep on rushing till they wear us out? i reckon not. it would take five thousand men. god, but look at them lying out there. they were desperate, but they are toned down." "they've got a cannon loaded with the fragments of a stove and will fire it from that window," said the major. gid whistled and resumed his walk. the firing about the square was slow and steady. from across the way there came no gun shot. "got a cannon, eh?" old gid mused. "i wondered why they were so still," and then to the major he said: "they'll shell us out and mow us down at their leisure. who built this infernal court-house?" "i don't remember," the major answered, "but he ought to be in here now. train your guns on that window." the major went below. just as he reached the bottom of the stairway he leaped forward with a cry. he saw jim taylor jump from a window out upon the square. the major ran to a loop-hole, pushed a man aside and looked out. and now there was a belching of guns on the other side. jim taylor caught up a child in his arms, and with bullets pecking up the dirt about him and zipping against the wall, he dodged behind a corner of the house. then he ran across the protected side of the square. near by, in the door of a warehouse, a woman stood, shrieking. when she saw the giant with her little boy in his arms she ran out to meet him, breaking loose from the hands that strove to hold her, and snatching the little fellow, she cried: "god bless you for this. i have so many little ones to see to that he got out and went to look for his grandpa parker. god bless you, sir." the giant had seen old parker lying dead on the floor, but he said nothing; he turned about, and entering the court-house from the protected side, was soon at his post. the major stormed at him. "you've lost all your sense," he cried. "you are a bull-calf, sir. now see that you don't leave your post again. did they hit you?" he anxiously asked. "don't believe they did," the giant grimly answered. "well, they will in a minute. look there!" the mouth of the cannon showed above the window, shoved through and now rested on the ledge; and behind it arose an enormous log. from the loop-holes in the court-house the gun was raked with buck-shot, but all the work was done from below and no one stood exposed. once a hand, like a black bat, was seen upon the gun, but instantly it flew away, leaving a blotch of blood. and now the old bell, so quiet all the morning, began to strike--one, two, ten, thirty--slowly, with dread and solemn pauses. "look!" the major cried. a red-hot poker glowed above the cannon. buckshot hailed from a hundred guns, and the poker fell, but soon it came again and this time flat upon the gun. the hand that held it was nervous and fumbling. suddenly the breech of the gun slipped lower down the upright log. up went the muzzle, and then came a deafening boom. there was a crash over-head. the cupola of the court-house was shattered, and down came the bell upon the roof, and off it rolled and fell upon the ground with a clang. out surged mayo's men, but a fearful volley met them, and amid loud cries and with stumbling over the dead and the dying, torn and bleeding, they were driven back. but they set up a yell when they saw the damage their gun had wrought. they could foresee the havoc of a better managed fire. now the yells were hushed. the major's men could hear a black vulcan hammering his iron; then a lesser noise--they were driving the scraps into the gun. "it will be worse this time," said the major. "they have cut a deeper niche in the log to hold the breech and there'll be no chance of its slipping. these walls will be shattered like an eggshell. steady, they are at it." again the gun lay across the window ledge. the red-hot poker bobbed up, glowing in the dim light, but there was a crash and a rain of shot and it flew back out of sight; and it must have been hurled through the rear opening of the wall, for they were a long time in getting it. but it came again, this time sparkling with white heat. the guns about the square kept up an incessant fire, but over the powder the poker bobbed, and then--the whole town shook with the terrific jar, and windows showered their glass upon the street, and through the smoke a thrilling sight was seen--the roof of the brick building was blown into splinters and in the air flew boots, hats and the fragments of men--the gun had exploded. "out and charge!" the major shouted. "forward, captain batts!" he cried at the foot of the stairs, and the men came leaping down. the cry was taken up, and from every building about the square the men were pouring. mayo had no time to rally his force; indeed, it was beyond his power, for his men were panic-smitten. into the fields and toward the woods they ran for their lives. it was now a chase. bang, to right and the left, and in the fields the fleeing blacks were falling, one by one. once or twice they strove to make a stand, but hell snorted in their faces--and death barked at their heels. in their terror they were swift, but from afar the rifles sucked their blood. the woods were gained and now they were better protected in their flight, dodging from tree to tree; some of them faced about and white men fell, and thus was caution forced upon the pursuers. so much time was gained that mayo rallied the most of his men, but not to stand and fight. he had another plan. in a small open space, once a cotton patch, stood a large church, built of logs, and thither he hastened his men, and therein they found a fortress. the major called in his scattered forces. they gathered in the woods about the church. "are you going to charge them?" old gideon asked. "no, sir, that would be certain death to many of us. hemmed in as they now are they'll be deadly desperate. we'll have to manage it some other way." a shower of buck-shot flew from the church. "i gad, major, they've got buck-shot," said gid. "and they could mow us down before we could cross that place. they still outnumber us two to one--packed in there like sardines. don't you think we'd better scatter about and peck at 'em when they show an eye? i'd like to know who built that church. confound him, he cut out too many windows to suit me." "dodge down, men!" cried the major. "mr. low, get back there, sir!" "be so kind as to oblige me with the time," said low. "the rascals have smashed my watch. punch a hole in my bath and then ruin my watch, you know. most extraordinary impudence, i assure you." "it is half-past three," said the major. "and what a day it has been and it is not done yet." jim taylor came forward. "look out," said the major. "they'll get you the first thing you know. why don't you pick up a few grains of sense as you go along?" "why don't some one scatter a few grains?" "hush, sir. i want no back talk from you." "but i've got an idea," said the giant, with a broad grin. "out with it." "why, right over yonder is the nelson plantation store-house," said jim, "and at the front end is the biggest door i ever saw, double oak and so thickly studded with wrought-iron nails that their broad heads touch. and my idea is this: take that door, cut a round hole in the center with a cold-chisel, cut down a good-sized cypress tree, round off one end, fit it in the hole, with about five feet sticking through; let a lot of us strong fellows gather up the tree and, protected by the door, use it for a battering ram and punch that house down. then we can work them freely, as the fellow says." "jim," the major cried, "you are learning something. this day has developed you. i believe that can be done. at least it is worth trying. but, men, if it should be effective, let there be as little unnecessary slaughter as possible. we are compelled to kill--well, we can't help it. however, take mayo alive if you possibly can. i want to see him hanged on the public square. now get the door. here, tom, you and low cut down a cypress tree. here, lacy, you help. low doesn't know how to handle an ax. we'd better begin operations over there on the left. there are fewer windows on that side. we can batter down the door. no, there is a high window above the door and they could shoot down upon us. that won't do. we'll take the left side. see, there are but two windows, both close together near the end. look out, boys. keep behind the trees. i wonder how solid those logs are. when was that church built, captain batts?" "don't remember the exact time, but not so very long ago. i recollect that there was talk of a probable extension, the time that new revivalist was having the house built, and that must account for the few windows toward this end on the left. they've got a first-rate place to shoot from, but what astonishes me is that mayo should want to make a stand when he must know that we'll get him sooner or later." "that's easily explained," said the scout who had dashed upon the public square. "they are looking for a large body of reinforcements from the south, and mayo knows what to expect if he should run, panic-stricken, into them. his only hope was in making a stand." "where is perdue?" the major asked, looking about, from one tree to another. "he fell back yonder in the field," old gid answered. "i ran to him, but he must have been dead by the time he hit the ground." the major said nothing. he stood leaning against a tree looking toward jim and four other men coming with the heavy door. "and old billy," said gid, "is----" the major turned about. "well," he broke in. "you know," said gid, "we used to say that he always had a blot of ink on his head. but now he's lying back yonder with a spot of blood where the ink was." the major called to jim: "put it down there." and then speaking to gid he added: "that scoundrel must pay for this. don't shoot him--don't even break his legs--i want to see them dangle in front of the court-house door." with a chisel and a hammer the giant worked, on his knees, and it was almost like cutting through solid iron. the echo of his heavy blows rumbled afar off throughout the timber-land. the detail of men came with the log, the body of a cypress tree, one end smoothly rounded. jim took his measurements and proceeded with his work. once he had to drag the door to a better-sheltered spot. bullets from the church were pecking up the dirt about him. three times the piece of timber was tried, to find that the hole in the door was not quite large enough, but at last it went through and the giant smiled at the neatness of the work. and now the ram was ready. the firing from the church had fallen and all was silent. "it will take about eight men, four on a side--all strong young fellows," said taylor. "you old men stand back. major, order captain batts to let go the log." "captain batts, turn loose," the major commanded. "you are too old for such work." with a sigh old gid stepped back, and sadly he looked upon the young men as they took their places. "yes, i'm getting old, john, but you needn't keep telling me of it." "sir, didn't i tell you not to call me john?" "yes, but i thought you'd forgotten it." taylor and the englishman were side by side, the log between them. auger holes had been bored in the shaft and strong oak pins had been driven in to serve for handles. "remember to keep a tight grip on your handle," said jim. "i warrant that," the briton replied. "are we all ready? really quite a lark, you know." a stable had stood at the left boundary of the field, and one wall, cut down, was now a part of the fence. circling about to avoid the undergrowth and at the same time to keep out of mayo's range, the men with the ram came up behind the old wall; and here they were halted to wait until the major properly placed his marksmen. he made the circuit of the field, and coming back, announced that all was ready. a score of shot-guns were trained upon the two windows that looked out upon the space between the stable wall and the church. over the wall the door was lifted, and the shot-guns roared, for the negroes had opened fire from the windows, but necessary caution marred the effect of their aim. without a mishap the ram was lowered into the field. and now forward it went, slowly at first, but faster and faster, the men on a run, the lower edge of the door sweeping the old cotton stalks. faster, with a yell, and the men about the field stood ready to charge. shot-guns blazed from the windows, and shot like sharp sleet rattled off the heavy nail-heads in the door. faster, and with a stunning _bim_ the ram was driven against the house. but the logs lay firm. back again, thirty feet, another run and a ram, but the logs were firm. from the windows, almost directly in front, the buck-shot poured, and glancing about, plucked up the dirt like raindrops in a dusty road. once more, back still further, and again they drove with head-long force. the house shook, the roof trembled, but the logs were sound and stubbornly lay in place. back again, but this time not to stop. "to the fence," jim ordered. a shout came from the church. the major stamped the ground. "keep your places and wait for me," said jim to his men. he leaped the stable wall. "here, young fellow," he called, "run over to that store-house and bring a can of coal-oil. i was a fool not to think of this before. why, even if we were to batter down the house they would kill us before our men could get there. where is that axe?" he seized the axe and began to split a dry pine log. every one understood his plan; no one spoke. he split his kindling fine, whittled off shavings with his knife, and gathering up his faggots waited for the oil. the young fellow returned, running. jim snatched the can and sprang over the fence. the englishman smiled when he took his place. "really you have quite an odd fancy, you know," he said. "once more and easy," jim commanded. "and may the lord have mercy on them. but it has to be done." onward they went, leaning inward, treading slowly, and shot was sleeted at them from the windows. but there was no quickening step as the house was neared--it was a dead march. at a corner of the church they halted, and jim, putting down his oil can, close to the wall, piled his faggots about it, and then, striking a match, set fire to the shavings. "back!" he commanded. they reached the stable wall and stood there. the guns were silent. eagerly every one was gazing. was the fire dying down? one long minute, and then a dull explosion. a column of flame shot high into the air, a rain of fire spattered down upon the church, and the roof was ablaze. the white men, ready with their guns, heard a trampling and the smothered cries of horror; and then the church door flew open and out poured mayo and his men. three times they charged an opening in the line about the fence, but unseen foes sprang up and mowed them down. but at the last, fighting, desperate, yelling, they broke out of the slaughter-pen and once more were in the woods. and now it was not even a chase. it was a still-hunt. chapter xxvi.--conclusion. late in the afternoon, the news of the rout and the slaughter was received at the cranceford home. all day wash sanders and his men had been sitting about, speculating, with but one stir of excitement, the boom of mayo's cannon. but this soon died away and they sat about, swapping lies that were white with the mildew of time. but when news came they sprang astir for now they knew that each man must look after his own home, to protect it from fire. some of them offered to remain, but mrs. cranceford dismissed them, assuring them that her house, being so public, was in no danger. so she was left, not alone, but with a score of women and children. afar off the guns could be heard, not in volleys, but the slow and fatal firing of men taking aim. the sun was nearly down when a man climbed over the fence and cautiously walked toward the house. in his hand he held a pine torch. mrs. cranceford grabbed a gun and ran out upon the porch. "what are you doing there?" she demanded. larnage, the frenchman, looked up at her and politely bowed. "what are you doing there?" she repeated. "ah, is it possible that madam does not suspect?" he replied, slowly turning his fire-brand, looking at the blaze as it licked the stewing turpentine. "yes, i do suspect, you villain, and if you don't throw down that torch this instant i'll blow your head off." she brought the gun to her shoulder. he saw her close one eye, taking aim, and he stepped back and let his torch fall to the ground. "it shall be as madam wishes," he said. "now you get out of this yard." "madam has but to command." he passed through the gate and turned down the road; and upon him she kept a steady eye. she saw him leave the road and go into the woods. not far away was a potato-house, built over a cellar. to this frail structure he set fire. the dry timbers soon fell into the pit, and he stood there as if to warm himself. night was his time for real work and he would wait. the sun was almost down. he turned away, and looking along the road that wound through the woods, he saw old gideon coming. quickly he hastened to the road-side and stood behind a tree, with a knife in his hand. gid came slowly along. and just as he came abreast of the tree, his pop-eyes saw the fellow. he threw up his arm and caught the knife on the barrel of his gun; then leaping, with the gun clubbed, he struck at the frenchman, but the fellow was too quick for him. "oh, if i only had a cartridge!" the old man said with a groan, running after him. "i'd rather have a load of shot right now than a mortgage on jerusalem. but i'll follow you--i'll get you." larnage was running, looking back, expecting to be shot; and stubbing his toe he fell--head-long into the potato-cellar, into the pit of red-hot coals. ashes and a black smoke arose, and with frightful cries he scrambled out, and with his charred clothes falling off him, he ran to the bayou and plunged headforemost into the water. gid saw him sink and rise; saw him sink again; and long he waited, but the man did not rise again. * * * * * down along the bayou where negro cabins were thickly set, fires were springing up; and there, running from place to place, following white men who bore torches, was father brennon. "don't burn this house!" he cried. "it belongs to the church." "damn the church!" a man replied. "but this house belongs to an innocent man--he would not seek to kill the whites--he's gone to the hills." "i reckon you are right," said the man, and onward he ran, waving his torch, the priest keeping close behind him. * * * * * from the woods the men were coming, and as gid drew near to the cranceford house he saw jim taylor passing through the gate; and a few moments later, turning a corner of the porch, he found the giant standing there with his arm about--louise. "ho, the young rabbit!" the old man cried. "frog," she laughed, running forward and giving him both her hands. "why, how did you get here?" he asked. "i heard that the militia had been ordered home and i got here as soon as i could. i have been home about two hours and mother and i--but where is father?" "hasn't he come yet? why, i thought he was here. we've all been scattered since the last stand." "i will go and look for him," said the giant, taking up his gun from against the wall. "i'm going with you," louise declared. "go on in the house, uncle gideon, and don't tell mother where i'm gone. now, you needn't say a word--i'm going." down the road they went, and out into the woods. far away they saw the cabins blazing, on the banks of the bayou, and occasionally a gun was heard, a dull bark, deep in the woods. "you'd better go back," said jim. "no, i'm going with you. oh, but this must have been an awful day--but let us not talk about it now." and after a time she said: "and you didn't suspect that i was doing newspaper work. they tell me that i did it well, too." "i read a story in a newspaper that reminded me of you," he said. "it was called 'the wing of a bird.' it was beautiful." "i didn't think so," she replied. "probably you didn't read it carefully," said he. "i didn't read it carefully enough before i handed it in, i'm afraid," she replied. "oh, and did you write it?" he looked down at her and she nodded her head. "yes, and i find that i do better with stories than at anything else," she said. "i have three accepted in the north and i have a book under way. that was the trouble with me, jim; i wanted to write and i didn't know what ailed me, i was a crank." "you are an angel." he was leading her by the hand, and she looked up at him, but said nothing. just in front of them they saw the dying glow of a cabin in coals. a long clump of bushes hid the spot from view. they passed the bushes, looking to the left, and suddenly the girl screamed. not more than twenty yards away stood the major, with his back against a tree--gripping the bent barrel of a gun; and ten feet from him stood mayo, slowly raising a pistol. she screamed and snatched the giant's gun and fired it. mayo wheeled about, dropped his pistol, clutched his bare arm, and with the blood spouting up between his fingers he turned to flee. two white men sprang out in from of him, and the major shouted: "don't kill him--he is to be hanged on the public square. i was trying to take him alive--and had to knock down two of his men. tie him." he held out his arms to louise, and with her head on his breast and with mischief in her eyes, she looked up and said: "i have more than a daughter's claim on you. i have the claim of gallantry and upon this i base my plea." he rebuked her with a hug and a kiss, saying not a word; but big jim, standing there, turned about, laughing. "what are you snorting at, goliath? has a david at last sunk a joke into your head? come, let us go to the house." "father," said louise, "i am going to show you how much i love you. and oh, how i longed to rest in your arms the time you held them out to me, in that desolate hall, the night of death; but i knew that if i yielded i would go back to the nest with my wings untried. i had to go away. i will tell you all about it, and i know that you will not be ashamed of me." silently they took their way homeward, choosing a shorter route; and coming upon an oozy place in the woods, jim said to louise: "i'm going to carry you in my arms." he did not wait for her to protest, but gathered her in his arms, and her head lay upon his shoulder. "do you want my love to build a mansion for your heart?" he whispered. she put her arm about his neck. they came out into the hard road, and still he carried her, with her arms tight about his neck. the major looked on with a sad smile, for the sights of the day were still red before his eyes. but banteringly, he said: "first time i ever saw this hard road so muddy." louise laughed, whispered to jim and he eased her to the ground. "why, they've burnt wash sanders' house!" the major cried. "see, over there?" they came opposite the place where the house had stood, and the major suddenly drawing back, said to jim: "lead her around that way. she mustn't see this and she mustn't ask what it is." jim led her away, and the major looked at wash sanders. across a low rail fence his body lay, his hands drooping to the ground, and in front of him lay a gun that had fallen from his grasp; and a short distance away the major found a mulatto, lying dead beside the road. at the major's house the women were preparing supper. the hungry men, some of them bleeding, had assembled in the yard. darkness had fallen. "father," said tom, coming forward, leading sallie pruitt by the hand, "mother says that this girl shall live with us." "yes," said the old man, putting his hands on sallie's cheeks and kissing her. "yes, my dear, you shall live with us." and turning to low, he said: "you are a brave man. my hand, sir." and low, grasping the old man's hand, replied: "i am an englishman, and my father is a gentleman." "gid," said the major, "my name is john, god bless you." down the road arose sharp words of command, and the burning top of a tall pine snag threw its light upon bayonets in the highway. the soldiers were come. "i wonder what is to be the end of this day's beginning," said the englishman. "god only knows," the major replied. the end. file was produced from images generously made available by the bibliothèque nationale de france (bnf/gallica) at http://gallica.bnf.fr and by first-hand history at http://www. st-hand-history.org) * * * * * smithsonian institution--bureau of ethnology. illustrated catalogue of a portion of the collections made by the bureau of ethnology during the field season of . william h. holmes. * * * * * contents. page. introductory collections from jackson county, north carolina from the cherokee indians articles of stone articles of clay vegetal substances animal substances collections from cocke county, tennessee from the fields at newport articles of stone from a mound on pigeon river articles of clay collections from sevier county, tennessee the mcmahan mound articles of stone articles of clay objects of metal objects of shell animal substances from the fields of sevierville articles of stone articles of clay collections from roane county, tennessee mound at taylor's bend articles of stone articles of clay objects of shell from field at taylor's bend articles of stone vicinity of kingston mound at niles' ferry mounds near paint rock ferry fragments of pottery objects of shell collections from jefferson county mound on fain's island articles of clay from the fields of fain's island articles of stone objects of shell animal substances collections from mississippi county, arkansas pemissicott mound chickasawba mound mounds in carson lake township mounds at pecan point articles of clay field graves and fields in vicinity of pecan point articles of stone articles of clay collections from arkansas county, arkansas mounds at arkansas post articles of clay field graves about menard mounds articles of stone articles of clay objects of metal animal substances collection from monroe county, arkansas mound at lawrenceville articles of clay mounds at indian bay articles of clay collections from ohio from mounds and fields articles of stone articles of clay human remains collections from oregon articles of stone collections from kentucky collections from missouri articles of clay collections from other states collections from peru illustrations. fig. .--stone implement, tennessee .--sections of earthen vessels, tennessee .--earthen vessel, tennessee .--shell ornament, tennessee .--shell ornament, tennessee .--shell ornament, tennessee .--shell ornament, tennessee .--shell ornament, tennessee .--shell ornament, tennessee .--shell ornament, tennessee .--shell ornament, tennessee .--shell ornament, tennessee .--shell ornament, tennessee .--stone implement, tennessee .--stone implement, tennessee .--stone implement, tennessee .--stone implement, tennessee .--stone implement, tennessee .--stone implement, tennessee .--stone implement, tennessee .--shell bead, tennessee .--shell bead, tennessee .--shell bead, tennessee .--earthen vessel, tennessee .--shell ornament, tennessee .--shell ornament, tennessee .--stone implement, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--stone implement, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--earthen vessel, arkansas .--method of plaiting sandals .--method of plaiting mat .--earthen vessel, missouri .--earthen vessel, missouri .--earthen vessel, missouri .--earthen vessel, missouri .--earthen vessel, missouri .--earthen vessel, missouri .--earthen vessel, missouri .--earthen vessel, missouri .--earthen vessel, missouri .--earthen vessel, missouri .--earthen vessel, missouri .--earthen vessel, missouri .--earthen vessel, missouri .--earthen vessel, missouri .--earthen vessel, missouri .--earthen vessel, missouri .--earthen vessel, missouri .--earthen vessel, missouri .--earthen vessel, missouri .--earthen vessel, missouri .--earthen vessel, missouri .--earthen vessel, missouri .--earthen vessel, missouri .--earthen vessel, missouri .--wooden mask, peru .--stone net-sinker, peru .--copper fish-hooks, peru * * * * * illustrated catalogue of a portion of the ethnologic and archÆologic collections made by the bureau of ethnology during the year . by william h. holmes. * * * * * collection made by edward palmer, in north carolina, tennessee, and arkansas. introductory. mr. palmer began his explorations early in july, , and continued with marked success until the end of the year. he first paid a visit to the cherokee indians of north carolina, and collected a large number of articles manufactured or used by this people, besides a number of antiquities from the same region. from carolina he crossed into tennessee, and began work by opening a number of mounds in cocke county. in september he opened a very important mound, which i have named the mcmahan mound. it is located in the vicinity of sevierville, sevier county. afterwards mounds were opened on fain's island, at dandridge, and at kingston. in september he crossed into arkansas and made extensive explorations at osceola, pecan point, arkansas post, and indian bay. it has devolved upon the writer to examine and catalogue this fine collection. in preparing the catalogue the plan of arrangement already adopted by the bureau has been carried out; that is, a primary classification by locality and a secondary by material. the descriptions of specimens are taken from the card catalogue prepared by the writer on first opening the collection, and will be given in full, excepting in cases where detailed descriptions have been furnished in separate papers, either in this or the preceding annual report. cuts have been made of a number of the more interesting specimens. the localities are named in the order of their exploration. collections from jackson county, north carolina. obtained chiefly from the cherokee indians. articles of stone. . a small disk of dark-gray slate, ¼ inches in diameter and ½ inches in thickness. the form is symmetrical and the surface well polished. the sides are convex, slightly so near the center and abruptly so near the circumference. the rim or peripheral surface is squared by grinding, the circular form being accurately preserved. this specimen was obtained from an aged cherokee, who stated that it had formerly been used by his people in playing some sort of game. it seems not improbable that this stone has been used for polishing pottery. . a small subglobular pebble used as a polishing stone for pottery. . a polishing stone similar to the above. this implement was seen in use by the collector. . a hemispherical stone, probably used as a nut-cracker. . a stone implement somewhat resembling a thick, round-pointed pick, ½ inches in length and inch in diameter. it is perforated exactly as an iron pick would be for the insertion of a handle. the perforation has been produced by boring from opposite sides; at the surface it is five-eighths of an inch in diameter, and midway about three-eighths. the material seems to be an indurated clay or soft slate. the collector suggests that this specimen was probably used for smoothing bow-strings or straightening arrow-shafts. . eight arrow points of gray and blackish chalcedony. . pipe of gray, indurated steatite, of modern cherokee manufacture. . pipe of dark greenstone, highly polished. it is well modeled, but of a recent type. . grooved ax of compact greenish sandstone; found near bakersville, n.c. articles of clay. obtained from the southern band of cherokees, jackson county, north carolina. the manufacture of pottery, once so universally practiced by the atlantic coast indians, is still kept up by this tribe, rather, however, for the purpose of trade than for use in their domestic arts. the vessels are, to a great extent, modeled after the ware of the whites, but the methods of manufacture seem to be almost wholly aboriginal. . a handled mug or cup of brownish ware. the form is not aboriginal. it is composed of clay, tempered, apparently, with pulverized shell. the surface has a slight polish produced by a polishing implement. the height is ½ inches and the width nearly the same. . large flat-bottomed bowl, inches in height, inches in diameter at the top, and at the base. although made without a wheel, this vessel is quite symmetrical. the thickness is from one-fourth to one-half of an inch. the material has been a dark clay paste with tempering of powdered mica. . a three-legged pot, with spherical body, resembling very closely in appearance the common iron cooking pot of the whites. the rim is inches in diameter, and inch high. the body is inches in diameter. two handles are attached to the upper part of the body. the form is symmetrical and the surface highly polished. the polishing stone has been used with so much skill that the effect of a glaze is well produced. the materials used were clay and pulverized mica. the color is dark brown. . a strong, rudely made vessel shaped like a half cask. the walls are about one-half an inch in thickness. the surface is rough, the polishing stone having been very carelessly applied. . a flat-bottomed bowl symmetrical in shape but rudely finished. vegetal substances. . basket sieve said to be used to separate the finer from the coarser particles of pounded corn. the coarse meal thus obtained is boiled and allowed to ferment. this is used as food and is called _connawhana_. the sieve is made of split cane carefully smoothed; some of the strips are dyed red and others brown. a simple ornamental design is worked in these colors. the opening is square, with rounded corners, the sides measuring inches. the depth is inches. the bottom is flat and loosely woven. . a bottle-shaped basket, with constricted neck and rectangular body, used by the cherokees for carrying fish. height, inches; width of mouth, inches; diameter of body, inches. it is made of strips of white oak or hickory, one-fourth of an inch in thickness. . basket made of strips of white oak intended for the storage of seeds and for other household uses. the rim is about inches in diameter; the body is inches in diameter, the base being rectangular and flat. . basket, made of cane, used for storing seed. . two baskets, made of cane, probably used for household purposes. they are neatly ornamented with simple designs, produced by the use of colored strips. the rims are oval in shape, and the bases rectangular. the larger will hold about half a bushel, the smaller about a gallon. . small basket with a handle, made of splints of white oak. yellow strips of hickory bark are used to ornament the rim. other colors are obtained by using bark of different trees, maple, walnut, etc. . small cup or dish carved from laurel or cucumber wood. it is very neatly made. the depth is about inch; the width inches. . large spoon, carved from laurel or cucumber wood, used by the cherokees in handling the _connawhana_, or fermented meal. the carving is neatly done. the heart-shaped bowl is inches in length, in width, and about in depth. the handle is inches long, and is embellished at the end by a knob and ring. the knob is carved to represent a turtle's or snake's head. . a smaller spoon similar in shape to the above. . a large, five-pronged fork carved from the wood of the _magnolia glauca_ (?). it resembles the iron forks of the whites. . a small, three-pronged fork of the same pattern and material as the above. . a wooden comb made in imitation of the shell combs used by white ladies for supporting and ornamenting the back hair. the carving is said to have been done with a knife. considerable skill is shown in the ornamental design at the top. the wood is maple or beech. . a walnut paddle or club, used to beat clothes in washing. . bow of locust wood, feet long, one-half an inch thick, and ½ inches wide in the middle, tapering at the ends to inch. the back of the bow is undressed, the bark simply having been removed. the string, which resembles ordinary twine, is said to be made of wild hemp. the arrows are inches in length. the shafts are made of hickory wood and have conical points. stone and metal points are not used, as the country abounds in small game only, and heavy points are considered unnecessary. in trimming the arrow two feathers of the wild turkey are used; these are close clipped and fastened with sinew. . blow-gun used by the cherokees to kill small game. this specimen is feet in length, and is made of a large cane, probably the _arundinaria macrosperma_. these guns are made from to feet in length, the diameter in large specimens reaching ½ inches. . arrows used with the blow-gun. the shafts, which are made of hickory wood, are feet in length and very slender. the shooting end has a conical point; the feather end is dressed with thistle-down, tied on in overlapping layers with thread or sinew. the tip of down completely fills the barrel of the gun; and the arrow, when inserted in the larger end and blown with a strong puff, has a remarkable carrying and penetrating power. . thistle-heads, probably the _cnicus lanceolatus_, from which the down is obtained in preparing the arrows of the blow-gun. . ball-sticks or racquets made of hickory wood. rods of this tough wood, about feet long, are dressed to the proper shape, the ends having a semicircular section, the middle part being flat. each is bent and the ends united to form a handle, leaving a pear-shaped loop inches in width by about in length, which is filled with a network of leather or bark strings sufficiently close to hold the ball. . ball, ½ inches in diameter, covered with buckskin, used with the racquets in playing the celebrated ball game of the cherokee, choctaw, creek, and seminole indians. animal substances. . shell, probably a _unio_, used by potters to scrape the surface of clay vessels; seen in use. . comb made of horn. the teeth are inches in length, and have been made with a saw. it is used in dressing the hair. . charm made of feathers and snake rattles; worn on the head or on some part of the costume. . awl of iron set in a handle of deer's horn. collections from cocke county, tennessee. from fields near newport. articles of stone. . grooved ax, inches in length, ½ in width, and about in thickness; one side is quite flat, the other convex. the material is a banded schistose slate. . a fine specimen of grooved ax, inches in length, in width, and ½ in thickness. the groove is wide and shallow, and is bordered by two narrow ridges, which are in sharp relief all the way around. the material appears to be a greenish-gray diorite. . a grooved ax, inches long, ½ inches wide, and inch thick. this specimen is similar to the preceding, the groove being deeper on the lateral edges of the implement, and the upper end less prominent. it is made of a fine-grained gray sandstone. . fragment of a grooved ax, of gray slate. the groove is shallow and irregular. . celt of compact gray sandstone, somewhat chipped at the ends. it is ½ inches in length by ½ in width and ½ in thickness. one face is flat, the other convex. the sides are nearly parallel. a transverse section would be sub rectangular. . fragment of celt, inches in length by in width and about ½ in thickness. the material is a fine grained sandstone or a diorite. . a long, slender celt, very carefully finished, inches in length, in width, and less than in thickness. the material is a very compact gray slate. it has apparently been recently used as a scythe-stone by some harvester. . fragment of a small, narrow celt, both ends of which are lost. material, gray diorite. . heavy celt of gray diorite, inches in length by in width and ½ in thickness. . a pestle of gray diorite, with enlarged base and tapering top, ½ inches in length and inches in diameter at the base. . a pestle of banded schistose slate, inches in length, and ½ inches in diameter in the middle, tapering symmetrically toward the ends, which terminate in rounded points. . a ceremonial (?) stone resembling somewhat a small broad-bladed pick, the outline being nearly semicircular. it is pierced as a pick is pierced for the insertion of a handle. it is ½ inches in length, ½ in width, and three-fourths of an inch in thickness. the material is a soft greenish mottled serpentine, or serpentinoid limestone. fig. . [illustration: fig. .] . a pierced tablet of gray slate, ½ inches long, ½ inches wide, and half an inch thick. the two perforations are ½ inches apart; they have been bored from opposite sides, and show no evidence of use. nine notches have been cut in one end of the tablet. it has been much injured by recent use as a whetstone. . cup stone of rough sandstone, having seventeen shallow cup-like depressions, from to inches in diameter. the stone is of irregular outline, about inches in diameter and in thickness. . a large pipe of gray steatite; the bowl is square and about inches in length, by in diameter. the stem end is inches in length and three-fourths of an inch in diameter. the bowl has a deep, conical excavation. the same is true of the stem-end also. mound at the junction of the pigeon and french broad rivers. articles of clay. . the mound from which these fragments were obtained was located miles from newport. it was feet square and feet high. the original height was probably much greater. the pottery was mixed with ashes and _débris_ of what appeared to be three fire-places. no human remains were found. the fragments are not numerous, nor do they indicate a great variety in form. there is, however, considerable variety in decoration. _material._--the clay is generally gray or dark-reddish gray in the mass, and is apparently quite siliceous or sandy, numerous grains of quartz being visible. there is generally a sprinkling of finely-powdered mica, but no shell matter can be detected. when much weathered the surface is quite gritty. _form._--the leading form is a round-bodied, pot-shaped vase. there is one small hemispherical bowl. the outlines have been quite symmetrical. the mouths of the pots are wide, and the necks deeply constricted. the lip or rim exhibits a number of novel features. that of the larger specimen, of which a considerable segment remains, is furnished on the upper edge with a deep channel, nearly one-half an inch wide, and more than one-fourth of an inch deep. first section, fig. . others have a peculiar thickening of the rim, a sort of collar being added to the outside. this is about inch in width, and is thicker below, giving a triangular section. third section, fig. . [illustration: fig. .] the walls of the vessels are usually quite thin. the bottoms were probably round, or nearly so. no fragments, however, of the lower parts of the vessels were collected. there is but one example of handle, and this presents no unusual features. middle section, fig. . _ornamentation._--the ornamentation is in some respects novel. the double or channeled rim of the larger specimen, the mouth of which has been or inches in diameter, is embellished with a line of flutings, which seem to be the impressions of a hollow bone or reed. the whole exterior surface is embellished with a most elaborate ornamental design, which resembles the imprint of some woven fabric. if a woven fabric has not been used, a pliable stamp, producing the effect of a fabric, has been resorted to. the fact that the sharply concave portions of the neck are marked with as much regularity as the convex body of the vessel, precludes the idea of the use of a solid or non-elastic stamp. the pattern consists of groups of parallel indented lines, arranged at right angles with one another, the puzzling feature being that there is no evidence of the passing of the threads or fillets over or under each other, such as would be seen if a woven fabric had been used. the outer surface of the triangular collar peculiar to many of the pots has been decorated with a herring-bone pattern, made by impressing a sharp implement. the handle in one case is similarly ornamented. this handle has been added _after_ the figure previously described was impressed upon the neck of the vessel. one small fragment shows another style of indented or stamped pattern, which consists of series of straight and curved lines, such as are characteristic of many of the vessels obtained from the gulf states. a small fragment of coal-black ware is entirely smooth on the outside, and indicates an unusually well finished and symmetrical vessel. another shows the impression of basket-work, in which a wide fillet or splint has served as the warp and a small twisted cord as the woof. one interesting feature of this vessel is that from certain impressions on the raised ridges we discover that the vessel has been taken from the net mold while still in a plastic state. still another reddish porous fragment has a square rim, which is ornamented with a series of annular indentations. collections from sevier county, tennessee. the mcmahan mound. on the west fork of the little pigeon river, at sevierville, on a rich bottom, yards from the river, is a celebrated mound, the owners of which have for years refused to have it opened. mr. palmer spent several days in trying to obtain permission to open it, and was about leaving in despair, when the owners finally yielded, not, however, without requiring a number of concessions on the part of the collector, which concessions were put in the form of a legal document. this mound is feet high and feet in circumference. three feet below the surface, a stratum of burnt clay, feet wide by long, was reached. this has probably formed part of the roof of a dwelling. beneath this was a bed of charcoal inches thick. in this bed remnants of cedar posts from to inches thick and to feet in length were found. below this was a stratum of ashes, covering a limited area to the depth of feet. surrounding this, the earth contained fragments of numerous articles used by the inhabitants, while beneath came ½ feet of earth, in which numerous skeletons had been deposited. the bodies had been interred without order, and the bones were so intermingled, and so far decayed, that no complete skeletons could be collected. beneath the layer of bones came a second deposit of ashes, feet thick by ½ feet in diameter, and beneath this a mass of red clay, inches in thickness. in the earth surrounding the ashes and clay, a number of skeletons were found; these were in such an advanced stage of decomposition that only a few fragments of skulls could be preserved. three feet below the second layer of bones, the undisturbed soil was reached. two boxes of bones were collected, the well-preserved crania numbering about twenty. a great many interesting specimens of the implements, utensils, and ornaments of the mound-builders were obtained. the following catalogue includes everything of interest: articles of stone. , , , , , . numerous specimens of arrow-points, flakes, cores, and rough masses of gray and black chalcedony, obtained partly from the mound, and partly from the soil surrounding it. . a somewhat conical object of black compact graphite. the flattish base is rubbed off in an irregular way, as if in grinding down for use as a pigment. . fragment of hammerstone of gray micaceous sandstone, inches long by inches in diameter. it was found associated with the upper layer of skeletons. . pipe carved from gray marble. the bowl is symmetrically shaped, and resembles a common clay pipe. it is about ½ inches in height and in diameter. the stem part is about one-fourth of an inch in length. found with the upper layer of skeletons. . a perforated stone tube, ¼ inches long and three-fourths of an inch in diameter. it is probably the upper part of a pipe bowl. . a large number of minute quartz pebbles, probably used in a rattle or in playing some game of chance. found with the skeletons in the mound. . three glass beads, found feet below the surface of the mound. one is a bright blue bead of translucent glass. one is opaque, resembling porcelain. the third is of blue-gray glass, and has three longitudinal stripes of brown, underlaid by bands of white. all are cylindrical in shape, and are from three-eighths to half an inch in length, and about one-fourth of an inch in diameter. articles of clay. the collection of pottery from this mound is of much interest. there is but one entire vessel, but the fragments are so plentiful and well preserved that many interesting forms can be restored, and a very good idea of the ceramic work of this locality be formed. _form._--i have spent much time in the examination of these fragments, and have assigned each to the form of vessel to which it belonged. where large pieces are preserved, especially if the rim is included, we have little trouble in reconstructing the entire vessel, without fear of being seriously wrong. the lower parts of the bodies of all forms are round or slightly flattened, and but a small fragment of the rim is needed to tell whether the vessel was a bottle, pot, or bowl. i find, however, that the forms merge into each other in such a way that a complete graduated series can be found. of first importance, are the round or globular vases with more or less constricted necks. _ornamentation._--the inside of all forms is plain with the exception of accidental markings of the fingers. the rim is square, sharp, or round on the edge, and sometimes slightly enlarged or beaded on the outer margin. a collar is attached to many forms, which at the lower edge overhangs. it is added to the body with the rim, or as a strip afterward attached. it is often notched or indented with a stick, bone, or reed, or with the fingers. the necks of vases and pot-shaped vessels have a great variety of handles, knobs, and ornaments. some of the latter seem to be atrophied handles. in some cases a low horizontal ridge, from to or more inches in length is placed near the rim, in place of the continuous collar. in other cases a narrow, crescent-shaped ridge is attached, the points reaching down on the shoulder, the arch lying upon the neck. still others have one or more handles which connect the rim with the neck or shoulder of the vessel, leaving a round or oblong passage for a cord or vine. these handles were added after the vessel was completed. they are never ornamented. in one case an arched handle, like the handle of a basket, connects the opposite sides of the rim. this is the only entire vessel recovered from the mound. it was associated with the upper layer of skeletons. diameter ½ inches. fig. . [illustration: fig. .] the body of these vessels is sometimes quite plain, but is more frequently covered with cord markings. these, with one or two exceptions, seem to be made by a series of fine cords, approximately parallel, but without cross-threads of any kind. there is little uniformity of arrangement. in the upper part, and about the base of the neck, the indented lines are generally vertical. on the bottom they are quite irregular, as if the vessel, in making, had been rolled about on a piece of netting or coarse cloth. the cords have been about the size of the ordinary cotton cord used by merchants. one exception is seen in a fragment of a large, rudely-made vase, in which we have the impression of a fabric, the warp of which, whether wood or cord, has consisted of fillets more than one-fourth of an inch in width, the woof being fine cord. this is what is frequently spoken of as the ear-of-corn impression. no incised or excavated lines have been noticed in these fragments of pot-shaped vessels. some of the most elegant vessels are without upright necks. the upper or incurved surface of the body is approximately flat, forming, with the lower part of the body a more or less sharp peripheral angle. the base is rounded, and, so far as we can judge from the examples, the bottom is slightly flattened. vessels having vertical or flaring rims are generally somewhat more shallow. the incurved upper surface is often tastefully ornamented with patterns of incised or excavated lines which are arranged in groups, in vertical or oblique positions, or encircle the vessel parallel with the border. one specimen has a row of stamped circles, made by a reed or hollow bone. bowls of the ordinary shape are variously decorated. in one case we have on the outside of the rim, and projecting slightly above it, a rudely-modeled grotesque face. a notched fillet passes around the rim, near the lip, connecting with the sides of this head. in another case a rude node is added to the rim. the only bowl having a flaring rim is without ornament. we have only one fragment of a bowl in which the body has been marked with cords. _composition._--the clay used in the pottery from this mound is generally fine in texture, and of a light-gray color. many of the fragments have been blackened by burning subsequently to their original firing, and some may have been originally blackened with graphite. the prevailing colors seen in the fragments are yellowish and reddish grays. the percentage of powdered shell used in tempering has usually been very large, forming at times at least half the mass. the flakes of shell are very coarse, being often as much as one-fourth of an inch in diameter. in many cases they have been destroyed by burning, or have dropped out from decay, leaving a deeply pitted surface. _pipes._--there are a number of pipes in the collection, most of which were found near the surface of the mound. in some cases they resemble modern forms very closely. the most striking example is made of a fine-grained clay, without visible admixture of tempering material. the color is a reddish gray. it is neatly and symmetrically formed, the surface being finished by polishing with a smooth, hard implement, and shaving with a knife. the bowl is inches high, and the rim is bell-shaped above, with a smooth, flat lip, one-fourth of an inch wide. the diameter of the opening is nearly inches. the base is conical. the stem part is one-half an inch long and one-half an inch in diameter. the bowl and stem are both conically excavated. another specimen is made of clay mixed with powdered shell. the bowl is cylindrical, being a little larger at the rim, which is ornamented with rows of punctures. the elbow is ornamented by a rosette of indented lines. the mouth piece has been broken away. objects of metal. . one of the most instructive finds in this mound is a pair of brass pins, of undoubted european manufacture. the collector makes the statement, with entire confidence in its correctness, that they had been encased in the earth at the time of the interment of the bodies. one was associated with the upper and the other with the lower layer of bones. in size and shape they resemble our ordinary brass toilet pin. the head is formed of a spiral coil of wire, the diameter of which is about one-half that of the shaft of the pin. it is also stated by the collector that an iron bolt was found in the lower stratum of bones. this object was unfortunately lost. . a small brass cylinder, found feet inches below the surface of the mound. the thin sheet of which the coil is made is about inch square. the edges are uneven. it was probably used as a bead. objects of shell. few mounds have rivaled this in its wealth of shell ornaments. engraved gorgets cut from the body of the _busycon perversum_ and large pins from the columellæ of the same shell are especially numerous and well-preserved. large numbers of beads and unworked shells were also found. all were intimately associated with the skeletons. while many of the specimens are well-preserved, we find that many are in an advanced stage of decay, and unless most carefully handled, crumble to powder. similar shell ornaments are found in mounds in other parts of tennessee, as well as in neighboring states. these have been pretty fully described in the second annual report. - . these pins are all made from the _busycon perversum_. the entire specimens range from to inches in length; two are fragmentary, having lost their points by decay. the heads are from one-half to inch in length, and are generally less than inch in diameter. they are somewhat varied in shape, some being cylindrical, others being conical above. the shaft is pretty evenly rounded, but is seldom symmetrical or straight. it is rarely above one-half an inch in diameter, and tapers gradually to a more or less rounded point. the groove of the canal shows distinctly in all the heads, and may often be traced far down the shaft. in a number of cases the surface retains the fine polish of the newly finished object, but it is usually somewhat weathered, and frequently discolored or chalky. these specimens were found in the mounds along with deposits of human remains, and generally in close proximity to the head; this fact suggests their use as ornaments for the hair. - . a number of saucer-shaped shell gorgets, the upper edge being somewhat straightened, the result of the natural limit of the body of the shell. two small holes, for suspension occur near the upper margin. the diameter ranges from to inches. [illustration: fig. . ] [illustration: fig. . ] in studying the design the attention is first attracted by an eye-like figure near the left border. this is formed of a series of concentric circles, and is partially inclosed by a looped band about one-eighth of an inch in width, which opens downward to the left. this band is occupied by a series of conical dots or depressions, the number of which varies in the different specimens. the part of the figure inclosed by this band represents the head and neck of the serpent. to the right of the eye we have the mouth, which is usually shown in profile, the upper jaw being turned upward exhibiting a double row of notches or teeth. the body encircles the head in a single coil, which appears from beneath the neck on the right, passes around the front of the head, and terminates at the back in a pointed tail armed with well-defined rattles. the spots and scales of the serpent are represented in a highly conventionalized manner. [illustration: fig. . fig. . shell gorgets with engraved designs representing the rattlesnake.] - . the handsome specimen given in fig. is in a very good state of preservation. it is a deep, somewhat oval plate, made from a _busycon perversum_. the surface is nicely polished and the margins neatly beveled. the marginal zone is less than half an inch wide and contains at the upper edge two perforations, which have been considerably abraded by the cord of suspension. four long curved slits or perforations almost sever the central design from the rim; the four narrow segments that remain are each ornamented with a single conical pit. the serpent is very neatly engraved and belongs to the chevroned variety. the eye is large and the neck is ornamented with a single rectangular intaglio figure. the mouth is more than usually well defined. the upper jaw is turned abruptly backward and is ornamented with lines peculiar to this variety of the designs. [illustration: fig. . ( .) fig. . ( .) shell gorgets with engraved designs representing the rattlesnake.] the body of the serpent opposite the perforations for suspension is interrupted by a rather mysterious cross band, consisting of one broad and two narrow lines. as this is a feature common to many specimens, it probably had some important office or significance. - . mask-like shell ornaments. by a combination of engraving and sculpture a rude resemblance to the human features is produced. the objects are generally made from large pear-shaped sections of the lower whorl of marine univalves. the lower portion, which represents the neck and chin, is cut from the somewhat constricted part near the base of the shell, while the broad outline of the head reaches the first suture at the noded shoulder of the body whorl. the simplest form is shown in fig. . a more elaborate form is given in fig. . [illustration: fig. . ( .) mask-like object of shell.] [illustration: fig. . ( .) mask-like object of shell.] these objects are especially numerous in the mounds of tennessee, but their range is quite wide, examples having been reported from kentucky, virginia, illinois, missouri, and arkansas, and smaller ones of a somewhat different type from new york. in size they range from to inches in length, the width being considerably less. they are generally found associated with human remains in such a way as to suggest their use as ornaments for the head or neck. there are, however, no holes for suspension except those made to represent the eyes, and these, so far as i have observed, show no abrasion by a cord of suspension. their shape suggests the idea that they may have been used as masks, after the manner of metal masks by some of the oriental nations. [illustration: fig. .--shell gorget with engraving of a curious human figure.] . engraved shell, fig. . this very interesting object has been fully described in the second annual report of the bureau. the figure is so obscure that considerable study is necessary in making it out. . engraved shell, fig. . this remarkable specimen has already been described in the second annual report of the bureau. the engraved design is certainly of a very high order of merit, and suggests the work of the ancient mexicans. - , , , , . shell beads discoidal and cylindrical in form, made chiefly from the columellæ and walls of marine univalves. . shell bead made by grinding off the apex of a large _oliva biplicata_. (?) . beads made from _marginella_ (?) shells. , , - , . species of shell found in the mound, some with the skeletons, others near the surface. [illustration: fig. .--shell gorget with engraved design representing two fighting figures.] the following genera and species are provisionally determined: _unio multiplicatus._ _uhio ovatus._ _unio crassidens._ _unio victorum._ _marginella (?)._ _oliva (?)._ _io spinosa._ _trypanostoma anthonyi._ _anculosa subglobosa._ _busycon perversum._ . a tooth-shaped fresh-water pearl, found with the skeletons. animal substances. . fragments of deer-horn found near the surface of the mound. . an implement of unusual form, made from a flat piece of bone, found with the skeletons in the mound. , . bone implements, needles and perforators, some of which are well preserved and retain the original polish; others are in a very advanced stage of decay. three boxes of human bones (not numbered). from the fields at sevierville. articles of stone. . a small grooved ax, formed of a coarse textured stone, resembling diorite. it is ½ inches in length and ½ in width. the head is rounded and the cutting edge much battered. the groove is wide and shallow, and the bordering ridges prominent. the blade thins out quite abruptly. presented by j. b. emert. . a celt ¾ inches long, ½ inches wide, and inch thick. the material is a compact, blue-gray, banded slate. the sides are straight and a transverse section is somewhat rectangular. both edges are sharpened, and are very neatly beveled and polished. presented by w. p. mitchell. . a small celt of compact greenish slate; one face is flat, the other convex. it is neatly made and perfectly preserved, the broader end being oblique and sharp. it is - / inches in length. . a rude, much-battered celt of coarse sandstone or diorite. it is inches in length by in width near the cutting edge. the top is somewhat conical. . a large unsymmetrical celt made of coarse yellowish sandstone; one side is much battered. the cutting edge is round and dull. it is inches in length by in width near the broad end and is ½ inches thick. . a knife-blade-shaped object, apparently a fragment of a winged ceremonial stone. the whole surface is smooth and shows no evidence of use. it is made of fine-grained gray slate. it is inches in length by five-eighths in width. . a bell-shaped pestle made of yellowish gray quartzite. the surface has been evenly roughened by picking, but has become slightly polished on parts most exposed when in use. the base part is subrectangular in section, and the bottom is slightly but evenly convex. the upper part, which has been shaped for convenient grasping by the hand, is evenly rounded at the top. height, ½ inches; width, of base, ½ inches. . a well-formed globe of gritty sandstone. the surface is roughened or granular. it is ½ inches in diameter. . portion of an oblong hammer stone, inches in length by in diameter in the middle part. one end has been much reduced by use. it is made of some dark, much decomposed, crystalline rock. . asymmetrical sandstone ring, inches in diameter and three-fourths of an inch in thickness. the perforation is about five-eighths of an inch in diameter. the surface is roughened by picking. [illustration: fig. .] . a symmetrical, neatly finished disk of light gray quartzite. it is ¼ inches in diameter and ¼ inches in thickness at the circumference, and less than inch thick at the center. . an hour-glass shaped tube made of gray hydro-mica schist, which resembles very compact steatite. it is ½ inches long, inches in diameter at the widest part and ¼ inches at the narrowest part. the most restricted part near the middle is girdled by a ridge or ring, on the circumference of which seventy or eighty shallow notches have been cut. the perforation is much enlarged at the ends, giving cup-like cavities. the walls are thin near the ends and quite thick near the middle, the passage being hardly more than one-quarter of an inch in diameter. the markings on the inside indicate that the excavation has been made by a gouging process, rather than by the use of a rotary perforator. [illustration: fig. .] . a boat-shaped ceremonial stone of banded slate, inches long, inch wide, and inch deep. from the side the outline is triangular, the two lines of the keel forming almost a right angle. from the top the outline is a long, pointed oval, as seen in the illustration, fig. . [illustration: fig. .] the trough-shaped excavation is more rounded in outline, and is three-fourths of an inch in depth. perforations have been made near the ends of this trough; these seem to be somewhat abraded on the outside by a cord of suspension or attachment which has passed between them along a groove in the apex or angle of the keel. [illustration: fig. . ] . an amulet or charm of dark-greenish rock, probably a serpentine, carved to represent a bird's head. the more highly polished parts are quite dark, while freshly cut lines are whitish. the head is graphically represented, the bill, the eye, and nostril being well shown. a stand-like base takes the place of the body of the bird. around this, near the bottom, a groove has been cut for the purpose of attaching a string or securing a handle. in dressing the surface some implement has been used that has left file-like scratches. fig. represents this object natural size. . fragment of a stone disk or wheel that has lines cut upon it resembling in arrangement the grooves of an ordinary millstone. diameter, inches; thickness, inches. this is probably not an aboriginal work. [illustration: fig. . ] . a banner-stone of unusual shape, made of gray slate. the cut, fig. , represents this object three-fourths natural size. the perforation is one-half an inch in diameter, and is quite symmetrical. the entire surface is well polished. articles of clay. a few specimens of potsherds were collected from the fields about sevierville. most of these are identical in every way with the pottery of the mound, but three examples are of a totally different type. the material of these is a fine sandy clay, tempered with a large percentage of finely pulverized mica. the forms of the vessels cannot be made out. the outer surfaces were ornamented by a stamped pattern of small square or lozenge-shaped figures, a number of these together were apparently formed by a single stamp. among the fragments we have half a dozen disks, from to inches in diameter, worked from ordinary potsherds. a small rudely modeled figure of a bird was also found with these fragments. there were also masses of indurated clay, which seem to have been used for chinking purposes. collections from roane county, tennessee. mound at taylor's bend. this mound is situated three hundred and fifty yards from the french broad river, on the farm of mr. william harris. it is feet high and nearly feet in circumference. its summit has been cultivated for many years, and the height has doubtless been much reduced. immediately under the surface soil a heavy bed of ashes and charcoal was reached, which at the border of the mound was only a few inches thick, but at the center was about feet thick. in this stratum were found a few implements, and fragments of pottery, and two very much decayed skeletons. a part of one cranium was preserved. the mound beneath this stratum was composed chiefly of loam, with some sand in the center, and contained nothing of interest. articles of stone. . a needle-like implement, made of a soft black stone that may be cannel coal. it is ½ inches in length, but is not entire. the shaft is a little more than one-fourth of an inch in diameter, is nearly round, and tapers to a symmetrical point. the surface is highly polished. it was found in the stratum of ashes. articles of clay. , - . a considerable number of fragments of pottery was found in the stratum of ashes. _form._--vases of the wide-mouthed, round-bodied variety are represented, also a number of hemispherical bowls. one large fragment representing a vessel with rounded bottom was found. _size._--the pot-like vases have been quite large, the mouths being as much as inches in diameter. the larger bowls have been inches or more in diameter. others are smaller. the walls of some of the larger vessels have been half an inch in thickness. _material._--classified by material, there are two varieties, one is composed of the usual clay and pulverized shells, the latter being coarse and exceedingly plentiful; the other has no shell material, but in its place an admixture of sand and small quartz pebbles. _ornamentation._--the inside is plain as usual, and many of the fragments have no exterior ornament. there are two varieties of surface markings; one consists of impressions of basket work, which indicate a broad series of fillets bound together by small twisted cords of grass or bark; the other appears to have been made by an open net-work of fine cords, which have been quite irregularly arranged. objects of shell. . a shell pin made from the columella of a large univalve. the original polish is still preserved. the head is round and small, and the shaft inches in length. found in the stratum of ashes. . two species of shells, _io spinosa_ and _pleurocera conradii_ (?), obtained from the stratum of ashes. collections from the fields at taylor's bend. articles of stone. . a lot of arrow points, spear points, and knives, having a wide range of shape and size. a serrated specimen is inches in length, and is made of yellowish striped chalcedony. one is made of white translucent quartz, and others of dark gray and black chalcedony. . a stone disk, ¼ inches in diameter and three-eighths of an inch thick. it is of gray sandstone, nicely smoothed. the edge is rounded and the sides slightly convex. . two stone disks similar to the preceding, but smaller. . a small, thick, nearly symmetrical celt, ½ inches in length, ½ inches in width, and one-half of an inch thick. the edge is rounded in outline and well sharpened. the beveled areas are narrow and stand at an angle of ° with each other. it is widest at the edge, tapering above to a conical point. the material is apparently a compact greenish diorite. . a small celt similar to the preceding in form and material. it is ¼ inches long, and ¾ inches in width near the cutting edge, which is considerably battered. . a curved celt of considerable interest, made of a greenish diorite. it is inches in length, ½ inches wide near the cutting edge, and about inch thick. it tapers toward the apex to ½ inches in width. a transverse section would be a sharp oval. a longitudinal section showing the thickness of the implement gives a bow-like figure, the median line of which would deflect nearly half an inch from a straight line. . a celt, ½ inches in length, of the usual form, made of a greenish diorite. . a grooved ax of gray sandstone, inches long, inches wide, and inch thick. the groove is deep and well rounded, and has two bordering ridges in high relief. the head is low and conical, and the blade narrow and rectangular. the surface has originally been quite smooth, but is now somewhat battered. [illustration: fig. . ] [illustration: fig. . ] . a cylindrical pestle of gray diorite (?), inches long and inches in diameter. the general surface is rough, the points being smoothed by use. . a perforated tablet, made of gray, chloritic schist, ½ inches long by ½ inches broad, illustrated in fig. . the sides are notched in a way that gives a dumb-bell like outline. the ends are almost square. series of notches have been cut in the terminal edges. on one of the lateral margins rude notches and zigzag lines have been engraved. in the middle of the plate there is a circular perforation one-fourth of an inch in diameter. midway between this and the ends are two other perforations, one being circular and one-eighth of an inch in diameter, and the other lozenge or diamond shaped and nearly one-fourth of an inch in width. these show no evidence of wear. the surface is uneven, though somewhat polished. it has probably been used for straightening arrow shafts and shaping strings. . fragment of a perforated tablet carved from gray slate. it has been broken transversely near the middle, through a perforation which has been about one-eighth of an inch in diameter. the remnant is inches in length and ½ inches in width at the perforation. one side is plain, the other has a design of plain and zigzag lines. the edges are beveled and notched. see fig. . vicinity of kingston. on the farm of mr. m. biss, three miles from kingston, on the tennessee river, a mound was opened which was so located as to overlook the river, and at the same time guard the approach from two pieces of projecting wood. it was feet high, feet wide on the top, and feet in diameter at the base. it was composed entirely of clay. three feet from the surface six very much decayed skeletons were found, no parts of which could be preserved. the bodies seem to have been deposited without definite order. no objects of art were obtained. opposite kingston, on the clinch river, are three mounds, located on the farm of t. n. clark. they are all small, and, with the exception of two much decayed skeletons and a single arrow point, contained nothing of interest. on the farm of s. p. evans, three miles below kingston, are three groups of mounds. the first contains five mounds; the second, a little higher up, has the same number, while the third has but two. they are all built of clay, and seem to be without remains of any sort. mound at niles' ferry. on the farm of j. w. niles, at this point, is a large mound that has the appearance of a creek or cherokee ball-ground. it was flat on the top, and had an area of ¾ acres. the height was feet. in outline it was somewhat triangular. this mound was also constructed of clay, and contained nothing of interest. in the fields, near by, human bones, pottery, stone implements, beads, etc., are frequently plowed up. from this locality the following specimens were collected: . arrow heads and knives of gray and black chalcedony. . unworked unio shells. . a number of shell beads of usual size and form. mounds near paint rock ferry. about three hundred yards from the tennessee river, at paint rock ferry, is a large mound feet in height, and covering an area of about about two acres. permission could not be obtained to open the mound, on account of the crop of corn that covered it. near its base, on opposite sides, were two smaller mounds. one of these was feet high and in diameter, and contained a stone grave. the body which it contained had been laid on the ground and covered a foot deep with earth. a flat rock had been laid upon this, and slabs of limestone set on edge all around. the inclosed space was feet in width by in length. earth had been used to cover the cist and form the mound. about this mound were scattered many slabs of stone which had been plowed up during previous years; and it is stated that human bones and various objects of art have, at different times, been brought to light. a short distance from the large mound, and near the river bank, is another mound on which a barn has been built. several hundred yards from the river, in a meadow, is a third mound, less than half as large as that first mentioned. the owner would not allow it to be disturbed. still another mound, near by, was oval in outline, feet long, by wide, and high. it was composed of clay and contained nothing but a few pieces of pottery. , , . fragments of pottery from the mounds at paint rock ferry. objects of shell. [illustration: fig. . fig. .] , . shell beads, buttons, and pendants, made from marine shells. a neatly made pendant is inch in diameter and one-sixth of an inch thick. near the edge are two small perforations for suspension, and at the center is a conical pit, encircled by a shallow incised line. beside this, there are a number of buttons of similar shape, which have single perforations at the center. some of the smaller beads seem to have been painted red. figs. , , and . . fragment of a large _busycon perversum_. . teeth of the bear, and possibly of the horse found near the surface of one of the mounds. [illustration: fig. .] collections from jefferson county. mound on fain's island. this mound is located on the east end of the island. although it has been under cultivation for many years, it is still feet in height. the circumference at the base is about feet. near the surface a bed of burned clay was encountered, in which were many impressions of poles, sticks, and grass. this was probably the remains of the roof of a house, which had been about feet long by feet in width. the bed of clay was about inches thick. beneath this was a layer of charcoal and ashes, with much charred cane. there were also indications of charred posts, which probably served as supports to the roof. four feet below the surface were found the remains of thirty-two human skeletons. with the exception of seventeen skulls, none of the bones could be preserved. there seems to have been no regularity in the placing of the bodies. articles of clay. the fragments of pottery from this mound are unusually large and well preserved, and exhibit a number of varieties of form and ornamentation. _forms._--the prevailing form is a pot-shaped vase, with wide mouth, and rounded body; the neck is short and straight or but slightly constricted. the handles or ears which connect the upper part of the neck with the shoulder are in some cases as much as inches wide. the bowls are mostly hemispherical, but in a few cases have incurved lips, the shoulder being rounded and the base somewhat flattened. the largest specimens have been or inches in diameter. the vases have been somewhat larger. _material._--classified by material, there seem to be two varieties, one with a very large percentage of coarsely pulverized shell material, the other without visible _dégraissant_. the clay is usually fine and apparently without admixture of sand or other impurities. a little comminuted mica may be seen in some cases. _color._--the prevailing color is a reddish gray, more or less blackened by use. a remarkable variety has a bright red surface, the mass being gray. _ornamentation._--the ornamentation consists of cord and net impressions, incised lines, stamped figures, indented fillets, and life and fanciful forms modeled in relief. the study of cord impressions is quite interesting. the cords are twisted and as large as medium twine. these cords appear to have been disconnected, at least, not woven into a fabric, and the impressions are generally nearly vertical about the upper part of the vessel, but below take all positions, the result being a sort of hatching of the lines. this effect may be the result of placing the vessel upon a coarse fabric while the rim was being finished or the handles added. it seems possible that a loose net of cords, probably with fine crossthreads, is used to suspend the vessel in during the process of modeling. it appears, however, if this has been the case, that the vessel has been taken out of this net before it was burned. where handles have been added, it will be found that the cord markings have been destroyed by the touch of the fingers. but the body has impressions of the net made after the addition of the handles and ornaments, as the impressions appear on the outside or lower edges of these additions. the lower part of the body may still have been supported by the net during the process of drying; but as some vessels have no cord markings whatever, it is evident that it was not difficult to complete the vessel without the support of the net. [illustration: fig. .] by making a clay impression of one of the fragments i have been able to determine the character of the fabric used. it was loosely woven and quite flexible, the clay often receiving finger impressions through it. it was probably made of grasses or the fibre of bark. beside the net and cord marks, which may or may not be the result of an attempt at ornament, there are ornaments made of fillets of clay. in a number of cases a comb-like figure made of thin fillets has been added to the shoulder of a vase. in other cases a fillet has been carried around the neck of the vase and indented by the finger or an implement. the rim of one bowl has been ornamented with three deeply incised or excavated lines, which form a sort of embattled figure about the incurved lip. another has a series of shallow, vertical, incised lines near the rim, and a circle of annular indentations, three-eighths of an inch in diameter, about one-fourth of an inch from the lip. there are also various forms of noded ornaments on the rims of bowls. the handles of vases are in a few cases effectively ornamented. in one case the handle has been elaborated into a life form, representing a frog or human figure. the arms are attached to the upper part of the handle and lie extended along the rim. the handle proper represents the body, the breast being protruded. the legs lie flattened out upon the shoulder of the vessel, the feet being bent back beneath the body; height ½ inches. this vessel is illustrated in fig. . from the fields of fain's island. articles of stone. . a very handsome specimen of grooved ax. it is made of a remarkable variety of porphyritic diorite that resembles breccia. the matrix has the appearance of a gray speckled quartzite; the angular inclusions being whitish feldspar, with dark-greenish patches of hornblende. the surface is smooth and shows but little wear. the length is inches, the width , and the thickness inches. the groove is deep, and has two well-defined bordering ridges. the head is low and rounded, and occupies about one-third of the length of the implement. the blade is well-formed, the sides being parallel or nearly so. the edge is slightly rounded in outline, and is polished and sharp. . a grooved stone ax, inches in length, ½ inches in width, and ¼ inches in thickness. the groove is placed as in the preceding example, but has a bordering ridge on the upper side only. the head is very large and narrow. the blade is rectangular in outline, and has a rounded, moderately sharp edge. the material is a compact graphic diorite (?). . a grooved ax, inches in length, ½ inches in width, and three-fourths of an inch in thickness. the groove, which is well defined, has no lateral ridges. it seems to have been made from a flattish, oval, river pebble. . fragment of a pierced tablet of slate. . a well shaped disk of translucent quartz, ¾ inches in diameter and three-fourths of an inch in thickness. the sides are nearly flat, and the edge evenly rounded. the surface is quite smooth. . steatite pipe found on the surface of the mound. the bowl is about inches in length and inch in thickness. a section is nearly square. the cavities are roughly excavated. objects of shell. . well preserved specimen of _io spinosa_. . specimens of _unio probatus_. . a large specimen of shell pin, made from the columella of a _busycon perversum_. it is much discolored and in an advanced stage of decay. length nearly inches. form as usual. . a shell pin similar to the preceding. [illustration: fig. .--shell gorget with an engraved cross.] . a number of large shell beads, made from the columellæ of marine shells. the larger specimens are cylindrical in form, and are inch in length and upwards of inch in diameter. [illustration: fig. .--shell gorget with the engraving of a spider.] - . shell beads of various sizes and shapes, made from the columellæ and walls of marine shells. . a shell ornament, on the convex surface of which a very curious ornamental design has been engraved. the design, inclosed by a circle, represents a cross such as would be formed by two rectangular tablets or slips, slit longitudinally and interlaced at right-angles to each other. the lines are neatly and deeply incised. the edge of the ornament has been broken away nearly all around. it is represented natural size in the cut. fig. . . this disk is somewhat more convex on the front than is indicated in the engraving. it is ½ inches in diameter, and is quite thin and fragile, although the surface has not suffered much from decay. the margin is ornamented with twenty-four very neatly-made notches or scallops. immediately inside the border on the convex side are two incised circles, on the outer of which two small perforations for suspension have been made; inside of these, and less than half an inch from the margin, is a circle of seventeen subtriangular perforations, the inner angle of each being much rounded. inside of this again is another incised circle, about ¼ inches in diameter, which incloses the highly conventionalized figure of an insect resembling a spider. the middle segment of the body is nearly round and has near the center a large conical perforation. this round portion corresponds to the thorax of the insect and has four pairs of legs attached to it. it is difficult to distinguish the anterior and posterior extremities of the body. it is probable that the subtriangular figure below is intended for the head, as the two circles with central dots are good representations of eyes. fig. . animal substances. , , . a number of bone implements, including needles, perforators, and paddle-shaped objects, found with the skeletons in the mound. collections from mississippi county, arkansas. pemisscott mound. on pemisscott bayou, miles northwest of osceola, on the farm of samuel hector, is a mound feet in height, with a surface area of about one-fourth of an acre. the sides have been dug into extensively, but the central part remained untouched. it was composed of sand and bluish clay, but contained no remains of interest. it is stated by the proprietor that formerly there were three circular ditches extending around the slopes of the mound. when the surface of the mound was first plowed quantities of charcoal and potsherds were found. chickasawba mound. this mound is situated at chickasawba village, miles north of osceola. it is feet high, and covers an area of one-fourth of an acre. collectors had already done much work on this mound, but obtained little or nothing. the owner does not wish it disturbed further. a field of several acres near by abounds in fragments of pottery, stone implements, and the remains of houses and camp-fires. the field contained originally many small mounds or heaps, which were probably the sites of houses. in a number of cases skeletons have been found beneath these heaps. mounds in carson lake township. in carson lake township, miles southwest of osceola, on the farm of hugh walker, are three mounds, which were much disturbed by the earthquake that visited the new madrid district in . the first one inspected is feet wide by feet long, but exhibits no evidence of having been a dwelling or burial place. the second mound is about yards from the first, and is circular in outline, having two ridge-like projections from opposite sides. it is feet in height, and about feet across at the top. a number of recent interments have been made near the summit. the third mound is yards from the preceding, and is feet high, feet wide, and feet long. six skeletons were found in this mound. a stratum of ashes, charcoal, and burned clay was associated with them. one cranium and a few bones were collected. . burnt clay from the third mound just described. . fragment of a plain vase; interior, reddish; exterior, yellowish-gray. other fragments are of ordinary undecorated ware. mounds at pecan point. on the land of r. w. friend, mile west of the mississippi river, are two mounds. the one first examined is feet high and feet in circumference. the other is feet high and feet in circumference. two skeletons were found near the surface of the latter mound. near these mounds is another, feet high and feet in diameter. formerly this mound was covered with large trees, and the roots have penetrated the soil, causing much injury to the contents. it is the opinion of the collector that this mound, as well as many others of the same region, has been used as a dwelling site, and that when a death occurred the dwelling was burned down over the body. before building again the site was covered with a few inches of earth. there was no uniformity in the position of the graves or their contents. the following objects were obtained from this mound: articles of clay. . a jar-shaped vase, with low neck and much compressed body. height, inches; width, ½ inches; surface, moderately smooth; color, almost black. . a jar similar to the preceding, but somewhat taller. . a rather unusual form of bottle-shaped vase. the neck is narrow and tapering. a fillet with finger indentations encircles the lip. the base of the neck is also ornamented with a collar or fillet. the body is globular, apparently a little pointed above. whole height, ½ inches; width, inches; color, gray. . a small, large-necked vase, with globular body, and lip a little recurved. the body is ornamented with a number of indentations, probably made with the finger nail. color, dark gray. . a large, thick-bodied vase, modeled to represent a hunchbacked human figure. the head is missing. it is inches in width, and has been about inches in height. ware of the ordinary dark variety. . fragments of steatite vessels which have been from to feet in diameter. the walls about the rims were quite thin. . a large clay pipe, found in the soil near the banks of the mississippi. field graves and fields in the vicinity of pecan point. articles of stone. . a large lot of arrow-points of yellow and gray jasper. , , - , - . celts or knives made of jasper and yellowish jaspery slate, which range from to inches in length, and are less than inch in width and half an inch in thickness. they have been chipped into the desired shape, and finished by grinding off the more prominent parts and producing in many eases sharp cutting edges. a good example is shown in fig. . [illustration: fig. .] . a flat pebble, with rudely-made notches at the side. , , . fragments of celts. . yellowish jasper pebble, resembling a celt. . fragment of a long, chipped, knife-like implement, the extremities of which are lost. . fragment of a steatite vessel. , . sandstone pebbles. . hammer-stone, with conical points, made from a pebble of cherty sandstone. . slightly grooved fragment of rubbing-stone. . flat pebble, slightly hollowed by use; a sort of shallow mortar. . fragment of a stone similar to the preceding. . fragment of concretionary iron ore, concave on one side. . red paint. articles of clay. [illustration: fig. .] a large number of very fine vessels of clay was presented by dr. j. m. lindsley. they were obtained from a field near pecan point, within half a mile of the mississippi river. in the fields is a large mound which could not be opened on account of the crops. years ago, when the timber was cleared from this field, many small elevations or hillocks were observed scattered irregularly over the surface. the plow has obliterated these, but has brought to light many evidences of ancient occupation, such as charcoal, ashes, burned clay, stone implements, and human bones. . a large, beautifully-formed jar has received this number. the neck is short and slender, and the rim slightly enlarged and recurved. the body is full and symmetrical, but greatly compressed vertically, the width being about twice the height. the ware is of the dark, porous variety. full height, inches; width, inches. . a bottle-shaped jar or vase, with long neck and globular body. the form is unusually graceful. height is inches. diameter of body, ½ inches. this vessel is shown in fig. . . a well-formed jar, with plain neck and globular body. seven and one-half inches in height, and ½ in width. [illustration: fig. .] . a medium sized, bottle-shaped vessel, of elegant proportions. a rudimentary foot or stand is added to the bottom. height, inches. fig. . . a small, much compressed, bottle-shaped vase. height, inches; width, ½ inches. . a bottle-shaped vase of reddish-gray color, resembling the preceding in shape and size. . a large, bottle-shaped vase, with long neck and subglobular body. it is unique in having a stand or base which seems to have been added after the body was somewhat hardened. this stand has been perforated for ornament, as shown in fig. . height, inches; diameter, inches. . a small vase, ornamented with a series of ribs, which extend around the body from the neck to the base. this vessel is shown in fig. . it is in a fragmentary state. height, ¼ inches; width, inches. [illustration: fig. .] [illustration: fig. .] . a medium-sized vase with vertically compressed body. height, inches; diameter, ½ inches. fig. . . a plain bowl, with flattish bottom. diameter, inches; height inches. [illustration: fig. .] . a well-made jar or vase, with globular body, inches in width and ½ in height. the surface of the vessel is completely covered with an irregular, bead-like ornamentation, made by pinching the soft clay between the thumb and fingers. fig. . diameter ½ inches. [illustration: fig. .] . a much compressed vase, ½ inches in height and ½ in width. four equi-distant protuberances are placed about the widest part of the body and rudely imitate the extremities of some animal. . a small, jar-like vase, with globular body, inches in height, and the same in diameter. the form is not quite symmetrical. . a small vase, with large, high neck and much compressed body. height, ½ inches; width, ½ inches. . a vase similar to the preceding. . a medium-sized bowl, ½ inches in diameter and inches in height. the rim has an exterior ornament of thumb indentations. . a small, rudely-constructed jar, inches in height and ½ in width. [illustration: fig. .] . a jar having a high, wide neck, and small, globular body. the bottom is flat. height, inches; width, ½ inches. . a small, rudely-constructed cup, of a reddish color. height, inch; width, ½ inches. . a small, rudely-finished vase, with high, wide neck and short pedestal. the globular body is embellished with an encircling band of scroll-work of incised lines. the scrolls are bordered by triangular wings filled with reticulated lines, as shown in fig. ; height, ¾ inches. nos. , , and are plain vessels of similar form. additional numbers have been given to numerous fragments from this locality. collection from arkansas county. mounds at arkansas post. a group of well-known mounds is situated on the farm of the late frank menard, miles south-east of the village of arkansas post. the largest mound is feet in circumference at the top and considerably larger at the base. the slopes are covered with trees and bushes. this mound had already been dug into quite extensively, and it was thought useless to explore it further. connected with this mound by a ridge of earth feet long and feet across, is a small circular mound, feet high and feet in diameter, which bore evidence of having been occupied by houses. articles of clay. near the middle of the connecting ridge, just under the soil, a layer of burnt clay, about or feet in diameter, was found. at one side, imbedded in the _débris_ of clay, a large quantity of fragments of earthen vessels was discovered. they comprise a number of bowls of various sizes, which are all quite new-looking, and are of a type of ware quite distinct from that found in the fields and graves of the same locality. restorations of a large number have been made, and the collection proves to be extremely interesting. the collector argues, from the position of the fragmentary vessels, that they had been placed by their owners upon the roof of the house, which, he surmises, was destroyed by fire. , , , , , , , . plain bowls of yellowish-gray ware, restored from fragments described above. they are wide and shallow, and somewhat conical below; hand-made, and without polish. composed of clay, tempered with pulverized shell. the walls are usually quite thin. diameter to inches. height to inches. [illustration: fig. .] , , - , , , - , ,- , , . bowls corresponding in general character to those described above, but having tasteful designs of incised lines and indentations on the exterior surface. the most interesting of these designs consists of series of interlaced or of festooned lines. the exterior margin is encircled, in all cases, by ornaments consisting of parallel lines, groups of short incised lines, or rows of indentations. [illustration: fig. .] the principal design encircles the body beneath this, as shown in figs. and . , , . bowls similar to the above having interior decorations consisting of curved lines. , , , , , , - , . bowls corresponding to the above in general characters, but having flaring rims. they are mostly plain. a few have decorative designs of incised lines. some have been blackened by use as cooking vessels. field graves near menard mound. surrounding the menard mound is a field containing about twenty acres, which appears at one time to have been the site of a great number of dwellings, as, at a depth of from to feet, layers of burned clay are found. this field seems also to have been a great cemetery, as the remains of skeletons are found in great numbers. pottery is found in great abundance. it has, as a rule, been deposited near the heads of the dead, but no ornaments or implements have been discovered with the remains. the frequent plowing of the field has destroyed many earthen vessels, the interments having been made quite near the surface. it is a noticeable fact that the pottery from these graves is of a character quite distinct from that of the mound. it is of the class of ware so common in this region. articles of stone. , , . arrow-points, spear-points, and knives of chalcedony, jasper, and quartz. . celt or chisel of mack slate, ½ inches long, and ¼ wide at the wider end. . celt of gray diorite. the blade is quite smooth; the upper part is roughened. length, inches. width, ½ inches. thickness, inch. . celt of yellow limestone, ½ inches long, and ½ inches wide. . a two-edged celt of gray quartzite, ¼ inches long, and three-fourths of an inch wide. [illustration: fig. .] . celt of yellowish-gray jasper, chipped, and afterwards partially smoothed by grinding. four and one-half inches long, and ½ inches wide. . celt very similar to the preceding. . celt of dark-gray slate; edge nicely sharpened. lower part smooth, upper part rough; ½ inches long, ½ inches wide, and nearly inch thick. . fragment of a large celt, with conical apex. . a hammer-stone. . a pebble of coarse sandstone, resembling a celt in shape. . a quartz pebble, probably used as a polishing-stone. . a boat-shaped implement of speckled volcanic rock, inches long, inch wide, and three-fourths of an inch thick at the middle part. . an implement of grayish-red sandstone similar to the above in size and shape. the ends are slightly squared. . a small disk of gray quartzite, having a shallow circular depression in each face. . a pendant of gray slate, somewhat pear-shaped in outline, ½ inches in diameter, and one-eighth of an inch thick. near the pointed end, a neat, biconical perforation has been made. . an implement or ceremonial stone of ferruginous slate, possibly a clay iron-stone, or limonite. it has a hatchet-like outline, the blade being semicircular, and the upper part elongated and narrow. a large biconical perforation has been made near the center of the implement; a smaller one, as if for suspension, at the upper end. it is ¼ inches long, ½ inches wide, and three-fourths of an inch thick. fig. . articles of clay. . a small reddish cup or vase. the rim is low and wide and is ornamented with four ears placed at regular intervals on the exterior surface. two of these are pierced as if for the insertion of a string. height, inches. width, inches. fig. . [illustration: fig. .] . a small bottle-shaped vase. the surface has been painted red. height, inches. width, ½ inches. fig. . [illustration: fig. .] . a small globular vase, with low neck of medium width, which has an ornament consisting of a band of clay, slightly raised and indented with oblique lines. yellowish-gray ware with dark stains. height, inches. . a low bottle-shaped vase, of yellowish ware, with flaring rim and somewhat flattened body. height, inches; width inches. fig. . [illustration: fig. .] . a well-made bottle shaped vase, with low neck and globular body, somewhat conical above. color dark brownish. ½ inches in height. shown in fig. . [illustration: fig. .] . fragments of vases corresponding in characters to the preceding. one example has been painted red. . a small bottle-shaped vase of red ware. height inches, width ½ inches. . the body of a small bottle-shaped vase, much flattened, the outline being quite angular at the most expanded part. yellowish-gray in color and without polish. there are indications that a design in red has ornamented the body. width inches. . the body of a small bottle-shaped vase, globular in form. surface painted red and unusually well polished. diameter ½ inches. . neck and upper part of body of a vase resembling in form and color the example last described. . a handsome bottle-shaped vase with flaring lip. the neck widens toward the base. the body is almost globular, being slightly pointed above, and expanded along the equatorial belt. the surface is only moderately smooth. the body is ornamented with a very handsome design of incised lines, which consists of a scroll pattern, divided into four sections by perpendicular lines. the design covers the upper part of the body, the lower part being plain. height, ½ inches. fig. . [illustration: fig. .] . a bottle-shaped vessel of dark, rudely finished ware. the body is modeled to represent a fish, the mouth and eyes appearing on one side, and the tail upon the other. width ¼ inches. fig. . , . two small vessels with globular bodies, which have a curious resemblance to an ordinary tea-pot. a spout has, in each case, been added to the side of the body. figs. and show these vessels on a scale of one-half. [illustration: fig. .] [illustration: fig. .] . an oblong, shallow basin. wide, flat handles have been added to the rim at the ends of the vessel; one of these is pierced. length ¾ inches, width inches, depth inches. color dark gray. fig. . [illustration: fig. .] [illustration: fig. .] , , , , , , . plain bowls of ordinary composition and appearance. fig. is a good example. diameter inches. [illustration: fig. .] . a handsome bowl of dark ware. the body is ornamented with an incised design, which consists of a somewhat disconnected running scroll. the bottom, is flat. diameter ¼ inches. fig. . [illustration: fig. .] . a bowl of dark porous ware, very nicely made. the rim is ornamented at one side with a grotesque head, representing some wild animal, probably a panther. the ornament on the opposite side takes the place of the tail of the animal. diameter of bowl inches. fig. . , . fragments of many vessels, chiefly of black porous ware, among which are a number of handles representing the heads of birds and quadrupeds, also the fragments of a vessel which restored give the vase shown in fig. . the designs are red on a yellowish ground. diameter ½ inches. . a large vase modeled to represent a grotesque human figure. it is painted with designs in red and white, the ground color being a reddish yellow. the figure has a kneeling posture. the hands are upraised against the shoulders, with palms turned forward. height, ½ inches; width of shoulders, inches. fig. . [illustration: fig. .] [illustration: fig. .] , , . fragments of pottery having incised designs, similar to the dark ware already described. a few of these fragments have been worked into rude disks. [illustration: fig. .] objects of metal. . a thin plate of copper, probably intended for a pendent ornament, as two perforations have been made at one end. it is rectangular in outline, and has suffered much from corrosion. . a fragment of galena ore. animal substances. . fragment of a needle-like perforator. a conical perforation has been made toward the larger end. the point has been lost. . a cubical fragment of bone, the sides of which have been squared by cutting or grinding. collection from monroe county, arkansas. mound at lawrenceville. on the farm of daniel thompson, near lawrenceville, the remains of ancient habitations are of frequent occurrence. the fields have been cultivated for many years. in one case a bed of clay inches thick, and covering an area of many hundred feet, was discovered near the surface; this is supposed to be the remains of the roof of a house. associated with it were a number of objects, among which were five very interesting specimens of pottery. articles of clay. . a large bottle-shaped vase of red and white ware. the upper part of the neck is lost. the body is encircled by an ornamental design in white, upon a red ground, which resembles a rudely drawn greek fret. the diameter of the body is inches; the height has been or inches. [illustration: fig. .] . a fine bottle-shaped vase, resembling the preceding; very handsome, and in a remarkably good state of preservation. it also has a design in red and white. the original color of the vase has been a dull reddish yellow. the neck is red, the body is ornamented with four red and four white figures, which extend from the neck to the base of the vessel. these belts of color are separated by bands of the ground-color of the vessel. height inches. fig. . . a small rude cup of gray clay, without decoration. diameter inches. . an egg-shaped vessel, made in imitation of a gourd. the mouth of this vessel is a small round opening on the side, near the pointed end. the base is somewhat flattened. height inches. fig. . [illustration: fig. .] . a minute cup, ½ inches in diameter. the rim is encircled by a series of rude notches. mounds at indian bay. a large mound feet high and feet long is located on the farm of mr. a. spencer, near indian bay. our collector, however, could not obtain permission to examine it. at the edge of indian bay corporation is another large mound, used as a cemetery by the white residents. in a field near by were two small mounds about feet in height and feet in circumference. in one of these, two feet beneath the surface, a skeleton was found, near the head of which three earthen vessels had been placed. from the other small mound a very interesting collection of pottery was procured, much of which was in a fragmentary condition. from these fragments a number of vessels have been reconstructed. these are given in the following list: articles of clay. . a bottle-shaped vase of dart, grayish-brown ware. the neck is quite high and slender, and the body globular--a little elongated above. the rim and collar are ornamented with incised notches. height, inches. . a large symmetrically shaped vase or jug of a grayish yellow color. restored from fragments. the body of the jug is globular, the neck slightly flaring, the rim being notched on the outer edge. the ware is coarse and rough. height, ½ inches. , , , , . fragments of vessels similar to that last described. . a low wide-mouthed vase of dark gray compact ware. the neck is decorated by two series of lines, which cross and recross the neck in such a manner as to form diamond-shaped figures. they are deeply incised. the rim is notched, and has three small nodes on the outer margin. the body is covered with an ornament produced by pinching the clay while in a soft state. height, ½ inches; diameter, inches. [illustration: fig. .] . a very large wide-mouthed vase, the body of which is conical below. the rim and neck are ornamented in a manner very similar to the one last described. height, inches; diameter, inches. fig. . , , , , , . fragments of vessels similar to the one last described. , , . three small vessels restored from fragments; two of these resemble deep bowls with flaring rims. the lip is notched on the outer margin. the other has an upright, slightly constricted neck, ornamented with a band of rude indentations. diameter, ¾ inches. fig. . . a shallow bowl of yellowish gray ware, ornamented with irregular notches about the rim. diameter, inches. , , . bowls similar to the preceding. , , . large bowls with flaring rims. . a very deep bowl. fragmentary. . a large, handled cup or ladle of yellowish clay. the bowl part is inches in diameter. the extremity of the handle has been lost. fig. . [illustration: fig. .] , , . large portions of the bodies of two vessels of unusual shape. [illustration: fig. .] collection from ohio. from mounds and fields. during the year small collections of stone implements and articles of pottery were forwarded to the bureau by dr. wills de haas. most of these are, however, without record, excepting of the most general character. the majority appear to have been obtained from warren county, at or in the vicinity of fort ancient. articles of stone. . spear points or knives of gray chalcedony. three are very sharply pointed, and have probably been used as perforators. average width inch, average length ½ inches. . lot of rudely chipped arrow or spear points of grayish, chalcedony. notches quite shallow. . a lot of medium-sized, rather heavy arrow points of gray chalcedony. . lot of neatly shaped, deeply notched spear and arrow points, averaging about inch in width, and ranging from to inches in length. made of gray chalcedony. . lot of arrow points, spear points, and knives of various sizes and shapes. material same as the preceding. . lot of rudely finished knives and spear points, mostly wide and heavy, some being almost circular in outline. material same as the preceding. . lot of large knives and spear points of variously colored chalcedony. . knives and flakes of chalcedony. . large lot of long, triangular knives or spear points, made of gray and reddish mottled chalcedony. they average about ½ inches in length, and ½ in width. . large lot of flakes and fragments of gray and dark chalcedony or flint, left from the manufacture of implements. - . celts and fragments of celts of greatly varied size and shape, made of a grayish, speckled rock, resembling diorite. - , . medium-sized, grooved axes-of ordinary forms. one is made of diorite (?), the others of gray rock resembling sandstone. - . very large grooved axes of greenish diorite (?). the largest is ½ inches long, inches wide, and inches thick. . short, heavy pestles with broad bases and conical tops, made of gray diorite or sandstone. diameter of bases from ½ to inches. height from to inches. . a long, heavy, cylindrical pestle. - . bound, oblong, and flattish pebbles, comprising several varieties of stone, used as hammer-stones, nut-crackers, &c., varying from to inches in diameter. the sides of many are flattened or hollowed out by use. . fragment of cup stone, made of coarse sandstone. on one side two cavities remain; on the other, three. these are about ¼ inches in diameter, and about one-half an inch in depth. . a grooved stone implement, made from a large pebble of coarse gray stone. the groove about the middle has evidently been made for attaching a handle. the upper lobe has been considerably reduced by picking, and the base, which would correspond to the edge of an ax, has been worked quite flat. length of lower part ½ inches. height of implement inches. articles of clay. . a number of small fragments of pottery of ordinary varieties. collection from oregon. articles of stone. the following articles were forwarded to the bureau from john day river, oregon, by captain bendire: - . arrow-points, knives, and flakes of obsidian, agate, etc., from indian graves on john day river. - . fragments of stone implements, including celts, cylindrical pestles, etc., mostly of compact, eruptive rock. . pipe of gray sandstone, shaped very much like an ordinary straight cigar-holder; inches long, and inch in diameter at the larger end. obtained from an indian grave on john day river. . fragment of a pipe-stem (?) made of soft black stone, apparently a chloritic slate. a very neat, ornamental design has been engraved upon the cylindrical stem. . fragment of an ornament carved from greenish sandstone. collections from kentucky. a small collection of ancient relics, obtained from caves in the vicinity of mammoth cave, kentucky, was presented to the bureau by mr. francis klett. with this collection were a number of articles of stone, some of which were probably obtained from the fields of the same region. . fragments of gourds. [illustration: fig. .] . two very beautifully knit or plaited sandals. the fiber used has probably been obtained from the inner bark of trees. the combination of threads is shown in fig. . a small piece of matting from the same place is shown in fig. . [illustration: fig. .] . two bundles of charred sticks and reeds. - . spearheads of chert or flint. . stone knife. . flake knife. . small spearheads. . flint knife. . arrow heads. . same; small and thin. - . stone awls or perforators. . leaden bullet. . pieces of pottery. collections from missouri. articles of clay. a fine collection of earthen vessels was purchased for the bureau from mr. j. t. gouden, of morrow, ohio, through the agency of dr. wills de haas. few facts in regard to them have been furnished, excepting that they were taken from graves in the vicinity of charleston, mo. they resemble so closely the well-known types of missouri pottery that it is safe to conclude that they were obtained from ancient graves and mounds in the locality named. the numerous cuts accompanying this section are intended for subsequent use in a general treatise on the works of the moundbuilders. [illustration: fig. .] this ware is generally of the dark gray or black variety, handsmoothed, or but slightly polished, and tempered with pulverized shells. a few examples are yellowish-red in color. some of these have been painted red or have been ornamented with designs in red. in one case white paint has been used. the prevailing form is a bottle-shaped vessel, the neck being frequently high and slender, and the body globular or subglobular. the base is nearly always slightly flattened. . an effigy vase of unusual form. the body is subrectangular. the upper part or neck is lost, but has doubtless been modeled to represent the human figure, as the feet remain attached to the shoulder of the vessel. the color is yellowish gray. diameter, inches. fig. . [illustration: fig. .] . an effigy vase of the dark ware. the body is globular. a kneeling human figure forms the neck. the mouth of the vessel occurs at the back of the head--a rule in this class of vessels. is is finely made and symmetrical. ¾ inches high and inches in diameter. fig. . . effigy vase representing a kneeling or squatting human figure, moderately well modeled. the exterior surface is painted red. height, inches; diameter, inches. the locality is not known with certainty. - , , . effigy vases of human figures. sizes, medium to small. the body below the waist is hemispherical, and the legs are not indicated. fig. . [illustration: fig. .] . effigy vase, representing an owl. the body is globular. the wings are indicated at the sides, and the legs and tail serve as a tripod when the vessel is placed in an upright position. the head is quite grotesque. this is a usual form in the middle mississippi district. height, inches; width, ½ inches. . small example, resembling the preceding. , . vases with globular bodies; the necks represent an owl's head. size, medium. . a small vase similar to the above, but having a human head. . a minute vessel modeled to represent a bird, the opening or mouth being on the under side of the body; length, inches. fig. . [illustration: fig. .] , , , . bottle-shaped vases, with globular or flattish bodies and grotesque tops. the rounded heads are armed with a number of nodes or horns, but no features are shown. the largest is inches in width by in height. fig. . [illustration: fig. .] . similar vase of medium size. the top is modeled to represent the curved stem and neck of a gourd. fig. . height inches. [illustration: fig. .] . vase similar to the above. the top representing a gourd with short conical neck. four lines are drawn from the stem down the sides which represent the natural markings of the gourd. height, ½ inches; diameter, ½ inches. [illustration: fig. .] . a two-storied vessel, the lower part being a cup of flattened globular form. the upper part is similar in size and shape, but is modeled to represent a univalve shell, the apex being represented by a large node surrounded by six smaller nodes, and the base or spine by a graceful extension of the rim. the groove or depression that encircles the vessel between the upper and lower parts of the body is spanned by two minute handles. height, inches; width, ½. fig. . [illustration: fig. .] , , , , . small bowls or cups, made in imitation of shell vessels, the noded apex occurring at one side, and the more or less pointed beak at the opposite side fig. . another similar specimen with hemispherical body is given in fig. . length, inches. [illustration: fig. .] , , . small vases with wide mouths, the rim and shoulders of which have the heads and extremities of frogs, modeled in relief. fig. . diameter, inches. [illustration: fig. .] , , , . low, wide-mouthed vases or bowls, modeled about the rim to represent sunfish. a vertical view is given in fig. . inches in length. . a small bowl, the rim of which is embellished on one side with the head of a panther, on the other side a flattish projection which resembles a tail. . a small bowl, having upon the rim a human head, the face of which is turned inward. on the opposite side is the usual flattish projection. fig. . diameter of bowl inches. [illustration: fig. .] . small bowl, the rim of which is embellished with the head of a fox or wolf; at the opposite side is the usual tail. [illustration: fig. .] , , , . bowls of various sizes, the rims of which are ornamented with the heads and tails of birds. no. is an unusually fine example. besides the features described it has been farther embellished by four incised lines which encircle the rim, forming a loop on the opposite sides as seen in fig. . bowl inches in diameter. . small bowl, the rim of which has been embellished by four pairs of nodes. fig. . diameter, inches. . a small globular cup of dark ware which has four large nodes about the rim, between these on the sides of the vessel, four ornamental figures have been painted in red, these consist of an inner circle occupied by a cross, and an exterior circle of rays or scallops. height, ½ inches; width, ½ inches. the rim has been perforated for the purpose of suspension. fig. . [illustration: fig. .] [illustration: fig. .] [illustration: fig. .] , , , , , , , . bottle-shaped vases. the bodies are generally globular. a few are conical above, while others are much compressed vertically. some are slightly ridged about the greatest circumference, while all are slightly flattened on the bottom. the necks are slender and long, being about equal to the body in height. they are generally narrowest in the middle, expanding trumpet-like toward the mouth, and widening more or less abruptly toward the shoulder below. in a few cases a ridge or collar encircles the base of the neck. the exterior surface is generally quite smooth, but never polished, although a polishing implement seems to have been used. the largest is inches in height and inches in diameter. no. has a very tasteful incised design, encircling the shoulder as shown in fig. . diameter ½ inches. [illustration: fig. .] . vase similar to the above in form, but with the addition of a base or stand, inch high and inches in diameter at the base. . same, with the base divided into three parts, forming a kind of tripod, the legs being flat. fig. . height, inches. , , , , . bottle or jug shaped vases, resembling the preceding, but having wide, short necks. fig. illustrates a typical form. height, ¼ inches. . a vase similar to the above, but of yellowish gray ware, decorated with a design in broad red and white lines. height, inches; width, inches. height of neck, inches; width, inches. . similar to the above in shape, but with flattish body, and peculiar in having two small handles or ears at the base of the neck. fig. . diameter, inches. , , , , . small caps, with low, wide necks, and globular or subglobular bodies, having two handles or ears which connect the lip with the shoulder. [illustration: fig. .] [illustration: fig. .] . a cup like the above, with four handles. , , . small cups similar to the preceding, but having a variety of indented ornaments about the shoulder and upper part of the body; these ornaments consist of wide vertical lines, or of encircling scalloped lines. figs. and . diameter of each, ½ inches. [illustration: fig. .] [illustration: fig. .] [illustration: fig. .] . has six nodes about the circumference, and a scalloped figure of three incised lines encircling the vessel above them. the handles have oblique incised lines upon the outer surface. , . bowls with scalloped rims. the largest is inches in diameter and inches in height. fig. . [illustration: fig. .] , , , , , . plain bowls, of various sizes, and somewhat varied shapes. figs. and . drawn one-half the real size. [illustration: fig. .] [illustration: fig. .] collections from other states. . stone implement of unusual form. it may be described as a flattish cylinder tapering slightly toward the ends, which are truncated. in one end a hole has been bored one-half an inch in diameter and three-fourths of an inch deep. a narrow, shallow groove encircles the implement near the middle. the material is a grayish slate. the form is symmetrical and the surface quite smooth. found upon the surface in hamilton county, indiana. . a copper knife or poinard, with bent point. found by edward daniels while digging a cellar at ripon, wis. . a handsome vase, shaped like a bowl with incurved rim, obtained from a mound on the farm of a. c. zachary, in morgan county, georgia. the incurved surface above has an ornamental design of incised lines resembling the greek fret. the most expanded portion of the vessel is encircled by a raised band, which is neatly ornamented with notches. the lower part of the body is shaped like a bowl with a flattened base. diameter ½ inches. presented by j. c. c. blackburn. collection from peru, south america. a number of interesting articles were presented by mr. g. h. hurlbut. these were obtained from ancient graves in the vicinity of lima by an agent sent out for the purpose by mr. hurlbut while the city was invested by the chilian army. details of their occurrence were consequently not obtained. a study of this collection leads to the belief that all the specimens are from one interment, that is, the grave of a single individual. the fact that there is but one skull, one mask-like idol, and but a small number of articles of each, of the classes represented, tends to confirm this supposition. . skull retaining the scalp and hair. the latter is long, coarse, and black. the lower jaw is missing. . a mask-like wooden figure, the face being somewhat above life-size. fig. . it is of a form not unusual in peruvian graves. the features are fairly well shown. the eyes are formed by excavating oval depressions and setting in pieces of shell. first, oval pieces of white clam-shell are inserted, which represent the whites of the eye; upon these small circular bits of dark shell are cemented, representing the pupils. locks of hair have been set in beneath the shell, the ends of which project, forming the lashes of the eye. the back head is formed by a neatly-rounded bundle of leaves, held in place by a net-work of coarse cord. the edges of the wooden mask are perforated in several places; by means of these the back head, some long locks of fine flax which serve as hair, and a number of other articles have been attached. upon the crown a large bunch of brilliantly colored feathers has been fixed; behind this, extending across the top of the head, is a long pouch of coarse white cloth in which a great number of articles have been placed--little packages of beans and seeds, rolls of cloth of different colors and textures, minute bundles of wool and flax and cords, bits of copper and earth carefully wrapped in husks, bundles of feathers, etc. encircling the crown are long, narrow bands or sashes, one of which is white, the others having figures woven in brilliant colors. the ends of these hang down at the sides of the face. attached to one side of the mask by long stout cords is a pouch of coarse cotton cloth resembling a tobacco-bag. it is about inches square. attached to the lower edge of this is a fringe of long, heavy cords. to the opposite side a net is suspended, in which had been placed innumerable articles, probably intended for the use of the dead--a sling, made of cords, very skillfully plaited; bundles of cord and flax; small nets containing beans, seeds, and other articles; copper fish-hooks, still attached to the lines, which are wound about bits of cornstalk or cane; neatly-made sinkers wrapped in corn-husks, together with a variety of other articles. [illustration: fig. .] , . sinkers of gray slate, shaped somewhat like a cigar, one or more groves partially encircling the ends. these were carefully wrapped in corn-husks. fig. . , . two copper fish-hooks and the cords to which they are attached. the hooks pierce the ends of the bit of cornstalk about which the cord is wound. fig. . [illustration: fig. . / ] [illustration: fig. . / ] . a sling, feet long. the extremities consist of a single cord, the middle part of heavy, compactly-plaited cords. . head-bands of coarse fabrication, having figures of red, yellow and white. . a large piece of cloth, possibly a mantle, made by piecing together fragments of highly-colored cloths. . a large piece of gauze-like white cotton fabric. , . small nets containing a variety of articles. . a head ornament of red feathers, skillfully attached to cords. index animal substances, collection of objects of , , arkansas: collections of pottery from - arkansas county ancient pottery - monroe county ancient pottery - bendire, capt. g., sent stone relics from oregon blackburn, j. c. s., presented vase from mound cocke county, tennessee, collection from , - collections in : bought of j. t. couden - by capt. c. bendire dr. willis de haas g. h. hurlbut - edward palmer - from cherokee indians - arkansas: carson lake township chiokasawha mound lawrenceville menard mound mounds at arkansas post pecan point , pemiscott mound georgia indiana missouri - north carolina , ohio mounds - oregon - peru, south america - tennessee: newport junction of pigeon and french broad rivers jefferson county - roane county - sevier county - wisconsin articles of animal substances , , , , clay , , , , , - , , - , , , , - metal , shell , , - , , , stone , , , , , , , , vegetal substances de haas, dr. w., bought indian relics collected indian relics - fain's island, collection of relics from french broad river, relics from gorget, shell , hurlbut, g. h., presented collection from ancient peruvian graves - indian bay, ark., collection of indian relics from jackson county, north carolina, indian relics from - jefferson county, tennessee, collection of indian relics from - lawrenceville, ark., collection of indian relics from metal objects from tennessee mississippi county, arkansas, collection from missouri, collection of indian relics from - monroe county, arkansas, collection from newport, tenn., collection of relics from - niles ferry, tenn., collection of relics from north carolina; collections from jackson county - ohio, collection of indian relics from oregon, collection of indian relics from - paint rock ferry, collection from palmer, e., collection of indian relics by - peru, collection of relics from - pigeon river, tenn., collection of relics from roane county, tenn., collection of relics from - sevier county, tenn., collection of relics from - shell objects, collection of , , , , - , , , stone objects, collection of , , , , , , , tennessee, collection of relics from-- cocke county , - jefferson county - newport - roane county - vegetal substances, collections of * * * * * errors and anomalies: differences between table of contents and body text: _this list does not include trivial differences such as singular for plural, or inconsistent use of "the"_ collection made by edward palmer, in north carolina, tennessee, and arkansas. _first heading in body text, before "introductory": missing from table of contents_ from the fields at newport _body text has "near newport"_ from a mound on pigeon river _body text has "mound at the junction of the pigeon and french broad rivers."_ mounds near paint rock ferry // fragments of pottery _printed heading not used in body text_ pemissicott mound _body text reads "pemisscott"_ collections from ohio // human remains _category does not appear in body text_ collections from peru _body text reads "peru, south america"_ ... diameter _text reads "diamter"_ ... flattish base _text reads "flatish"_ collections from jefferson county _state not named: tennessee_ the vases have been somewhat larger. _text reads "somwhat"_ on pemisscott bayou _"o" in "bayou" invisible_ a large number of very fine vessels _text reads "vessls"_ . a copper knife or poinard _so in original: "poniard"?_ [index] peru, collection of relics from ... - _text reads " - "_ produced from images generously made available by the library of congress, manuscript division) +------------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | transcriber's note | | | | text marked with _underscores_ was underlined in the original, | | except on the title page, where it was italicised. text marked | | [hw: like this] was handwritten. | | | | the date marked at the beginning of some of the accounts was a | | stamp mark. where this was partially missing or illegible, the | | omissions are marked as "--". | | | | page numbers in body text refer to the page of the current | | interview, unlike those in the table of contents which refer to | | the numbering of the whole document. (page boundaries are | | preserved in the html version of this ebook.) | | | | some typographical errors have been corrected; they are marked | | in the html version of this ebook. in addition, punctuation and | | formatting have been made consistent, particularly the use of | | quotation marks. | | | +------------------------------------------------------------------+ [illustration: uncle willie, uncle sam, uncle charlie, squire sabagen, uncle hick "_the old south_"] slave narratives _a folk history of slavery in the united states_ _from interviews with former slaves_ typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress _illustrated with photographs_ washington volume ii arkansas narratives part prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of arkansas informants gadson, charlie gaines, dr. d. b. gaines, mary gant, william genes, mike gibson, jennie wormly gill, james gillam, cora gillespie, j. n. glass, will glenn, frank william glespie, ella golden, joe goodridge, jake goodson (goodrum), john govan, george grace, julia graham, charles graham, james grant, marthala graves, wesley gray, ambus gray, green gray, neely (nely) ,  green, henry (happy day) ,  greene, frank greene, george gregory, andrew griegg, annie guess, william and charlotte guidon, lee hadley, linley hall, anna hamilton, ellie hamilton, josephine ,  hamilton, peter hampton, lawrence hancock, hannah ,  haney, julia e. hankins, rachel hardridge, mary jane ,  hardy, o. c. hardy, rosa harper, eda ,  ,  harris, abram harris, betty harris, mary harris, rachel ,  harris, william harrison, william hart, laura haskell, hetty hatchett, matilda hawkens, john g. hawkens, lizzie hawkins, becky hawkins, g. w. hays, eliza haynes, tom haywood, joe hervey, marie e. hicks, phillis hicks, will higgins, bert hill, annie hill, clark ,  ,  ,  hill, elmira hill, gillie hill, harriett hill, hattie hill, oliver hill, rebecca brown hill, tanny hines, elizabeth hinton, charles ,  hite, ben hodge, betty hollomon, minnie holloway, h. b. (dad or pappy) holly, pink holmes, dora hopkins, elijah henry hopson, nettie horn, molly horton, cora l. house, laura howard, pinkey (pinkie) ,  howell, josephine howell, pauline (pearl) hudgens, molly huff, charlie huff, louvenia huggins, anne hulm, margret hunter, john hunter, william hutchinson, ida blackshear ishmon, cornelia island, jack and talitha ,  island, mary isom, henrietta illustrations the old south _frontispiece_ --- -- interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: charlie gadson brinkley, arkansas age: "i was born in barnwell county, south carolina. my parents' name was jane gadson, aaron gadson. my mother master was mr. owens. that is all i ever knowed bout him. my father's master was rivers and harley gadson. "they said they was to get something but they moved on. at the ending of that war the president of the united states got killed. they wouldn't knowed they was free if they hadn't made some change. i don't know what made them think they would get something at freedom less somebody told them they would. "i work at the oil mill and at sawmilling. i been farmin' mostly since i been here. i got kidney trouble and rheumatism till i ain't no count. i own a house and lot in brinkley." # interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: dr. d. b. gaines izard street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in and am now seventy-five years old. you see, therefore, that i know nothing experimentally and practically about slavery. "i was born in south carolina in lawrence county, and my father moved away from the old place before i had any recollection. i remember nothing about it. my father said his master's name was matthew hunter. "i was named for my father's master's brother, dr. bluford gaines. my name is doctor bluford gaines. of course, i am a doctor but my name is doctor. "my father's family moved to arkansas, in . settled near morrilton, arkansas. i myself come to little rock, arkansas, in , october eighth. worked in the homes of white families for my board and entered philander smith college october , . continued to work with judge smith of the arkansas supreme court until i graduated from philander smith college. after graduating i taught school and was elected assistant principal of the little rock negro high school in . served three years. accumulated sufficient money and went to meharry medical college, nashville, tennessee. graduated there in . practiced for five years in the city of little rock. entered permanently upon the ministry in . was called to the mount pleasant baptist church where i have been pastoring for thirty-nine years the first sunday in next may. "the first real thing that made me switch from the medicine to the ministry was the deep call of the ministry gave me more interest in the gospel than the profession of medicine furnished to me. in other words, i discovered that i was a real preacher and not a real doctor. "touching slavery, the white people to whom my parents belonged were tolerant and did not allow their slaves to be abused by patrollers and outsiders. "my mother's people, however, were sold from her in very early life and sent to alabama. my mother's maiden name was harriet smith. she came from south carolina too. her old master was a smith. my mother and father lived on adjoining plantations and by permission of both overseers, my father was permitted to visit her and to marry her even before freedom. out of regard for my father, his master bought my mother from her master. i think my father told me that the old master called them all together and announced that they were free at the close of the war. right after freedom, the first year, he remained on the farm with the old master. after that he moved away to greenville county, south carolina, and settled on a farm, with the brother-in-law of his old master, a man named squire bennett. he didn't go to war. "there was an exodus of colored people from south carolina beginning about , largely due to the ku klux or red shirts. they created a reign of terror for colored people in that state. he joined the exodus in and came to arkansas where from reports, the outlook seemed better for him and his family. he had no trouble with the ku klux in arkansas. he maintained himself here by farming." opinions "it is my opinion that from a racial standpoint, the lines are being drawn tighter due to the advancement of the negro people and to the increased prejudice of the dominant race. these lines will continue to tighten until they somehow under god are broken. we believe that the christian church is slowly but surely creating a helpful sentiment that will in time prevail among all men. "it appears from a governmental standpoint that the nation is doomed sooner or later to crash. possibly a changed form of government is not far ahead. this is due to two reasons: ( ) greed, avarice, and dishonesty on the part of public people; ( ) race prejudice. we believe that the heads of the national government have a far vision. the policies had they been carried out in keeping with the mind of the president, would have worked wonders in behalf of humanity generally. but dishonesty and greed of those who had the carrying out of these policies has destroyed their good effect and the fine intentions of the president who created them. it looks clear that neither the democratic nor the republican party will ever become sufficiently morally righteous to establish and maintain a first-class humanitarian and unselfish government. "it is my opinion that the younger generation is headed in the wrong direction both morally and spiritually. this applies to all races. and this fact must work to the undoing of the government that must soon fall into their hands, for no government can well exist founded upon graft, greed, and dishonesty. it seems that the younger group are more demoralized than the younger group were two generations ago. thus the danger both to church and state. unless the church can catch a firmer grip upon the younger group than it has, the outlook is indeed gloomy. "we are so far away from the situation of trouble in germany, that it is difficult to know what it is or should be. but one thing must be observed--that any wholesale persecution of a whole group of people must react upon the persecutors. there could no cause arise which would justify a governmental power to make a wholesale sweep of any great group of people that were weak and had no alternative. that government which settles its affairs by force and abuse shows more weakness than the weak people which it abuses. "we need not think that we are through with the job when we kill the weaker man. no cause is sufficient for the destruction of seven hundred thousand people, and no persecutor is safe from the effects of his own persecution." interviewer's comment the house at izard is the last house in what would otherwise be termed a "white" block. there appears to be no friction over the matter. note that if you were calling dr. gaines by his professional title and his first name at the same time, you would say dr. doctor bluford gaines. he has attained proficiency in three professions--teaching, medicine, and the ministry. dr. gaines is poised in his bearing and has cultured tastes and surroundings--neat cottage, and simple but attractive furnishings. he selects his ideas and words carefully, but dictates fluently. he knows what he wants to say, and what he omits is as significant as what he states. he is the leader type--big of body, alert of mind, and dominant. it is said that he with two other men dominated negro affairs in arkansas for a considerable period of time in the past. he does not give the impression of weakness now. despite his education, contacts, and comparative affluence, however, his interview resembles the type in a number of respects--the type as i have found it. # interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mary gaines brinkley, arkansas age: born "i was born in courtland, alabama. mother was twelve years old at the first of the surrender. "grandfather was a south carolinian. master harris bought him, two more, his brothers and two sisters and his mother at one time. he was real african. grandma on mother's side was dark indian. she had white hair nearly straight. i have some of it now. mother was lighter. that is where i gets my light color. "master harris sold mother and grandma. mother said she was fat, tall strong looking girl. master harris let a negro trader have grandma, mother and her three brothers. they left grandpa. master harris told the nigger traders not divide grandma from her children. he didn't believe in that. he was letting them go from their father. that was enough sorrow for them to bear. that was in alabama they was auctioned off. master harris lived in georgia. the auctioneerer held mother's arms up, turned her all around, made her kick, run, jump about to see how nimble and quick she was. he said this old woman can cook. she has been a good worker in the field. she's a good cook. they sold her off cheap. mother brought a big price. they caught on to that. the man nor woman wasn't good to them. i forgot their names what bought them. the nigger traders run her three brothers on to mississippi. the youngest one died in mississippi. they never seen the other two or heard of them till after freedom. they went back to georgia. all of them went back to their old home place. "in alabama at this new master's home mother was nursing. grandma and another old woman was the cooks. mother went to their little house and told them real low she had the baby and a strange man in the house said, 'is that the one you goiner let me have?' the man said, 'yes, he's goiner leave in the morning b'fore times.' "the new master come stand around to see when they went to sleep. that night he stood in the chimney corner. there was a little window; the moon throwed his shadow in the room. they said, 'i sure do like my new master.' another said, 'i sure do.' the other one said, 'this is the best place i ever been they so good to us.' then they sung a verse and prayed and got quiet. they heard him leave, seen his shadow go way. heard his house door squeak when he shut his door. then they got up easy and dressed, took all the clothes they had and slipped out. they walked nearly in a run all night and two more days. they couldn't carry much but they had some meat and meal they took along. their grub nearly give out when they come to some camps. somebody told them, 'this is yankee camps.' they give them something to eat. they worked there a while. one day they took a notion to look about and they hadn't gone far 'fore grandpa harris grabbed grandma, then mama. they got to stay a while but the yankees took them to town and master harris come got them and took them back. their new master come too but he said his wife said bring the girl back but let that old woman go. master harris took them both back till freedom. "when freedom come folks shout and knock down things so glad they was free. grandpa come back. master harris said, 'you can have land if you can get anything to work.' grandpa took his bounty he got when he left the army and bought a pair of mules. he had to pay rent the third year but till then he got what they called giving all that stayed a start. "grandma was mariah and grandpa was ned harris. the two boys come back said the baby boy died at selma, alabama. "grandpa talked about the war when i was a child. he said he was in the battle of corinth, mississippi. he said blood run shoe mouth deep in places. he didn't see how he ever got out alive. grandma and mama said they was glad to get away from the camps. they looked to be shot several times. colored folks is peace loving by nature. they don't love war. grandpa said war was awful. my mother was named lottie. "one reason mother said she wanted to get away from their new master, he have a hole dug out with a hoe and put pregnant women on their stomach. the overseers beat their back with cowhide and them strapped down. she said 'cause they didn't keep up work in the field or they didn't want to work. she didn't know why. they didn't stay there very long. she didn't want to go back there. "my life has never been a hard one. i have always worked. me and my husband run a cafe till he got drowned. since then i have to work harder. i wash and iron, cook wherever some one comes for me. when i was a girl i was so much like mother--a fast, strong hand in the field, i always had work. "mother said, 'eat the beans and greens, pot-liquor and sweet milk, make you fat and lazy.' that was what they put in the children's wooden trays in slavery. they give the men and women meat and the children the broth and dumplings, plenty molasses. sunday mother could cook at home in slavery if she'd 'tend to the baby too. all the hands on harrises place et dinner with their family on sunday. he was fair with his slaves. "for the life of me i can't see nothing wrong with the times. only thing i see, you can't get credit to run crops and folks all trying to shun farming. when i was on a farm i dearly loved it. it the place to raise young black and white both. town and cars ruined the country." interviewer's comment owns two houses in among white people. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: william gant forrest city, arkansas age: "i was one hundred and one years old last saturday ( ). i was born in bedford county, middle tennessee. my parents' names was judy and abraham gant. they had the same master. they had three boys and two girls. our owners was jim gant and elizabeth gant. ma had seven children, four gals and three boys. we called her miss betsy. jim gant owned seven hundred acres of good land in one body and some more land summers else. my young masters and mistresses was: malindy, jennie, betsy, mary, jim, john, andy. they had twenty-five or thirty slaves i knowed. he was pretty good to his slaves. he didn't whoop much. give 'em three or four licks. he fed 'em all well. we had warm clothes in winter. "i never seen nobody sold. my brothers and sisters was divided out. miss betsy was my young mistress. i could go to see all my folks. i never seen no hard times in my life. i had to work or be called lazy. i loved to work. i been in the field when the sun come up and got part my ploughing done. go back to the house and eat and feed my mule, rest around in the shade. folks didn't used to dread work so bad like they do now. i lay down and rest in the heat of the day. they had big shade trees for us niggers to rest under, eat under, spring water to drink. i'd plough till smack dark i couldn't see to get to the barn. we had lighted knots to feed by. the feed be in the troughs and water in the big trough in the lot ready. my supper would be hot too. it would be all i could eat too. yes, i'd be tired but i could sleep till next morning. "we had big todoos along over the country. white and black could go sometimes. picnics and preachings mostly what i went to. sometimes it was to a house covering, a corn shucking, a corn shelling, or log rolling. we went on hunts at night some. "sassy (saucy) negroes got the most licks. i never was sassy. i never got but a mighty few licks from nobody. we was slaves and that is about all to say. "i learned to fiddle after the fiddler on the place. uncle jim was the fiddler. andy jackson, a white boy, raised him. he learned him to read and write in slavery. after slavery i went to learn from a negro man at night. i learned a little bit. my master wouldn't cared if we had learned to read and write but the white folks had tuition school. some had a teacher hired to teach a few of them about. i could learned if i'd had or been 'round somebody knowed something. he read to us some. he read places in his bible. anything we have and ask him. we didn't have books and papers. i loved to play my fiddle, call figures, and tell every one what to do. i didn't take stock in reading and writing after the war. "my parents had the name of being a good set of negroes. she was raised by folks named morrow and pa by folks named strahorn. when ma was a little gal the morrows brought her to tennessee. my parents both raised in south carolina by the morrows and strahorns. i was twenty years old in the war. "they had a big battle seven or eight miles from our homes. it started at daylight sunday morning and lasted till monday evening. i think it was bragg and buel. the north whooped. it was a roar and shake and we could hear the big guns plain. it was in hardin county close to savannah, tennessee. it was times to be scared. we was all distressed. "my master died, left her a widow. "we farmed, made thirty or forty acres of wheat, seventy-five acres of oats, some rye. i pulled fodder all day and take it down at night while the dew would keep it in the bundle. haul it up. we was divided out when the war was on. "somebody killed master jim gant. he was murdered in his own house. they never did know who done it. they had two boys at home. one went visiting. they knocked her and the boy senseless. it was at night. they was all knocked in the head. "will strahorn owned my wife. he was tolerable good to his negroes. edmond gant was a black preacher in slavery. he married us. he married us in white folks' yard. they come out and looked at us marry. i had to ask my master and had to go ask for her then. our children was to be strahorn by name. will would own them 'cause my wife belong to him. my first wife had five girls and three boys. my wife died. i left both my two last wives. i never had no more children but them eight. "freedom--my young master come riding up behind us. we was going in dragging our ploughs. he told us it was freedom. the yankees took everything. we went to murray county to get my horse. i went off the next day. the yankees stayed in lawrence county. the yankees burnt tom greenfield out. tom and jim had joining farms. they took everything he had. took his darkies all but two girls. he left. jim was good and they never went 'bout him. jim stayed at home. i went over there. he put me on his brother's place. "i come to arkansas by train. i come to jackson, tennessee, then to forrest city, brought my famlee. my baby child is grown and married. "the ku klux never bothered me. it was a mighty little i ever seen of them. "i never have had a hard time. i have worked hard. i been ploughing, hoeing, cradling grain, picking cotton all my life. i love to plough and cradle grain. i love to work. "there is a big difference now and the way i was raised up. they used to be whooped and made mind. they learned how to work. now the times run away from the people. they used to buy what they couldn't raise in barrels. now they buy it in little dabs. i ain't used to it. white folks do as they pleases and the darkies do as they can. everybody greedy as he can be it seem like to me. laziness coming on more and more every year as they grow up. i ain't got a lazy bone in me. i'm serving and praising my lord every day, getting ready to go over in the next world." jan interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mike genes holly grove, ark. age: "i heard folks talk is all i know bout slavery. i was born in arkansas. my mother was sara jane whitley. my father was ____ genes. my mother came here from tennessee wid henderson sanders. i was raised on the duncan place. my mother raised us a heap like old times. i got fire tongs now she had. she made ash cakes and we had plenty milk. i got her old pot hooks too. she cooked cracklin' bread in the winter and black walnut bread the same way. we made palings and boards for the houses and barns. jes gradually we gittin' away from all that. times is changing so fast. "i heard 'em say in slavery they got 'em up fore day and they worked all day. some didn't have much clothes. i can remember three men twisting plow lines. they made plow lines. "i vote if i have a chance, but i really don't care bout it. i don't know how to keep up to vote like it ought to be. "this young generation may change but if they don't they air a knock out. they do jes anyway and everyway. they don't save and cain't save it look like, way we got things now. folks don't raise nothin' and have to buy so much livin' is hard. folks all doin fine long as the cotton is to pick. this is two reconstructions i been through. folks got used to work after that other one and i guess they have to get used to work this time till it get better. i don't know what causes this spell of hard times after the wars." # interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: jennie wormly gibson biscoe, arkansas age: "gran'ma was phoebe west. mama was jennie west. mama was a little girl when the civil war come on. she told how scared her uncle was. he didn't want to go to war. when they would be coming if he know it or get glimpse of the yankee soldiers, he'd pick up my mama. she was a baby. he'd run for a quarter of a mile to a great big tree down in the field way back of the place off the road. he never had to go to war. ma said she was little but she was scared at the sight of them clothes they wore. mama's and grandma's owners lived at vicksburg a lot of the time but where that was at washington county, mississippi. they had lots of slaves. "grandma was a midwife and doctored all the babies on the place. she said they had a big room where they was and a old woman kept them. they et milk for breakfast and buttermilk and clabber for supper. they always had bread. for dinner they had meat boiled and one other thing like cabbage, and the children got the pot-liquor. it was brought in a cart and poured in wooden troughs. they had gourds to dip it out with. they had gourds to drink their cool spring water with. "daylight would find the hands in the field at work. grandma said they had meat and bread and coffee till the war come on. they had to have a regular meal to work on in the morning. "grandma said their something to eat got mighty slim in war times and kept getting slimmer and slimmer. they had plenty sorghum all the time. them troughs was hewed out of a log and was washed and hung in the sun till next mealtime. they cooked in iron pots and skillets on the fire. grandma worked where they put her but her main trade was seeing after the sick on that place. "they had a fiddler on the place and had big dances now and then. "this young generation won't be advised no way you can fix it. i don't know what in the world the folks is looking about. the folks ain't good as they used to be. they shoots craps and drinks and does low-down things all the time. i ain't got no time with the young generation. times gone to pieces pretty bad if you axing me." # interviewer: watt mckinney person interviewed: james gill r.f.d. marvell, arkansas age: occupation: farmer "uncle jim" gill, an ex-slave eighty-six years of age, owns a nice two hundred acre farm five miles north of marvell where he has lived for the past thirty-five years. "uncle jim" is an excellent citizen, prosperous and conservative and highly respected by both white and colored. this is molasses making time in the south and i found "uncle jim" busily engaged in superintending the process of cooking the extracted juice from a large quantity of sorghum cane. the familiar type of horse-power mill in which the cane is crushed was in full operation, a roaring fire was blazing in the crudely constructed furnace beneath the long pan that contained the furiously foaming, boiling juice and that "uncle jim" informed me was "nigh 'bout done" and ready to drain off into the huge black pot that stood by the side of the furnace. the purpose of my visit was explained and "uncle jim" leaving the molasses making to some younger negro accompanied me to the shade of a large oak tree that stood near-by and told me the following story: "my ole mars, he was name tom white and my young mars what claimed me, he was name jeff. young mars an' me was just 'bout same age. us played together from time i fust riccolect till us left de ole home place back in alabama and lit out for over here in arkansas. "ole mars, he owned a heap of niggers back dere where us all lived on de big place but de lan', it was gittin' poor an' red and mought near wore out; so ole mars, he 'quired a big lot of lan' here in arkansas in phillips county, but you know it was all in de woods den 'bout fifteen miles down de ribber from helena and just thick wid canebrakes. so he sont 'bout twenty famblies ober here end dats how us happened to come 'cause my pappy, he was a extra blacksmith and carpenter and ole mars knowed he gwine to haf to hab him to 'sist in buildin' de houses and sich like. "though i was just 'bout seben year ole den, howsomeever, i 'member it well an' i sure did hate to leave de ole home where i was borned and i didn' want leave mars jeff either and when mars jeff foun' it out 'bout 'em gwine take me he cut up awful and just went on, sayin' i his nigger and wasn't gwine 'way off to arkansas. "ole mars, he knowed my mammy and pappy, dey wasn't gwine be satisfied widout all dere chillun wid 'em, so en course i was brung on too. you see, ole mars and he fambly, dey didn' come and we was sont under de oberseer what was name jim lynch and us come on de train to memphis and dat was when i got so skeered 'cause i hadn' nebber seen no train 'fore den an' i just hollered an' cried an' went on so dat my mammy say if i didn' hush up she gwine give me to de paddy rollers. "dey put us on de steamboat at memphis and de nex' i 'member was us gittin' off at de landin'. it was in de winter time 'bout las' of january us git here and de han's was put right to work clearin' lan' and buildin' cabins. it was sure rich lan' den, boss, and dey jus' slashed de cane and deaden de timber and when cotton plantin' time come de cane was layin' dere on de groun' crisp dry and day sot fire to it and burned it off clean and den planted de crops. "ole mars, he would come from alabama to see 'bout de bizness two an' three times every year and on some of dem 'casions he would bring mars jeff wid him and mars jeff, he allus nebber failed to hab somethin' for me, candy and sich like, and dem times when mars jeff come was when we had de fun. us just run wild playin' and iffen it was in de summer time we was in de bayou swimmin' or fishin' continual but all dem good times ceasted atter a while when de war come and de yankees started all dere debbilment. us was confedrits all de while, leastwise i means my mammy an' my pappy and me an' all de res' of de chillun 'cause ole mars was and mars jeff would er fit 'em too and me wid him iffen we had been ole enough. "but de yankees, dey didn' know dat we was confedrits, dey jus' reckon we like most all de res' of de niggers. us was skeered of dem yankees though 'cause us chillun cose didn' know what dey was and de oberseer, jim lynch, dey done tole us little uns dat a yankee was somepin what had one great big horn on he haid and just one eye and dat right in de middle of he breast and, boss, i sure was s'prized when i seen a sure 'nough yankee and see he was a man just like any er de res' of de folks. "de war tore up things right sharp yit an' still it wasn't so bad here in arkansas as i hear folks tell it was back in de yolder states like tennessee, alabama, and georgia. de bes' i riccolect de yankees come in here 'bout july of de year and dey had a big scrap in helena wid 'em and us could hear de cannons fifteen miles off and den dey would make dere trips out foragin' for stuff, corn and sich, and dey would take all de cotton dey could fin', but our mens, dey would hide de cotton in de thickets an' canebrakes iffen dey had time or either dey would burn it up 'fore de yankees come if dey could. i 'member one day we had on han' 'bout hundred bales at de gin and a white man come wid orders to de oberseer to git rid of it, so dey started to haulin' it off to de woods and dey hauled off 'bout fifty bales and den dey see dey wasn't goin' to hab time to git de res' to de woods and den dey commenced cuttin' de ties on de bales so dey could set fire to dem dat dey hadn' hid yit and 'bout dat time here come one of mr. tom casteel's niggers just a flyin' on a mule wid a letter to de white man. mr. tom casteel, he had he place just up de ribber from us, on de island, and when he gived de letter to de man an de man read it, he said de yankees is comin' and he lit out for de ribber where de boat was waitin' for him and got 'way and dere was all dat loose cotton on de groun' and us was skeered to sit fire to de cotton den and 'bout dat time de yankees arive and say don' you burn dat cotton and dey looked all ober de place and find de bales dat was hid in de woods and de nex' day dey come and haul it off and dey say us niggers can hab dat what de ties been cut on and my mammy, she set to work and likewise de odder women what de yankees say can had de loose cotton and tie up all dey can in bags and atter dat us sold it to de yankees in helena for a dollar a poun' and dat was all de money us had for a long time. "how-some-ever us all lived good 'cause dere was heap of wild hogs an' 'possums and sich and we had hid a heap of corn and us did fine. sometimes de war boats, dey would pass on de ribber--dat is de yankee boats--and us would hide 'hind de trees and bushes and see dem pass. we wouldn't let dem see us though 'cause we thought dey would shoot. heap en heap er times sojers would come by us place. when de yankees ud come dey would ax my mammy, 'aunt mary, is you seen any se-cesh today?' and mammy, she ud say 'naw suh' eben iffen she had seen some of us mens, but when our sojers ud come and say, 'aunt mary, is you seen ary yankee 'round here recent?' she ud allus tell dem de truf. dey was a bunch of us sojers, dat is de confedrits, what used to stay 'round in de community constant, dat we knowed, but dey allus had to be on de dodge 'cause dere was so many more yankees dan dem. "some of dese men i 'member good 'cause dey was us closest neighbors and some of dem libed on 'j'ining places. dere was mr. lum shell, mr. tom stoneham, mr. bob yabee, mr. henry rabb and mr. tom casteel. dem i 'member well 'cause dey come to us cabin right of'en and mammy, she ud cook for 'em and den atter de niggers git dey freedom dey could leave de place any time dey choose and every so of'en mammy ud go to helena and gin'rally she took me wid her to help tote de things she get dere. ole mr. cooledge, he had de biggest and 'bout de onliest store dat dere was in helena at dat time. mr. cooledge, he was a ole like gentleman and had everything most in he store--boots, shoes, tobacco, medicine en so on. cose couldn't no pusson go in an' outen helena at dat time--dat is durin' war days--outen dey had a pass and de yankee sojer dat writ de passes was named buford en he is de one what us allus git our passes from for to git in en out and 'twasn't so long 'fore mr. buford, he git to know my mammy right well and call her by her name. he, just like all de white mens, knowed her as 'aunt mary', but him nor none of de yankees knowed dat mammy was a confedrit and dats somepin i will tell you, boss. "dese sojers dat i is just named and dat was us neighbors, dey ud come to our cabin sometimes en say, 'aunt mary, we want you to go to helena for us and git some tobacco, and mebbe some medicine, and so on, and we gwine write ole man cooledge er note for you to take wid you'; and mammy, she ud git off for town walking and ud git de note to ole man cooledge. ole man cooledge, you see, boss, he sided wid de confedrites too but he didn' let on dat he did but all de confedrit sojers 'round dar in de county, dey knowed dey could 'pend on him and when my mammy ud take de note in ole man cooledge, he ud fix mammy up in some of dem big, wide hoop skirts and hide de things 'neath de skirts dat de men sont for. den she and sometimes me wid her, us would light out for home and cose we allus had our pass and dey knowed us and we easy git by de pickets and git home wid de goods for those sojer men what sont us. "speakin' from my own pussonal 'sperience, boss, de niggers was treated good in slavery times, dat is dat was de case wid my mars' peoples. our mars wouldn't hab no mistreatment of his niggers but i'ze heered tell dat some of de mars was pretty mean to dere niggers, but twasn't so wid us 'cause us had good houses and plenty somepin to eat outen de same pot what de white folks' victuals cooked in and de same victuals dat dey had. you see dat ole kittle settin' ober dar by de lasses pan right now? well, i is et many a meal outen dat kittle in slavery times 'cause dat is de very same kittle dat dey used to cook us victuals in when us belonged to ole mars, tom white, and lived on he place down on de ribber. it was den, boss, just same wid white men as 'tis in dis day and time. dere is heap of good white folks now and dere is a heap of dem what ain't so good. you know dat's so, boss, don't you? "when de niggers been made free, de oberseer, he called all de peoples up and he says, 'you all is free now and you can do like you please. you can stay on here and make de crops ur you can leave which-some-ever you want to do.' and wid dat de niggers, dat is most of dem, lef' like when you leave de lot gate open where is a big litter of shotes and dey just hit de road and commenced to ramble. most of 'em, dey go on to helena and gits dey grub from de yankees and stay dar till de yankees lef'. "but us, we stay on de place and some more, dey stay too and you know, boss, some of dem niggers what belonged to old mars and what he was so good to, dey stole mighty nigh all de mules and rode dem off and mars, he never git he mules back. naw suh, dat he didn'. de war, it broke ole mars up and atter de surrender he jus' let he arkansas farm go an' never come back no more. some of de older peoples, dey went back to alabama time er two and seen ole mars but i nebber did git to see him since us was sot free. but mars jeff, he comed here all de way from de home in alabama way atter he was growed. it's been 'bout fifty year now since de time he was here and i sure was proud to see him, dat i was, boss, 'cause i sure did love mars jeff and i loves him yit to dis day iffen he still lives and iffen he daid which i ain't never heered er not, den i loves and 'spects he memory. "yas suh, boss, times is changed sure 'nough but like i 'splained 'bout white folks and it's de same wid niggers, some is good and trys to lib right en some don' keer and jus' turns loose en don' restrain demselves. "you know, boss, dere is heaps of niggers wid white blood in 'em and dat mess was started way back yonder i reckon 'fore i was ever borned. shucks, i knowed it was long afore den but it wasn't my kine er white folks what 'sponsible for dat, it was de low class like some of de oberseers and den some of de yother folks like for instance de furriners what used to come in de country and work at jobs de mars ud give 'em to do on the places like carpentrying an' sich. i knowed one bad case, boss, dat happened right dere by us place and dat was de oberseer who 'sponsible for dat and he was de oberseer for a widow oman what lived in helena and dis white man runned de place an' he hab he nigger oman and she de mama of 'bout six chillun by dis man i tellin' you 'bout, three gals and three boys, and dem chillun nigh 'bout white and look just like him and den he move off to some yother part of de county and he git married dere to a white oman but he take he nigger fambly wid him just de same and he built dem a house in de middle of de place he done bought and he keep 'em dere eben though he done got him a white wife who he lib wid also and, boss, since i done told you he name don't tell i said so 'cause de chillun, dey is livin' dere yet and some of dem is gettin' old deyselves now but, boss, i don't 'spect i is tellin' you much you don't already know 'bout dat bunch." interviewer: beulah sherwood hagg person interviewed: mrs. cora gillam arch street, little rock, arkansas age: [hw: [scratching pacified master.]] "i have never been entirely sure of my age. i have kept it since i was married and they called me fifteen. that was in ' or ' . anyhow, i'm about , and what difference does one year make, one way or another. i lived with master and mistress in greenville, mississippi. they didn't have children and kept me in the house with them all the time. master was always having a bad spell and take to his bed. it always made him sick to hear that freedom was coming closer. he just couldn't stand to hear about that. i always remember the day he died. it was the fall of vicksburg. when he took a spell, i had to stand by the bed and scratch his head for him, and fan him with the other hand. he said that scratching pacified him. "no ma'am, oh no indeedy, my father was not a slave. can't you tell by me that he was white? my brother and one sister were free folks because their white father claimed them. brother was in college in cincinnati and sister was in oberlin college. my father was mr. mccarroll from ohio. he came to mississippi to be overseer on the plantation of the warren family where my mother lived. my grandmother--on mother's side, was full blood cherokee. she came from north carolina. in early days my mother and her brothers and sisters were stolen from their home in north carolina and taken to mississippi and sold for slaves. you know the indians could follow trails better than other kind of folks, and she tracked her children down and stayed in the south. my mother was only part negro; so was her brother, my uncle tom. he seemed all indian. you know, the cherokees were peaceable indians, until you got them mad. then they was the fiercest fighters of any tribes. "wait a minute, lady. i want to tell you first why i didn't get educated up north like my white brother and sister. just about time for me to be born my papa went to see how they was getting along in school. he left my education money with mama. he sure did want all his children educated. i never saw my father. he died that trip. after awhile mama married a colored man name lee. he took my school money and put me in the cotton patch. it was still during the war time when my white folks moved to arkansas; it was desha county where they settle. now i want to tell you about my uncle tom. like i said, he was half indian. but the negro part didn't show hardly any. there was something about uncle tom that made both white and black be afraid of him. his master was young, like him. he was name tom johnson, too. "you see, the warrens, what own my mother, and the johnsons, were all sort of one family. mistress warren and mistress johnson were sisters, and owned everything together. the johnsons lived in kentucky, but came to arkansas to farm. master tom taught his slaves to read. they say uncle tom was the best reader, white or black, for miles. that was what got him in trouble. slaves was not allowed to read. they didn't want them to know that freedom was coming. no ma'am! any time a crowd of slaves gathered, overseers and bushwhackers come and chased them; broke up the crowd. that indian in uncle tom made him not scared of anybody. he had a newspaper with latest war news and gathered a crowd of slaves to read them when peace was coming. white men say it done to get uprising among slaves. a crowd of white gather and take uncle tom to jail. twenty of them say they would beat him, each man, till they so tired they can't lay on one more lick. if he still alive, then they hang him. wasn't that awful? hang a man just because he could read? they had him in jail overnight. his young master got wind of it, and went to save his man. the indian in uncle tom rose. strength--big extra strength seemed to come to him. first man what opened that door, he leaped on him and laid him out. no white men could stand against him in that indian fighting spirit. they was scared of him. he almost tore that jailhouse down, lady. yes he did. his young master took him that night, but next day the white mob was after him and had him in jail. then listen what happened. the yankees took helena, and opened up the jails. everybody so scared they forgot all about hangings and things like that. then uncle tom join the union army; was in the th regiment, u. s. volunteers (colored) and went to little rock. my mama come up here. you see, so many white folks loaned their slaves to the cessioners (cecessionists) to help build forts all over the state. mama was needed to help cook. they was building forts to protect little rock. steele was coming. the mistress was kind; she took care of me and my sister while mama was gone. "it was while she was in little rock that mama married lee. after peace they went back to helena and stayed two years with old mistress. she let them have the use of the farm tools and mules; she put up the cotton and seed corn and food for us. she told us we could work on shares, half and half. you see, ma'am, when slaves got free, they didn't have nothing but their two hands to start out with. i never heard of any master giving a slave money or land. most went back to farming on shares. for many years all they got was their food. some white folks was so mean. i know what they told us every time when crops would be put by. they said 'why didn't you work harder? look. when the seed is paid for, and all your food and everything, what food you had just squares the account.' then they take all the cotton we raise, all the hogs, corn, everything. we was just about where we was in slave days. "when we see we never going to make anything share cropping, mother and i went picking. yes ma'am, they paid pretty good; got $ . a hundred. so we saved enough to take us to little rock. went on a boat, i remember, and it took a whole week to make the trip. just think of that. a whole week between here and helena. i was married by then. gillam was a blacksmith by trade and had a good business. but in a little while he got into politics in little rock. yes, lady. if you would look over the old records you would see where he was made the keeper of the jail. i don't know how many times he was elected to city council. he was the only colored coroner pulaski county ever had. he was in the legislature, too. i used to dress up and go out to hear him make speeches. wait a minute and i will get my scrap book and show you all the things i cut from the papers printed about him in those days.... "even after the colored folks got put out of public office, they still kept my husband for a policeman. it was during those days he bought this home. sixty-seven years we been living right in this place--i guess--when did you say the war had its wind up? it was the only house in a big forest. all my nine children was born right in this house. no ma'am, i never have worked since i came here. my husband always made a good living. i had all i could do caring for those nine children. when the democrats came in power, of course all colored men were let out of office. then my husband went back to his blacksmith trade. he was always interested in breeding fine horses. kept two fine stallions; one was named 'judge hill', the other 'pinchback'. white folks from kentucky, even, used to come here to buy his colts. race people in texas took our colts as fast as they got born. only recently we heard that stock from our stable was among the best in texas. "the ku kluxers never bothered us in the least. i think they worked mostly out in the country. we used to hear terrible tales of how they whipped and killed both white and black, for no reason at all. everybody was afraid of them and scared to go out after dark. they were a strong organization, and secret. i'll tell you, lady, if the rough element from the north had stayed out of the south the trouble of reconstruction would not happened. yes ma'am, that's right. you see, after great disasters like fires and earthquakes and such, always reckless criminal class people come in its wake to rob and pillage. it was like that in the war days. it was that bad element of the north what made the trouble. they tried to excite (incite) the colored against their white friends. the white folks was still kind to them what had been their slaves. they would have helped them get started. i know that. i always say that if the south could of been left to adjust itself, both white and colored would been better off. "now about this voting business. i guess you don't find any colored folks what think they get a fair deal. i don't, either. i don't think it is right that any tax payer should be deprived of the right to vote. why, lady, even my children that pay poll tax can't vote. one of my daughters is a teacher in the public school. she tells me they send out notices that if teachers don't pay a poll tax they may lose their place. but still they can't use it and vote in the primary. my husband always believed in using your voting privilege. he has been dead over years. he had been appointed on the grand jury; had bought a new suit of clothes for that. he died on the day he was to go, so we used his new suit to bury him in. i have been getting his soldier's pension ever since. yes ma'am, i have not had it hard like lots of ex-slaves. "before you go i'd like you to look at the bedspread i knit last year. my daughters was trying to learn to knit. this craze for knitting has got everybody, it looks like. i heard them fussing about they could not cast on the stitches. 'for land's sakes,' i said, 'hand me them needles.' so i fussed around a little, and it all came back. what's funny about it is, i had not knitted a stitch since i was about ten. old mistress used to make me knit socks for the soldiers. i remember i knit ten pair out of coarse yarn, while she was doing a couple for the officer out of fine wool and silk mixed. i used to knit pulse warmers, and 'half-handers',--i bet you don't know what they was. yes, that's right; gloves without any fingers, 'cepting a thumb and it didn't have any end. i could even knit on four needles when i was little. we used to make our needles out of bones, wire, smooth, straight sticks,--anything that would slip the yarn. well, let me get back to this spread. in a few minutes it all came back. i began knitting washrags. got faster and faster. didn't need to look at the stitches. the girls are so scared something will happen to me, they won't let me do any work. now i had found something i could do. when they saw how fast i work, they say: 'mother, why don't you make something worth while? why make so many washrags?' so i started the bedspread. i guess it took me six months, at odd times. i got it done in time to take to ft. worth to the big exhibit of the national federation of colored women's clubs. my daughter was the national president that year. if you'll believe it, this spread took first prize. look, here's the blue ribbon pinned on yet. what they thought was so wonderful was that i knit every stitch of it without glasses. but that is not so funny, because i have never worn glasses in my life. i guess that is some more of my indian blood telling. "sometimes i have to laugh at some of these young people. i call them young because i knew them when they were babies. but they are already all broken down old men and women. i still feel young inside. i feel that i have had a good life." --- interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: j. n. gillespie park street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born near galveston, in texas, january , , so they tell me. i been in this town and been living right here at park street for fifty-three years and ain't never had no trouble with anybody. "my grandparents were gillespie's. my grandma was an indian woman. she was stolen off the reservation--her and her daughter. the daughter was about twelve years old and big enough to wait table. both of them were full blooded cherokee indians. my grandma married a slave, and when she growed up, my mother married a slave; but my mother's parents were both indians, and one of my father's parents was white, so you see about three-fourths of me is something else. my grandmother's name before her first marriage was courtney and my mother's first name was parthenia. "when they were stolen, they were made slaves. nick toliver bought 'em. he was their first master, far as i heard 'em say. after old man nick toliver died, tom brewer bought my mother. toliver and brewer were the only two masters she had. "after freedom came, my grandma took back her own name, gillespie. grandma's second husband was named berry green. she was free and in the indian reservation when she married gillespie, but she was a slave when she married berry green. "after my mother came to be of age, she married a man named willis. he was a slave. that is why i am like i am now. if my grandma had stayed in the nation, i never would have been a slave, and i wouldn't need to be beatin' around here trying to get just bread and meat. "after freedom, she taken her mother's name by her free husband, gillespie, and she made her husband take it too. that how i got the name of gillespie." occupation of forefathers "after they were made slaves, my grandmother cooked and my mother waited table and worked as a house girl. my grandma used to make clothes too, and she could work on one of these big looms." patrollers "my mother told me that when the boys would go out to a dance, they would tie a rope across the road to make the horses of the patrollers stumble and give the dancers time to get away. sometimes the horses' legs would be broken." subject's occupation "i wants to work and can't get work; so they ain't no use to worry. i used to cook. that is all i did for a living. i cooked as long as i could get something for it. i can't get a pension." slave houses "i didn't see no log houses when i growed up. everything was frame." right after the war "right after the war, my mother stayed around the house and continued to work for her master. i don't know what they paid her. i can't remember just how they got free but i think the soldiers gave 'em the notification. they stayed on the place till i was big enough to work. i didn't do no work in slave time because i wasn't old enough." choked on watermelon seeds "one day i was stealing watermelons with some big boys and i got choked on some seeds. the melon seeds got in my throat. i yelled for help and the boys ran away. old tom brewer made me get on my hands and jump up and down to get the seeds out." leaving galveston "i was a small boy, might have been seven or eight years old, when i left galveston. we came to bradley county, here in arkansas. from bradley my mother took me to pine bluff. after i got big i went back to texas. then i came from texas here fifty-three years ago, and have been living here ever since, cooking for hotels and private families. "i never was arrested in my life. i never been in trouble. i never had a fight. been living in the same place ever since i first came here--right here at park street. i belong to the christian church at thirteenth and cross streets. i quit working around the yard and the building because they wouldn't pay me anything. they promised to pay me, but they wouldn't do it." interviewer's comment gillespie has an excellent reputation, as indeed have most of the ex-slaves in this city. he is clear and unfaltering in his memory. he is deliberate and selects what he means to tell. he is never discourteous. he is a little nervous and cannot be held long at a time. indian characteristics in him are not especially prominent, but you note them readily after learning of his ancestry. he is brown but slightly copper in color, and his profile has the typical indian appearance. he is a little taciturn, and sometimes acts on his decisions before he announces them. i cultivated him about three weeks. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: will glass w. eighth street, little rock, arkansas age: occupation: all phases of paving work [hw: [bit dog's foot off]] "my grandfather was named joe glass. his master was named glass. i forget the first name. my grandfather on my mother's side was named smith. his old master was named smith. the grandfather joe was born in alabama. grandfather smith was born in north carolina." whippings "there were good masters and mean masters. both of my old grandfathers had good masters. i had an uncle, anderson fields, who had a tough master. he was so tough that uncle anderson had to run away. they'd whip him and do around, and he would run away. then they would get the dogs after him and they would run him until he would climb a tree to get away from them. they would come and surround the tree and make him come down and they would whip him till the blood ran, and sometimes they would make the dogs bite him and he couldn't do nothing about it. one time he bit a dog's foot off. they asked him why he did that and he said the dog bit him and he bit him back. they whipped him again. they would take him home at night and put what they called the ball and chain on him and some of the others they called unruly to keep them from running away. "they didn't whip my grandfathers. just one time they whipped grandfather joe. that was because he wouldn't give his consent for them to whip his wife. he wouldn't stand for it and they strapped him. he told them to strap him and leave her be. he was a good worker and they didn't want to kill him, so they strapped him and let her be like he said." picnics "both of my grandfathers said their masters used to give picnics. they would have a certain day and they would give them all a good time and let them enjoy themselves. they would kill a cow or some kids and hogs and have a barbecue. they kept that up after freedom. every nineteenth of june, they would throw a big picnic until i got big enough to see and know for myself. but their masters gave them theirs in slavery times. they gave it to them once a year and it was on the nineteenth of june then. "grandfather joe said when he wanted to marry jennie, she was under her old master, the man that anderson worked under. old man glass found that grandfather joe was slipping off to old man field's to see grandma jennie, who was on field's place, and old man fields went over and told glass that he would either have to sell glass to him or buy jennie from him. old man glass bought jennie and grandfather joe got her. "after old man glass bought jennie, he held up a broom and they would have to jump over it backwards and then old man glass pronounced them man and wife. "grandfather joe died when i was a boy ten years old. grandfather smith died in . he was eighty years old when he died. grandfather joe was seventy-two years old when he died. he died somewhere along in ." whitecaps "i heard them speak of the ku klux often. but they didn't call them ku klux; they called them whitecaps. the whitecaps used to go around at night and get hold of colored people that had been living disorderly and carry them out and whip them. i never heard them say that they whipped anybody for voting. if they did, it wasn't done in our neighborhood." worship "uncle anderson said that old man fields didn't allow them to sing and pray and hold meetings, and they had to slip off and slip aside and hide around to pray. they knew what to do. people used to stick their heads under washpots to sing and pray. some of them went out into the brush arbors where they could pray and shout without being disturbed. "grandfather joe and grandfather smith both said that they had seen slaves have that trouble. of course, it never happened on the plantations where they were brought up. uncle anderson said that they would sometimes go off and get under the washpot and sing and pray the best they could. when they prayed under the pot, they would make a little hole and set the pot over it. then they would stick their heads under the pot and say and sing what they wanted." slave sales "grandfather joe and grandfather smith used to say that when a child was born if it was a child that was fine blooded they would put it on the block and sell it away from its parents while it was little. both of my grandfathers were sold away from their parents when they were small kids. they never knew who their parents were. "when my oldest auntie was born, my mother said she was sold about two years before freedom. aunt emma was only two years old then when she was sold. mother never met her until she was married and had a family. they would sell the children slaves of that sort at auction, and let them go to the highest bidder." opinions "my grandfather brought me up strictly. i don't know what they thought about the young people of their day, but i know what i think. i will tell you. at first i searched myself. kids in the time i came along had to go by a certain rule. they had to go by it. "we don't see to our children doing right as our parents saw to our doing. it would be good if we could get ourselves together and bring these young people back where they belong. what ruined the young folks is our lack of discipline. we send them to school but that is all, and that is not enough. we ought to take it on ourselves to see that they are learning as they ought to learn and what they ought to learn. "i belong to bethel a. m. e. church. i married about , november . i have just one kid and two grand kids." --- interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: frank william glenn des arc, arkansas age: "i was born june in des arc. my parents named richard lewis glenn and pleasant glynn. my mama died when i was small. i recollect hearing em say the southern women oughtn't marry the yankee men, there was so much difference in their lives. a few widows and girls did marry yankee men, very few. southern folks jes' hated em. "master wash glenn had a son named boliver. he may had more. i don't know much about em. we stayed there after the war for a long time then went to work for mr. bedford bethels father. we worked there a long time then went to work for mr. jim erwin. my papa always farmed. i heard my mama say she washed and sewed during slavery. there was three boys and one girl in our famlee. i heard bout the bushwhackers and ku klux. i was too young to tell bout what they did do. i never did see none dressed up. "i don't fool wid votin' much. i have voted. i don't understand votin' much and how they run the govermint. my time of usefulness is nearly gone. "the present time serves me hard. i got my leg caught in a wagon wheel and so sprained i been cripple ever since. the rheumatiz settles in it till i can't sleep at night. my wife quit me. i got two boys in chicago, the girl and her ma in brinkley. they sho don't help me. i have to rent my house. i don't own nuthin'. i work all i'm able. "the present generation is selfish and restless. i don't know what goner become of em. times is changing too fast for me. i jess look on and wonder what going to come on next." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: ella glespie brassfield, arkansas age: "i was born the third year after the surrender. i was born in okolona, mississippi. my parents was jane bowen and henry harrison. ma had seven children. they lived on the gates place at freedom. i'm the onliest one of my kin living anywheres 'bout now. ma never was sold but pa was. "parson caruthers brought pa from alabama. he was a good runner and when he was little he throwd his hip outer j'int running races. then parson caruthers learnt him a trade--a shoemaker. when he was still nothing but a lad he was sold for quite a sum of money. when emancipation come on he could read and write and make change. "so den he was out in the world cripple. he started teaching school. he had been a preacher, too, durin' slavery. he preached and taught school. he was justice of the peace and representative for two terms from chickasaw county in the state legislature. i heard them talk about that and when i started to school mr. suggs was the white man principal. pa was one teacher and there was some more teachers. he was a teacher a long time. he was eighty odd and ma was sixty odd when she died. both died in mississippi. "my folks said master gates was good. i knowd my pa's young master gates. pa said he never got a whooping. they made a right smart of money outen his work. he said some of the boots he made brung high as twenty dollars. pa had a good deal of confederate bills as i recollects. ma said some of them on gates' place got whoopings. "when they would be at picnics and big corn shellings or shuckings either, all gates' black folks was called 'heavy gates'; they was fed and treated so well. i visited back at home in mississippi. went to the quarters and all nineteen years ago. i heard them still talking about the 'heavy gates'. i was one the offspring. "ma cooked for her old mistress years and years. mrs. rogers in south carolina give ma to miss rebecca, her daughter, and said, 'take good care of her, you might need her.' they come in ox wagons to mississippi. ma was a little girl then when miss rebecca married dr. bowen. ma hated to leave miss rebecca bowen 'cause in the first place she was her half-sister. she said master rogers was her own pa. her ma was a cook and house girl ahead of her. ma was a fine cook. heap better than i ever was 'cause she never lacked the stuff to fix and i come short there. "i heard ma tell this. wherever she lived and worked, at dr. bowen's, i reckon. the soldiers come one day and took their sharp swords from out their belts and cut off heads of turkeys, chickens, geese, ducks, guineas, and took a load off and left some on the ground. they picked up the heads and what was left and made a big washpot full of dumplings. she said the soldiers wasted so much. "when i was young i seen a 'style block' at holly springs, mississippi. i was going to tucker lou school, ten miles from jackson. that was way back in the seventies. a platform was up in the air under a tree and two stumps stood on ends for the steps. it was higher than three steps but that is the way they got up on the platform they tole me. "i think times are a little better. i gits a little ironing and six dollars and commodities. the young generation is taking on funny ways. i think they do very well morally 'cepting their liquor drinking habits. that is worse, i think. they are advancing in learning. i think times a little better. "my husband had been out here. we married and i come here. i didn't like here a bit but now my kin is all dead and i know folks here better. i like it now very well. he was a farmer and mill man." interviewer: mary d. hudgins person interviewed: joe golden age: home: gulpha street, hot springs, ark. "yes, ma'am to be sure i remembers you. i knew your father and all his brothers. i knew your mother's father and your grandmother, and all the denglers. your grandpappy was mighty good to me. your grandmother was too. many's the day your uncle fred followed me about while i was hunting. i was the only one what your grandpappy would let hunt in his garden. yes, ma'am! if your grandmother would hear a shot across the hill in the garden, she'd say, 'go over and see who it is.' and your grandfather would come. he'd chase them away. but if it was me, he'd go back home and he'd tell her, 'it's just joe. he's not going to carry away more than he can eat. joe'll be all right.' "yes, ma'am. i was born down at magnet cove. i belonged to mr. andy mitchell. he was a great old man, he was. did he have a big farm and lots of black folks? law, miss, he didn't have nothing but children, just lots of little children. he rented me and my pappy and my mother to the sumpters right here in hot springs. "i can remember hot springs when there wasn't more than three houses here. folks used to come thru and lots of folks used to stay. but there wasn't more than three families lived here part of the time. "yes, ma'am we worked. but we had lots of fun too. them was exciting times. i can remember when folks got to shooting at each, other right in the street. i run off and taken to the woods when that happened. "no, miss, we didn't live in hot springs all thru the war. when the federals taken little rock they taken us to texas. we stayed there until ' . then we come back to hot springs. "yes, miss, hot springs was a good place to make money. lots of rich folks was coming to the hotels. yes, ma'am, i made money. how'd i make it? well lots of ways. i used to run. i was the fastest runner what was. folks would bet on us, and i'd always win. then i used to shine shoes. made money at it too. lots of days i made as much as $ or $ . sometimes i didn't even stop to eat. but i was making money, and i didn't care. "then there was a feller, a doctor he was. he give me a gun. i used to like to hunt. hunted all over these mountains[ ], hunted quail and hunted squirrel and a few times i killed deers. the man what gave me the gun he promised me twenty five cents apiece for all the quail i could bring him. lots of times i came in with them by the dozen. "i tried to save my money. didn't spend much. i'd bring it home to my mother. she'd put it away for me. but if my pappy knowed i got money he'd take it away from me and buy whiskey. you might know why, miss. he was part creek--yes ma'am, part creek indian. "does you remember chinquapins? they used to be all over the hill up yonder.[ ] i used to get lots of them. sell them too. one time i chased a deer up there[ ]. got him with a knife, didn't have a gun. the dogs cornered him for me. best dog i ever had, his name was abraham lincoln. he was extra good for a possom dog. once i got a white possom in the same place i got a deer. it was way out yonder--that place there ain't nothing but rocks. yes, ma'am, hell's half acre.[ ] "yes, miss, i has made lots of money in my time. can't work none now. wish you had got to me three years ago. that was before i had my stroke. can't think of what i want to say, and can't make my mouth say it. you being patient with me. i got to take time to think. "me and my wife we gets along pretty well. we have our home, and then i got other property.[ ] we was real well off. i had $ in the bank--webb's bank when it failed.[ ] never got but part of my money back. "when i sold out my bootblack stand i bought a butcher shop. i made a lot of money there. i had good meat and folks, black folks and white folks came to buy from me. so you remembers my barbecue, do you? yes, miss, i always tried to make it good. yes, i remembers your pappy used to always buy from me. "your grandmother was a good woman. i remember when your uncle freddy had been following me around all day while i was hunting--it was in your grandpappy's garden--his vineyard too--it was mighty big. i told freddy he could have a squirrel or a quail. he took the squirrel and i gave him a couple of quail too. went home with him and showed your grandmother how they ought to be fixed. "i can remember before your father lived in hot springs. he and his brothers used to come thru from polk county. they'd bring a lot of cotton to sell. yes, ma'am lots of folks came thru. they'd either sell them here or go on to little rock. lots of indians--along with cotton and skins they'd bring loadstone. then when your pappy and his brothers had a hardware store i bought lots of things from them. used to be some pretty bad men in hot springs--folks was mean in them days. i remember when your father kept two men from killing each other. wish, i wish i could remember better. this stroke has about got me. "yes, miss, that was the garden. i used to sell garden truck too. had a bush fence around it long before a wire one. folks used to pass up other folks to buy truck from me. your mother did. "life's been pretty good to me. i've lived a long time. and i've done a lot. made a lot of money, and didn't get beyond the third grade.[ ] can't cultivate the garden now. my wife does well enough to take care of the yard. she's a good woman, my wife is. "so you're going to fayetteville to see miss adeline? i remember miss adeline.[ ] she worked for your pappy's brother didn't she. yes, i knowed her well. i liked her. "yes miss, i'm sort of tired. it's hard to think. and i can't move about much. but i got my home and i got my wife and we're comfortable. thank you." interviewer's note: i left him sitting and rocking gently in a home-made hickory stationary swing eyes half closed looking out across his yard and basking in the warm sunshine of late afternoon. footnotes: [ ] units of hot springs national park. [ ] spot without soil or vegetation--broken talus rock. [ ] home clean, well painted and cared for, two story, large lot. rental cottage, good condition, negro neighborhood. [ ] bank owned and operated for and by negroes--affiliated with headquarters of large national negro lodge. [ ] no public schools in hot springs until the late s. [ ] the adeline blakely of another arkansas interview with slaves. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: jake goodridge clarendon, arkansas age: ? is about correct born august , "i was born close to jackson, tennessee in madison county. my master was hatford weathers. his wife's name was susan weathers. they had a big family--john, lidy, mattie, polly, betty, and jimmy, that i recollect and there might er been some more. "my parents' names was narcissus and jacob goodridge. i had one brother that was a yankee soldier, and five sisters. one sister did live in texas. they all dead fur as i know. we got scattered. some of us got inherited fore freedom. jake goodridge took me along when he went to the army to wait on him. right there it was me an' my brother fightin' agin one 'nother. "when we come to st. charles we come to memphis on freight boxes--no tops--flat cars like. there a heap more soldiers was waiting. we got on a boat--a great big boat. there was one regiment--indiana cavalry, one kansas, one missouri, one illinois. all on deck was the horses. there was , men in a regiment and four regiments, , horses and four cannons. there was not settin' down room on the boat. they captured my master and sent him to prison. first they put him in a callaboose and then they sent him on to prison and they took me to help them. they made a waitin' boy of me. i didn't lack none of 'em. they cussed all the time. i heard they paroled my master long time after the war. "they would shoot a cannon, had a sponge on a long rod. they wipe it out and put in another big ball, get way back and pull a rope. the cannon fire agin. course i was scared. i was scared to death bout two years, that 'bout how long i was in the war. i was twelve or fourteen years old. i recollect it as well as if it was yesterday. they never had a battle at st. charles while i was there. they loaded up the boat and took us to little rock. they mustered out there. the yankee soldiers give out news of freedom. they was shouting 'round. i jes' stood around to see whut they goiner do next. didn't nobody give me nuthin'. i didn't know what to do. everything going. tents all gone, no place to go stay and nothin' to eat. that was the big freedom to us colored folks. that the way white folks fightin' do the colored folks. i got hungry and naked and cold many a time. i had a good master and i thought he always treated me heap better than that. i wanted to go back but i had no way. i made it down to st. charles in 'bout a year after the surrender. i started farmin'. i been farmin' ever since. in little rock i found a job in a tin pin alley, pickin' up balls. the man paid me $ a month, next to starvation. i think his name was warren rogers. "i went to indian bay 'bout and farmed for mr. hathway, then mr. duncan. then i come up to clarendon and been here ever since. "one time i owned acres at holly grove, sold it, spent the money. "i too old, i don't fool wid no votin'. i never did take a big stock in sich foolishness. "i live wid my daughter and white folks. the welfare give me $ a month. we got a garden. no cow. no hog. no chickens. "the present conditions seem pretty bad. some do work and some don't work. nobody savin' that i sees. takes it all to live on. i haben't give the present generation a thought." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: john goodson (goodrum) des arc, arkansas age: born in "my master was bill goodrum. i was born at des arc out in the country close by here. my mother was a house woman and my father was overseer. i was so little i don't remember the war. i do remember doc rayburn. i seed him and remember him all right. he was a bushwacker and a ku klux they said. i don't remember the ku klux. never seed them. "i heard my parents say they expected the government to divide up the land and give them a start--a home and some land. they got just turned out like you turn a hog out the pen and say go on i'm through wid you. "i heard them set till midnight talking 'bout whut all took place during the civil war. the country was wild and it was a long ways between the houses. there wasn't many colored folks in this country till closin' of the war. they started bringing 'em here. men whut needed help on the farms. "all my life i been cooking. i cooked at hotels and on boats. i cooked some in restaurants. they say it was the heat caused me to go blind. i cooked up till . the last folks i cooked for was on a boat for heckles and wade sales up at augusta, arkansas. i done carpentry work some when i was off of a cooking job. i never liked farmin' much. i have done a little of that along between times too. my main job is cooking. "i voted along when i could see. i ain't voted lately. i sho lacks this president. "i had a house and lot--this one, but i couldn't pay taxes. we still living in it. we got a garden. no hog, no cow. we made our home when i cooked and my wife washed and ironed. "i think this new generation of colored folks is awful. they can get work if they would do it. times is gettin' worse. they work some if the price suit 'em, if it don't, they steal. they spend 'bout all they make for shows, whiskey and i don't know whut all. "the social welfare gives me $ a month. my wife does all the washing and ironin' she can get. we are doing very well. "i don't understand much 'bout votin' and picking out canidates. it don't hurt if the women want to vote. "only songs i ever heard was corn songs. i don't remember none. they make 'em up out in the fields. some folks good at making up songs. one i used to hear a whole heap was 'it goiner be a hot time in the old time tonite.' another one 'if you liker me liker i liker you. we both liker the same.' i don't remember no more them songs. i used to hear 'em a whole lots. yes out in the fields." editor's note: pages to have been withdrawn after numbering. interviewer: thomas elmore lucy person interviewed: george govan russellville, arkansas age: "george govan is my name, and i was born in conway county somewheres in december --i guess it was about de seventeenth of december. we lived there till , when i come to pope county. both my parents was slaves on de plantation of a mr. govan near charleston, south carolina. dat's where we got our name. folks come to arkansas after dey was freed. no sir, i ain't edicated--never had de chance. parents been dead a good many years. "yas suh, my folks used to talk a heap and tell me lots of tales of slavery days, and how de patrollers used to whip em when dey wanted to go some place and didn't have de demit to go. yas suh, dey had to have a demit to go any place outside work hours. dey whipped my mother and father both sometimes, and dey sure was afraid of dem patrollers. used to say, 'if you don't watch out de patrollers'll git you.' dey'd catch de slaves and tie em up to a tree or a pos' and whip em wid buggy whips and rawhides. "some of de slaves was promised land and other things when dey was freed, and some wasn't promised nothin'. some got land and a span of mules, and some didn't get nothin'. no suh, my daddy didn't farm none at first after he was freed because he didn't have no money to buy land, but he done odd jobs here and there till he come to arkansas seven or eight years after the war. "yes, i owns my own home; been livin' in it for ten years, since i've been workin' as janitor at dis central presbyterian church. i belongs to de missionary baptis' church, but my parents were both methodists. "sure did have lots of good songs in de old days, like 'old ship of zion' and 'on jordan's stormy banks.' used to have one that begins 'those that 'fuse to sing never knew my god.' it was a purty piece; and then there was another one about a 'rough, rocky road.' "de young people today has much better opportunities than when i was a child, and much better than dey had in slavery days, because dar ain't no patrollers to whip em. most of em dese days has purty good behavior, and i think dey're better than in de old days. "i has always voted regularly since i come of age--votes de republican ticket. can't read but a little, but i never had any trouble about votin'." note: george govan is an intelligent negro, fairly neat in his dress, very tall and erect in stature. brogue quite noticeable, and occasional idioms that make his interview interesting and personal. # interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: julia grace n. spruce street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was seventy-four this last past fourth of july. i was born in texas. my mother was sent to texas to keep from bein' freed. "ad march and spruce mccrary is the onliest white folks i remember bein' with. i don't know whether they was our owners or not. "my father was sent to north carolina and i never did see him no more. "after freedom they brought us back here from texas and we worked on the mccrary plantation. "in slavery days mama said she and my father stayed in the woods most of the time. that's when they was whippin' 'em. "my mother come from richmond, virginia. petersburg was her town. she belonged to the wellses over there. "after her master got his leg broke, the rest was so mean to her she run off a couple times, so they sold her. put her up on the tradin' block--like goin' to make a speech. stripped 'em naked. the man bid 'em off like you'd bid off oxen. "mama told me her missis, after her husband died, got so mean to her she run off till her old missis sold her. they weighed 'em and stripped 'em naked to see if they was anything wrong with 'em and how they was built and then bid 'em off. "mama said she never would a been in arkansas if they hadn't been so mean to her. they were too compulsive on 'em--you know, hard taskmasters. "after freedom ad march went back to north carolina and spruce mccrary come here to pine bluff. "fust time i moved here in town was in . i stayed ten months, then i went back to the country. i aimed to go to fort smith but i got to talkin' with my playmates and i didn't have too much money, and i stayed till i didn't have enough money left to keep me till i could get a job. so i stayed here and worked for mrs. freemayer till i got so i couldn't work. she's the one got me on this relief. "i went to school one session in . sam caeser, he was a well-known teacher. he got killed here in pine bluff. "i can't sweep and i can't iron. i got a misery in my back. i washes my clothes and spreads 'em out till they dry. then i puts 'em on and switches into church and ever'body thinks they has been ironed. "they ain't but one sign i believes in and that's peckerwoods. just as sure as he pecks three times, somebody goin' to move or somebody goin' to die. just as sure as you live somebody goin' out. "one time one of my grandchildren and a friend of mine was walkin' through the woods and we missed the main road we aimed to ketch, and we got into a den of wild hogs. i said, 'lord, make 'em stand still till we get out of here.' one of 'em was that tall and big long ears hung down over his eyes. that was the male, you know. i reckon they couldn't see us and we walked as easy as we could and we got away and struck the main road. i reckon if they could a seen us we would a been 'tacked but we got away. i had heard how they made people take to trees, and i was scared. "have you ever seen a three-legged cow? well, i have. i looked at her good. she was grown and had a calf." --- interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: charles graham w. th street, north little rock, arkansas age: [hw: [freed in ' ]] "i was born september , , clarksville, tennessee. i don't remember the county. there are several clarksvilles throughout the south. but clarksville, tennessee is the first and the oldest. "i got a chance to see troops after the civil war was over. the soldiers were playing, boxing, and the like. then i remember hearing the cannons roar--long toms they used to call 'em. my uncle said, 'that is general grant opening fire on the rebels.' "the first clear thing i remember was when everybody was rejoicing because they were free. the soldiers were playing and boxing and chucking watermelons at one another. they had great long guns called muskets. i heard 'em say that abraham lincoln had turned 'em loose. where i was at, they turned 'em loose in ' . lincoln was assassinated in ' . i heard that the morning after it was done. we was turned loose long before then. "i was too young to pay much attention, but they were cutting up and clapping their hands and carrying on something terrible, and shouting, 'free, free, old abraham done turned us loose.' "i was here in them days! heard those long toms roar! general grant shelling the rebels!" patrollers "i don't remember much about the patrollers except that when they been having dances, and some of them didn't have passes, they'd get chased and run. if they would get catched, them that didn't have passes would get whipped. them that had them, they were all right." amusements "they had barbecues. that's where the barbecues started from, i reckon, from the barbecues among the slaves. "they would have corn shuckings. they would have a whole lot of corn to shuck, and they would give the corn shucking and the barbecue together. they would shuck as many as three or four hundred bushels of corn in a night. sometimes, they would race one another. so you know that they must have been some shucking done. "i don't believe that i know of anything else. people were ignorant in those days and didn't have many amusements." occupations "i used to be a regular miller until they laid the men off. now i don't have no kind of job at all." right after the war "some of the slaves went right up north. we stayed in clarksville and worked there for a year or two. in , we went to warren county, illinois. they put me in school. my people were just common laborers. they bought themselves a nice little home. "my mother's name was anna bailis and my father's name was charles morrill. i don't remember the names of their masters. "i was raised by my uncle, simon blair. his master used to be a bailis. my father, so i was told, went off and left my mother. she was weak and ailing, so my uncle took me. he took me away from her and carried me up north with them. my father ran away before the slaves were freed. i never found out what became of him. "i stayed in illinois from the time i was five or six years old up until i was twenty-one. i left there in . that is about the time when garfield ran for president. i was in ohio, seen him before he was assassinated in . garfield and arthur ran against hancock and english. they beat 'em too." little rock "i used to go from place to place working first one place and then another--going down the mississippi on boats. monmouth, illinois, where i was raised--they ain't nothing to that place. just a dry little town!" opinions "the young people nowadays are all right. there is not so much ignorance now as there was in those days. there was ignorance all over then. the peckerwoods wasn't much wise either. they know nowadays though. our race has done well in refinement. "i find that the negro is more appreciated in politics in the north and west than in the south. i don't know whether it will grow better or not. "i'll tell you something else. the best of these white people down here don't feel so friendly toward the north." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: james graham maple street, little rock, arkansas age: [hw: ["free negroes"]] "i was born in south carolina, lancaster county, about nine miles from lancaster town. my father's name was tillman graham and my mother's name was eliza. "i have seen my grandfathers, but i forget their names now. my father was a farmer. my father and mother belonged to this people, that is, to the tillmans. "on my father's side, they called my people free negroes because they treated them so good. on my mother's side they had to get their education privately. when the white children would come from school, my mother's people would get instruction from them. my mother was a maid in the house and it was easy for her to get training that way." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: marthala grant e. barraque, pine bluff, arkansas age: "all i can remember is some men throwin' us up in the air and ketchin' us, me and my baby brother. like to scared me to death. they had on funny clothes. me and my brother was out in the yard playin'. they just grabbed us up and throwed us up and ketched us. "my mother would tell us bout the war. she had on some old shoes--wooden shoes. her white folks name was hines. that was in north carolina. i emigrated here when they was emigratin' folks here. i was grown then. "durin' the war i heered the shootin' and the people clappin' their hands. "my mother said they was fightin' to free the people but i didn't know what freedom was. i member hearin' em whoopin' and hollerin' when peace was 'clared and talkin' bout it. "yes'm i went to school some--not much. i learned a right smart to read but not much writin'. "we'd go up to the white folks house every sunday evenin' and old mistress would learn us our catechism. we'd have to comb our heads and clean up and go up every sunday evenin'. she'd line us up and learn us our catechism. "we stayed right on there after the war. they paid my mother. i picked cotton and nussed babies and washed dishes. "i was married when i was twenty. never been married but once and my husband been dead nigh bout twenty years." "when i come here this town wasn't much--sure wasn't much. used to have old car pulled by mules and a colored man had that--old wiley jones. he's dead now. "i had eleven childen. all dead but five. my boy what's up north went to that spanish war. he stayed till peace was declared. "after we come to arkansas my husband voted every year and worked the county roads. i guess he voted republican. "i can't tell you bout the younger generation. they so fast you can't keep up with them. i really can't tell you." # interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: wesley graves hickory street, north little rock, arkansas age: [hw: [father taught night school]] "my father's white folks were named tal graves. my mother was a mcadoo. her white folks were mcadoos. some of them are over the river now. he's a great jewelryman now. "i was born in trenton, tennessee. my father was born 'round in humboldt, tennessee. my mother was born in paris, tennessee and moved out in the country near humboldt. he met my mother out there and married her just a little bit before the war. he was a slave and she was too. "he didn't go to the war; he went to the woods. he got to chasing 'round. his young mistress married. she married a graves. that was the name we was freed under. she was a shane. "she educated my father. when she come from school, she would teach him and just carry him right on through the course that way. that was a good while before the war. her father gave him to her when she married graves. he was a little boy and she kept him and educated him. graves ran a farm. i don't know just what my father did when he was little. he was raised up as a house boy. very little he ever done in the field. i don't know what he did after he grew up and before freedom came. after peace was declared, he taught in night school. he preached too. his first farming was done a little after he come out here. i was about seven years old then. that was in the year . "my mother's full name was adeline mcadoo. before freedom she did housework. she was a kind a pet with the white folks. she didn't do much farming. my mother and father had six children--five boys and one girl. all born after freedom. there were three ahead of me. the oldest was born before the war, not afterward. "in my country where i was raised the negroes weren't freed until . my uncle, jim shane--that is the only name i ever knew him by--, he ran away and come to this country and made money enough to come back and buy his freedom. just about time he got himself paid for, the war closed and he would have been freed anyway. the money wouldn't have done him no good anyhow because it was all confederate money, and when the war closed, that wasn't no good. "my father ran away when the war broke out. his master wanted to carry him to the army with him and he run off and stayed in the woods three years. he stayed until his little mistress wrote him a letter and told him she would set him free if he would come home. he stayed out till the war closed. he wouldn't take no chances on it. "the pateroles made my father do everything but quit. they got him about teaching night school. that was after slavery, but the pateroles still got after you. they didn't want him teaching the negroes right after the war. he had opened a night school, and he was doing well. they just kept him in the woods then." ku klux "there was a bunch of ku klux that a colored man led. he was a fellow by the name of fount howard. they would come to his house and he would call himself showing them how to catch old people he didn't like. he told them how to catch my old man. i have heard my mother tell about it time and time again. the funny part of it was there was a cornfield right back of the kitchen. just about dusk dark, he got up and taken a big old horse pistol and shot out of it, and when he fired the last shot out of it, a white man said, 'bring that gun here.' believe me he cut a road through that field right now. "they stayed 'round for a little while and tried to bully his people. but the old lady stood up to them, so they finally carried her and her children in the house and told her to tell him to come on back they wouldn't hurt him. and they didn't bother him no more. "my mother's master told my mother that she was free. he called all the slaves in and told them they were free as he was. i don't think he give them anything when they were freed. he was a kind a poor fellow. didn't have but six or seven slaves. he offered to let them stay and make crops. my father had a better job than that. did you ever know bishop lane out in tennessee? my father and he were ordained at the same time in the some c. m. e. church. then he moved to kentucky and joined the a. m. e. church. my father died in and my mother in . "i have been married forty-seven years. i married on the twenty-sixth day of december in . i heard my mother and father say that they married in slavery time and they just jumped over a broom. i don't belong to no church. i am off on a pension. i got a good job doin' nothing. my pension is paid by the railroad. "i put up forty-four years as a brakeman and five years on ditching trains before i went to braking. my old road master put me on the braking. a fellow got his fingers cut off and they turned his keys over to me and put me to braking and i went there and stayed. "i have two children. both of them are living--a girl and a boy. i have had a big bunch of young people 'round me ever since i married. raised a couple of nephews. then my two. all of them married. that is my daughter's oldest child right there. (he pointed to a pretty brownskin girl--ed.) "my father died when i was eight, and i was away from home railroading most of the time and didn't hear much about old times from my mother. so that's all i know. "i have lived right here on this spot for forty-three years. about i bought this place and have lived here ever since. this was just a big woods and weed patch then. there weren't more than about six houses out here this side of the rock island railroad. "i commenced voting in . cast my first ballot then. i never had any trouble about it." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: ambus gray r.f.d. # . biscoe, arkansas age: "i was ten year old when the civil war come on. i was born tallapoosy county, alabama. i belong to jim gray. i recollect the paddyrollers. i don't recollect the ku klux klan. there was twelve boys and two girls in our family in time. i was among the older set. "bout all i remembers bout slavery was how hard the hands had to work. we sho did haf to work! when we wasn't clerin new ground and rollin pine logs an burnin brush we was er buildin fences and shuckin an shellin corn. woman you don't know nufin bout work! we cler new groun all day den burn brush and pile logs at nite. we build fences all day and kill hogs and shuck corn dat night. no use to say word bout bein tired. never heard nobody complainin. they went right on singin or whislin'. started out plowin and drappin corn then plantin' cotton. choppin' time come on then pullin' fodder and layin' by time be on. be bout big meetin time and bout fo that or was over everybody was dun in the cotton field till dun cold weather. i remembers how they sho did work. "both my parents was field hands. they stayed on two years after the war was over. jim gray raised red hogs and red corn, whooper-will peas. he kept a whole heap of goats and a flock of sheep. "we didn't see no real hard times after the war. we went to georgia to work on armstrongs farm. we didn't stay there long. we went to atlanta and met a fellar huntin' hands down at sardis, mississippi. we come on there. rob richardson brought the family out here. i been here round biscoe years when it was sho nuf swamps and woods. "i don't think the ku klux ever got after any us but i seen em, i recken. i don't know but mighty little. the paddyrollers is what i dreaded. sometime the overseer was a paddyroller. my folks didn't go to war. we didn't know what the war was for till it had been going on a year or so. the news got circulated round the north was fighting to give the black man freedom. some of em thought they said that so they'd follow and get in the lines, help out. some did go long, some didn't want to go get killed. nobody never got nuthin, didn't know much when it was freedom. i didn't see much difference for a year or more. we gradually quit gettin' provisions up at the house and had to take a wagon and team and go buy what we had. we didn't have near as much. money then like it is now, it don't buy much. it made one difference. you could change places and work for different men. they had overseers just the same as they did in slavery. "the reconstruction time was like this. you go up to a man and tell him you and your family want to hire fer next year on his place. he say i'm broke, the war broke me. move down there in the best empty house you find. you can get your provisions furnished at certain little store in the closest town about. you say yesser. when the crop made bout all you got was a little money to take to give the man what run you and you have to stay on or starve or go get somebody else let you share crop wid them. as the time come on the black man gets to handle a little mo silver and greenbacks than he used to. slaves didn't hardly ever handle any money long as he live. he never buy nothin, he have no use for money. white folks burried money durin the war. some of them had a heap of money. "i have voted but i don't keep up wid it no mo. it been a long time since i voted. this is the white folks country an they goiner run it theirselves. no usen me vote. no use the women votin as i see it. jes makes mo votes to count. the rich white man is goiner run the country anyhow. "i farmed all my life. i been here in biscoe fifty-eight years. i worked for richardson, biscoe, peeples, nail. i owned a home, paid $ for it. i made it in three years when we had good crops. "times are harder now than i ever seen em here. if you have a hog you have to pen it up and buy feed. if you have a cow, when the grass die, she is to feed. if you have chickens there ain't no use talkin, they starve if you don't feed em. no money to buy em wid an no money to buy feed for em. times is hard. durin the cotton boom times do fine (cotton picking time). the young folks is happy. they ain't got no thought of the future. mighty hard to make young folks think they ever get old. theys lookin at right now. havin em a good time while they young." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: green gray r.f.d. # biscoe, arkansas age: -- ? "i was born after de war in alabama. then we went to atlanta, georgia. bout the first i recollect much bout was in atlanta. i was seventeen years old. they was building the town back up where it had been burnt. if you was a carpenter you could get rough work to do. my father was a farmer and had a family; soon as he could he come with a man he met up wid to sardis, mississippi. he had twelve children. some of em born down in mississippi. the reason we all went to atlanta was dis--we was workin fer a man, white man, named armstrom. white woman told me go do somethin, bring in a load er wood i think it was, and my mother told me not to do it. he and my father had a fuss an he tied my father to some rails and whooped him. soon as they done that we all left. they hunted us all night long. crowd white folks said they goiner kill us. some fellow come on to atlanta and told us bout em huntin us. thater way folks done. it muster been bout the very closin of the war cause i heard em say i was give to my young mistress, sallie gray. i don't remember who they say she married. i never did live wid em long fore my papa took me. "the first free school was in pinola county, mississippi. i went to it. the teacher was a white man named george holliday. "i votes a republican ticket. miss, i don't know nothin much bout votin, cassionly i vote to help my side out a little. we used to elect our town officers here in biscoe but the white folks run it now. professor hardy and professor walker was the postmasters (both negroes) for a long while. john clay was constable and oscar clark magistrate (both negroes). one of the school board was dr. odom (negro). they made pretty fair officers. "i was a cow herder, and a fire boy, and a farmer. when i come to biscoe i was a farmer. i married and had two children. my wife lef me and went wid another fellar then she jumped in the river right down yonder and drowned. i started workin at the sawmill and workin in the lumber. i owns a little home and a spot of ground it on ' ×  '. i made it workin fer mr. betzner (white farmer). i'm farmin now. "times is hard. you can't get no credit. between times that you work in the crop it is hard to live. used to by workin hard and long hours could make a good livin. wages better now, $ to $ . a day. long time ago ¢ a day was the price. then you could buy meat five and six cents a pound. now it ¢. flour used to be ¢ a sack. now it way outer sight. the young folks don't work hard as i used to work but they has a heap better chance at edgercation. some few saves a little but everything jes so high they can't get ahead very much. it when you get old you needs a little laid by." # interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: neely gray e. fifteenth, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in virginia. dr. jenkins bought my mother from a man named norman. brought us here on the boat. i know i was walkin' and talkin'. i don't remember about the trip, but i remember they said they had to keep me out from fallin' in the river. i was too playified to remember anything about it. "durin' the war i was a girl six or seven years old. big enough to nuss my mother's next chile, and she was walkin' and talkin' 'fore surrender. "my mother was pushin' a hundred when she died. i was her oldest chile. sold with her. "dr. jenkins had three women and all of 'em had girls. raised up in the house. dr. jenkins said, 'doggone it, i want my darkies right back of my chair.' he never did 'buse his colored folks. he was a 'cepted (exceptional) man--so different. i never saw the inside of the quarters. "dr. jenkins' house wasn't far from the river. you could hear the boats goin' up and down all night. "i was scared of the yankees 'cause they always p'inted a gun at me to see me run. they'd come in the yard and take anything they wanted, too. "after surrender mama went and cooked for a man named hardin. "hardest time i ever had was when i got grown and had to take care of my mother and sister. worked in the field. "i was married out from behind a plow. never farmed no more. "my fust husband was a railroad man. i tried to keep up with him but he went too fast; i couldn't keep up. he got so bad they finally black-balled him from the road. "i tell you nobody knows what it is till you go through with it. i've had my bitters with the sweet. "been married four times and i've buried two husbands. i just raised one chile and now she's dead. but i got great-grandchillun--third generation--in houston, texas, but i never hear from 'em. "i get along all right. the welfare helps me and i try to live right." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: nely gray e. th avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: does a little quilting "yes ma'm, i was sold from richmond, virginia. dr. jenkins bought my mother when i was a little girl walkin' and talkin'. put me up on the block and sold me too. i was bout three years old. "dr. jenkins was mighty good to his hands. say he was goin' to raise his little darkies up back of his chair. he thought lots of his colored folks. "i member seein' the rebels ridin' horses, three double, down the road time of the war. i used to run off from mama to the county band--right where the roundhouse is now. mama used to have to come after me. you know i wasn't no baby when i shed all my teeth durin' slavery days. "yankee soldiers? oh lord--seed em by fifties and hundreds. used to pint the gun at me jest to hear me holler and cry. i was scared of em. they come in and went in dr. jenkins' dairy and got what they wanted. and every morning they'd blow that bugle, bugle as long as a broom handle. heard em blow 'glory, glory hallelujah'. i liked to hear em blow it. "yankees marched all up and down the river road. they'd eat them navy beans. i used to see where they throwed em in the fence corner. saw so many i don't like em _now_. they called em navy beans and i called em soldier beans. "i member it well. i'm a person can remember. heap a folks tell what other folks see but i tell what i see. don't tell what nobody told me and what i heard. "i member when they had the battle in pine bluff. we was bout three miles from here when they fit-up here. i member all of it. "they started to send us to texas and we got as far as the ravine when they heard the yankees wasn't comin' so we went back home. "i stayed round the house with the white folks and didn't know what nothin' was till after surrender. we stayed with dr. jenkins for a week or two after surrender, then a man come and took my mother down in the country. i don't know what she was paid--she never did tell us her business. "i was mama's onliest girl and she worked me day and night. hoed and picked cotton and sewed at night. mama learned me to knit and i used to crochet a lot. she sure learned me to work and i ain't sorry. "i worked in the field till i come out to marry a railroad man. i never went to school but two or three months in my life directly after freedom. my husband was a good scholar and he learned me how to read and write. i learned my daughter how to read and write so when she started to school they didn't have to put her in the chart class. when she was six years old she could put down a figger as quick as you can. "been married four times and they's all dead now. ain't got nobody but myself. if it wasn't for the white folks don't know what i'd do. "i used to cook for dr. higginbotham when she had company. she couldn't do without old nely. one time she sent for me to cook some hens. i soaked em in soda water bout an hour and fried em and you couldn't tell em from friers. "i'm weak in my limbs now but i believe in stirrin'. welfare helps me but i quilts for people. yes'm, i stirs--if i didn't i just couldn't stand it. "this here younger generation is gone. they ain't goin'--they's gone. books ain't done no good. i used to teach the bible lesson once a week, but i don't fool with em now. ain't got no manners--chews gum and whispers. "i got great grand children lives in houston and they don't give me a penny. i don't know what i'd do if twasn't for the welfare. "used to wash and iron. i've ironed twenty shirts in one-half a day." may interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: "happy day" green near barton and helena, arkansas age: grown during the civil war "i don't know how old i is, young mistress. i was here 'fore the civil war, young mistress. i was born in south, alabama, young mistress. well, it was nigh montgomery, alabama, young mistress. my mama name emily green. she had three children to my knowing. i don't know no father. my owner was boss william green, young mistress. his wife was miss lizabuth, young mistress. they did have a big family, young mistress. to my knowing it was: billy, charlie, bunkum, ida, mary, sally, jimmy, buddy. i never went to school a day in my life, young mistress. when i come on big 'nuff to work i had to help keer for mama and two girl sisters, young mistress. "when i come to this state, van vicks and bill bowman immigrated one hundred head of us. they landed some of us at helena. our family was landed at phillips bayou, young mistress. "i was a cowboy, me and george. he was another black boy, young mistress. we kept flies offen boss william green and miss lizabuth, young mistress. they took naps purt nigh every day when it be the long days (in summer), young mistress. mama was milk woman. boss william green had goats and 'bout a dozen heads of milch cows, young mistress. i was willed to mars billy. he went off to war and died 'fore the war begun, young mistress. "nobody run 'way from boss william green. he told 'em if they run off he would whoop 'em. he didn't have no dogs, young mistress. they be a white man near by owned nigger hounds, young mistress. he take his hounds, go hunt a runaway, young mistress. you would pay him, i reckon, young mistress. "i did get some whoopings, young mistress. they used a cow hide strap on me, young mistress. they blistered me a right smart, young mistress. "we didn't have so much to eat. they give us one peck meal, four pounds meat a week. mama done our cooking, young mistress. we had good clothes, warm clothes, woolen clothes, young mistress. we had a few sheep about the place. we had a few geese 'mong the turkeys, guineas, ducks, and chickens. they kept the peafowls for good luck, young mistress. "fur a fact they had a big garden, young mistress. boss william green worked the garden. he made us pull the plow--four of us boys. he said the stock would tromp down more'n they'd make, young mistress. two of his boys and me and george pulled his plough. we had a big garden. "i chopped in the field, picked up chips on the clearings. i chopped cook wood right smart, young mistress. "when freedom come on, grandpa come after mama. boss william green told her, 'you free.' he give her ten bushels corn, good deal of meat--back bone and spareribs. he come one saturday evening, young mistress. she took 'long whatever she had at our house in the way of clothing and such lack, young mistress. well, grandpa was share crapping, young mistress. "the ku kluckses come one night. they kept us getting 'em water to run through something under their sheets. the water was running out on the ground. we did see it for a fact, young mistress. we was scared not to do that. they was getting submission over the country, young mistress. they would make you be quiet 'long the roadside, young mistress. they would make you be quiet where you have meeting. they would turn the pots down on the floor at the doors, young mistress. the ku kluckses whooped some, tied some out to trees and left 'em. they was rough, young mistress. "i worked in the field all my life. "times is good fer me, young mistress. i live with my niece. i get twelve dollars assistance 'cause i been sick, young mistress. i owns a pony. all i owns, young mistress. "i hab voted, young mistress. i'm too old to vote now, young mistress. i reckon i voted both ways some, young mistress. "young folks is so strong and happy they is different from old folks, young mistress." # interviewer: watt mckinney person interviewed: henry green barton, arkansas age: uncle henry green, an ex-slave ninety years of age, is affectionately known throughout a large part of phillips county as "happy day". this nickname, acquired in years long past, was given him no doubt partly on account of his remarkably happy disposition, but mainly on account of his love for the old religious song, "happy day", that uncle henry has enjoyed so long to sing and the verses of which his voice still carries out daily over the countryside each morning promptly at daybreak and again at sundown. uncle henry and his old wife, louisa, live with uncle henry's sister, mattie harris, herself seventy-five years of age, on a poor forty acre farm that mattie owns in the hyde park community just off the main highway between walnut corner and west helena. henry acts as janitor at the lutherian church at barton and the three do such farming as they are able on the thin acres and with the few dollars that they receive each month from the welfare board together with the supplies furnished them at the relief office these three old folks are provided with the bare necessities sufficient to sustain them. uncle henry, his wife and sister mattie are the most interesting of the several ex-slave negroes in this county whom it has been my pleasure and good fortune to interview. as i sat with them on the porch of their old, rambling log house the following incidents and account of their lives were given with uncle henry talking and mattie and louisa offering occasional explanations and corrections: "yes sir, boss man, my right name is henry green but eberybody, dey all calls me 'happy day'. dat is de name whut mos' all calls me fer so long now dat heap of de folks, dey don't eben know dat my name is sho nuf henry green. i sho ain't no baby, boss man, kase i is been here er long time, dat i is, and near as i kin cum at hit i is ninety years old er mo, kase mattie sey dat de lady in de cote-house tell her dat i is ninety-fo, en dat wuz three years er go. i is er old nigger, boss man, en er bout de onliest old pusson whut is lef er round here in dis part of de county. i means whut is sho nuf old, en what wuz born way bak in de slabery times, way fo de peace wuz 'clared. "us wuz borned, dat is me en sister mattie, er way bak dere in souf alabama, down below montgomery, in de hills, en on de big place whut our ole marster, william green, had, en whar de tanyard wuz. yo see, old marster, he runned er big tanyard wid all de res of he bizness, whar dey tan de hides en mek de shoes en leather harness en sich lak, en den too, marster, he raise eberything on de place. all whut he need fer de niggers en he own fambly, lak cotton, wheat, barley, rice en plenty hogs en cows. iffen peace hadn't er been 'clared en marse billy hadn't er died i wuz gwine ter be marse billy's property, kase i wuz already willed ter marse billy. marse billy wuz old marster william green's oldest son chile, en marse billy claimed me all de while. marse billy, he went off to de war whar he tukkin sik en died in de camp, 'fore he cud eben git in de fitin. "atter de war wuz ober en peace cum, my grandmammy en my grandpappy, dey cum en got my mammy en all us chillun en tuk us wid dem ter montgomery, en dat wuz whar us wuz when dem two yankee mens immigrated us here ter arkansas. dey immigrated er bout er hundred head er niggers at de same time dat us cum. my grandpappy en my grandmammy, dey didn't belong ter old marster william green. i jist don't know whut white folks dey did belong ter, but i knows dat dey sho cum en got my mammy en us chillun. old marster, he neber mine dem er leavin' en tole 'em dat dey free, en kin go if us want ter go, en when us left old marster gib mammy ten bushels er corn en some hog heads en spareribs en tole her ter bring de chillun bak er gin 'fore long kase he gwine ter gib all de chillun some shoes at de tanyard, but us neber did go bak ter git dem shoes kase we wuz immigrated soon atter den. "no sir, boss man, we don't know nuthin' 'bout who our pappy wuz. dar wuzn't no niggers much in slabery times whut knowed nuthin' 'bout dey pappys. dey jes knowed who dey mammys is. dats all dey knowed 'bout dat. us neber hab no pappy, jes er mammy whut wuz name emily green. "boss man, yo see how black i is en kinky dat my hair is en yo can see dat me en sister mattie is sho pure niggers wid no brown in us. well, yo know one thing, boss man, en dis is sho whut my mammy done tole us er heap er times, en dat is dat when i wuz born dat de granny woman runned ter old mis en tell her ter cum en look at dat baby whut emily done gibed birth ter, and dat i wuz nigh 'bout white en hed straight hair en blue eyes, en when old mis seed me dat she so mad dat she gib mammy er good stroppin kase i born lak dat but hit warn't long atter i born 'fore i gits black, en old mis see den dat i er pure nigger, en den she tell mammy dat she sorry dat she stropped her 'bout me being white en er habin blue eyes en straight hair. no sir, boss man, i jes don't know how cum i change but dat sho is whut mammy did tell us. sister mattie, she know dat. "yes sir, boss man, i kin tell you all er bout de old slabery times, en cordin ter whut i'se thinkin', en fer as me myself is, wid de times so tight lak dey is now days wid me, and all de time be er stud'in' 'bout how ter git er long, hit wud be er heap better fer hit to be lak hit wuz den, kase us neber hed nuthin ter worry 'bout den cept ter do dat whut we wuz tole ter do, en all de eatin' en de cloes wuz gib ter us. our marster trained us up right, fer ter do our wuk good en ter obey whut de white folks sey en ter sho be polite to de white folks, en atter us lef old marster den our mammy she trained us de same way, en we is always polite, kase manners is cheap. "all de nigger chillun in slabery time wore slips, bofe de gals en de boys. dere wuzn't no breeches fer de little ones eben atter dey git old enuf ter wuk en go ter de fiel's, dey still wear dem slips, en dey used ter feed us outen dem big wooden bowls whut dey mix de bread up in, wid sometimes de pot-likker, en sometimes mostly wid de milk, en de chillun, dey go atter dat grub en git hit all ober dey faces en dey hands en dey slips en er bout de time dey git through eatin' de old mis she cum out en when dey through old mis, she hab 'em ter wash dey hands en faces nice en clean. "on dem sundays dat de marster want all de niggers ter go ter church fer de preachin', he send dem all de order ter wash up good en clean en put on dey clean cloes en git ready fer de preachin', en fust ter cum up dar whar he waitin' ter see dat dey look good en nice en clean, en when us git up dar ter de house lookin' fresh en good, de marster's folks, dey talk lak dis ter one er nudder; dey sey: 'look er here at my nigger, henry, dat boy is lookin' fine. he is gwine ter be er big healthy man en er good wukker,' en atter dey all done looked all de niggers ober dey tell 'em ter be gwine on ter de church en dey go on en sit in de bak behine all de white folks en hear de white man preach. dar wuzn't no nigger preachers in dem days dat i ever seed. "now i know dat yo has heard of dem paddyrollers. well, i tell yo, boss man, dem paddyrollers, dey wuz bilious. dey wuz de mens whut rid out on de roads at night ter see dat all dem niggers whut wuz out en off dey marster's places hed er pass from dey marsters. dem paddyrollers, dey wud stop er nigger whut dey find out at night en sey, 'boy, whar yo gwine? en is yo got yo pass?' en de lawd help dem niggers whut dey cotch widout dat pass. iffen er nigger be cotch out et night widout de pass writ down on de paper frum he marster, en dem paddyrollers cotch him, dat nigger sho haf ter do sum good prayin' en pretty talkin' er else dey tek him ter whar dey got four stobs drove down in de groun en dey tie he hans en feet ter dem stobs en den ware him out wid er big heaby strop. de mostest reason dat sometimes de niggers out at night is on account dey courtin' some gal whut libes on some udder place. when yo see de paddyrollers er comin' en yo ain't got no pass writ down on de paper en yo don't want ter git er stroppin, den de onliest thing fer yo ter do is ter run en try ter git on yer marster's place 'fore dey git yo, er try ter dodge 'em er somepin lak dat. iffen de paddyrollers got dem nigger hounds wid 'em when de nigger break en run, den de onliest thing dat de nigger kin do den is ter wuk de conjure. he kin wuk dat conjure on dem hounds in seberal different ways. fust, he kin put er liddle tuppentine on he feet er in he shoe, en er lot er times dat will frow de hounds off de track, er else, iffen he kin git er hold er some fresh dirt whar er grabe ain't been long dug, en rub dat on he feet, den dat is er good conjure, en mo dan dat iffen he kin git ter catch er yearlin calf by der tail en step in de drappins whar dat calf done runned er long wid him er holdin' on ter de tail, den dat is a sho conjure ter mak dem hounds lose de track, en dat nigger kin dodge de paddyrollers. "lak i sey, boss man, 'bout de onliest thing dat de niggers in slabery time wud lebe de place at night fer, wud be dey courtin', en mostly den on er wednesday er saturday night, so i gwine ter tell yo how dey sometimes dodge de paddyrollers whilst dey courtin' dere wimmens at night. yo see, mos' all de wimmens, dey be er wukkin at night on dey tasks dat dere old mis gib 'em ter do, er weavin' er de cloth. dese wimmens wud be er settin' 'roun de fire weavin' de cloth en de nigger be dar too er courtin' de gal, en all ter once here cum dem paddyrollers, some at de front door en some at de back door, en when de wimmens er hear 'em er comin', dey raise er loose plank in de flo whut dey done made loose fer dis bery puppus, en de nigger he den drap right quick down 'neath de flo twix de jists, en de wimmens den slap de plank right bak in place on top er de man ter hide him, so iffen de paddyrollers does come in dat dey see dat dere ain't no man in dar. dat wuz de way dat de niggers used ter fool 'em heap er times. "i 'members dem days well when de war gwine on yit i neber did see no yankee mens er tall, en de closest dat us eber cumbed ter see de yankees wuz dat time when old marster hed de horn blowed ter signal de niggers ter git de kerrige hosses en de milk cows off ter de woods kase he had done heard dat de yankees wuz er cumin, but dey missed us en dem yankees, dey neber find old marster's place. i seed some of our sojer mens do, once, atter us lef old marster en go ter montgomery wid our grandpappy. dese sojer mens, dey come in ter town on de train bak frum de war whar dey been fitin fer so long, en dey happy en singin', dey so glad dat peace done 'clared. hit wuz er whole train full er dem fedrit sojers, en dey wimmens en chilluns all dere er huggin' en er kissin' 'em ginst dey git off de train en gibin 'em cakes en sich good things ter eat. "yes sir, boss man, de niggers wuz treated good in slabery times en wuz trained up right, ter wuk, en obey, en ter hab good manners. our old marster, he neber wud sell er nigger en he feed 'em good, en dey lub en 'spected him. yo sho hed better 'spect him, en iffen yo didn't dat strop wud be er flyin'. all er old marster's niggers wuz good multiplyin' peoples. dey sho wuz, en dey raise big famblies. dats one thing whut er woman hed ter be in dem days er she sho be sold quick. iffen she ain't er good multiplier dey gwine ter git shut er her rail soon. day tuk extra pains wid dem good multiplyin' wimmins too en neber gib dem no heaby wuk ter do no mo dan weavin' de cloth er sich roun de place. "whilst our old marster, he neber sell no niggers, de speculators, dey hab 'em fer sale er plenty, en i has seed 'em er passin' in de road en er long string er gwine ter de place whar de sale gwine ter be. 'fore dey git ter de sale place dey roach dem niggers up good jes lak dey roach er mule, en when dey put 'em on de block fer de white mens ter bid de price on 'em den dey hab 'em ter cut de shines en de pidgeon wing fer ter show off how supple dey is, so dey bring de bes' price. "dey neber hed no farm bells in slabery times fer ter ring en call de hans in en outen de fiel's. dey hed horns whut dey blowed early en late. de wuk wud go on till hit so dark dat dey can't see. den de horn wud blow en de niggers all cum in en git dey supper, en cook dey ash cakes in de fire whut dey build in dey own cabins. boss man, is yo eber et er ash cake? i don't 'spects dat yo know how ter mek one er dem ash cakes. i gwine ter tell yo how dat is done. fust yo git yo some good home groun meal en mix hit well wid milk er water en a liddle salt an bakin' powder whut yo mek outen red corn cobs, den yo pat dem cakes up right good en let 'em settle, den put 'em in de hot ashes in de fireplace en kiver 'em up good wid some mo hot ashes en wait till dey done, en boss man, yo sho is got er ash cake dat is fitten ter eat. dats de way dat us made 'em in slabery times en de way dat us yit meks 'em. us didn't know whut white bread wuz in de old days, hardly, 'ceptin sometimes 'roun de marster's kitchen er nigger wud git er hold of er biscuit. all de bread dat de slabe niggers git wud be made outen cornmeal er dem brown shorts whut de marsters gib 'em in de rashions. "us wuz all well fed do in slabery times en kept in good fat condition. ebery once in er while de marster wud hab er cow kilt en de meat 'stributed out mongst de folks en dey cud always draw all de rashions dat dey need. "dey used ter hab dem big corn shuckin's too in de old days. de corn wud be piled up in er pile es big es er house en all de han's wud be scattered out roun' dat pile er corn shuckin' fas' as dey cud, en atter dey done shucked dat pile er corn, ole marster wud hab two big hogs kilt en cooked up in de big pots en kittles, en den dem niggers wud eat en frolic fer de longes', mekin music wid er hand saw en er tin pan, en er dancin', en laffin, en cuttin' up, till dey tired out. dem wuz good days, boss man. i sho wish dat i cud call dem times bak ergin. de marsters whut hed de big places en de slabe niggers, dey hardly do no wuk er tall, kase dey rich wid niggers en lan', en dem en dey famblies don't hab no wuk ter do, so de old marsters en de young marsters, dey jes knock erbout ober de country on dey hosses, en de young misses en de old misses, dey ride er bout in de fine kerrige wid de coachman er doin' de drivin'. dey hab de oberseers ter look atter de mekin er de crops, so de bosses, dey jes sort er manage, en see dat de bizness go on de right way. "de marsters en de misses, dey look atter dere niggers good do en see dat dey keep demselves clean en 'spectible, en try ter keep de disease outen 'em. ebery monday mornin' dey gib 'em all er little square, brown bottle er bitters fer dem ter take dat week. dat wuz dere medicine, but iffen er nigger do git sick, den dey sent fer de doctor right er way en hab de doctor ter 'zamine de sick one en sey, 'doctor, kin you do dat nigger eny good?' er 'do whut yo kin fer dat nigger, doctor, kase he is er valuable han' en wuth muney.' "i neber wuz sick none do in my life, but i jes nathally been kilt, near 'bout, one time in de gin when my head git cotched twixt de lever en de band wheel en uncle dick hed ter prize de wheel up offen my head ter git me loose, en dat jes nigh 'bout peeled all de skin offen my head. old marster, he gib me er good stroppin fer dat too. dat wuz fer not obeyin', kase he hed done tole all us young niggers fer ter stay 'way frum de gin house. "i wuzn't gwine ter be trained up ter wuk in de fiel's, i wuz trained ter be er pussonal servant ter de marster, en sister mattie, she wuz gwine ter be trained up ter be er house woman, en so wuz my old woman, louisa, kase her mammy wuz er house woman herself fer her white folks in south carolina, so i rekkin dats de reason us always thought we so much en better 'en de ginral run er niggers. "yes sir, boss man, de niggers is easy fooled. dey always is been dat way, en we wuz fooled er way frum alabama ter arkansas by dem two yankee mens, mr. van vleet en mr. bill bowman, whut i tole yo er bout, dat brung dat hundred head er folks de time us cum. dey tole us dat in arkansas dat de hogs jes layin' er roun already baked wid de knives en de forks stickin' in 'em ready fer ter be et, en dat dere wuz fritter ponds eberywhars wid de fritters er fryin' in dem ponds er grease, en dat dar wuz money trees whar all yo hed ter do wuz ter pik de money offen 'em lak pickin' cotton offen de stalk, en us wuz sho put out when us git here en fine dat de onliest meat ter be hed wuz dat whut wuz in de sto, en dem fritters hed ter be fried in de pans, en dat dar warn't no money trees er tall. hit warn't long 'fore my grandpappy en my grandmammy, dey lef 'en went bak ter alabama, but my mammy en us chillun, we jes stayed on right here in phillips county whar us been eber since, en right en dat room right dar wuz whar us old mammy died long years er go. "well, boss man, yo done ax me en i sho gwine ter tell yo de truf. yes sir, i sho is voted, en i 'members de time well dat de niggers in de cotehouse en de red shirts hab ter git 'em out. dat wuz de bes' thing dat dey eber do when dey git de niggers outen de cotehouse en quit 'em frum holdin' de offices, kase er nigger not fit ter be no leader. i neber cud wuk under no nigger. i jes nathally neber wud wuk under no nigger. i jist voted sich er length er time, en when de red shirts, dey say dat er nigger not good enuf ter vote, en dey stopped me frum votin', en i don't mess wid hit no mo. "yes sir, boss man, i blebe dat de lawd lef' me here so long fer some good puppose, en i sho hopes dat i kin stay here fer er heap er mo years. i jes nathally lubes de white folks en knows dat dey is sho gwine ter tek care of old 'happy day', en ain't gwine ter let me git hurt. "de young niggers in dis day sho ain't lak de old uns. dese here young niggers is jes nathally de cause of all de trubble. dey jes ain't been raised right en ter be polite lak de old ones, lak me, i don't hold it er gin yo, kase, mebbe yo pappy en yo mammy owned my pappy en my mammy in slabery times en whupped 'em, kase i 'spects dat dey needed all de punishment whut dey got. all de education whut i got, boss man, is jes ter wuk, en obey, en ter lib right. "i knows dat i ain't here far many mo years, boss man, en i sho hopes dat i kin git ter see some of my marsters, de greens, ergin, 'fore i goes. i ain't neber been back since i lef, en i ain't neber heard frum none of 'em since i been in arkansas, en i know en cose dat all de old uns is gone by now, but i 'spects dat some of de young uns is lef yit. i wud sho lak ter go back dar ter de old place whar de tanyard wuz, but i neber wud hab dat much money ter pay my way on de train, en den, i don't rekkin dat i cud fine de way nohow. i wud git some of de white folks ter write er letter back dar fer me iffen i know whar ter send hit, er de name of some of my young marsters whut mebbe is dar still. yes sir, boss man, i sho hopes dat i kin see some of dem white folks ergin, en dat some of dese days dey will fine me. yo know i is de janitor at de church at walnut corner whar de two hard roads cross, en whar all de cars cum by. de cars, dey cum by dar frum eberywhars, en so ebery sunday morning atter i gits through er cleanin' up de church, i sets down on de bench dar close ter mr. gibson's sto, whar dey sell de gasolene en de cold drinks, en whar de cars cum by frum eberywhar, en i sets dar er lookin' at all dem white folks er passin' in dey cars, en sometimes dey stop fer ter git 'em some gasolene er sumpin, en i says ter myself dat mebbe one er my young marsters sometimes gwine ter be in one of dem cars, en gwine ter drive up dar er lookin' fer me. er heap er times when de cars stop dar will be er white gentman in de cars whut git out en see me a settin' dar on de bench, en he sey, 'uncle, yo is rail old, ain't yo?' an den he ax me my name en whar i borned at, en er heap er times dey buy me er cigar. well, boss man, dats how cum i sets on dat bench dar at de road crossin' at walnut corner ebery sunday, mos' all day, atter i gits through er cleanin' up de church, jes settin' dar watchin' dem cars cum by en 'spectin one of dese days fer one of my young marsters ter drive up en ter fine me er settin' dar waitin' fer him, en when he cum, iffen he do, i know dat he sho gwine ter tek me back home wid him." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: frank greene saracen street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm, i can remember the civil war and the yankees, too. i can really remember the yankees and my old boss. i can't remember everything but i can remember certain things just as good. "dr. ben lawton was my old boss. that was in south carolina. that was what they called buford county at that time. "had a place they called the honey hill fight. i used to go up there and pick up balls. "i can remember the yankees had little old mules and blue caps and the folks was runnin' from 'em. "i remember old boss run off and hid from 'em--first one place and then another. "i remember the yankees would grab up us little folks and put us on the mules--just for fun you know. i can remember that just as well as if 'twas yesterday--seems like. "they burned old boss's place down. he had five or six plantations and i know he come back and rebuilt after peace declared, but he didn't live long. "he wasn't a mean man. he was good to his folks. we stayed there two years after surrender and when i come to this country, i left some of my uncles on that same place. "i remember a white gentlemen in south carolina would just jump his horse over the fence and run over the folks, white and black, cotton and all. he was a rich man and he'd just pay 'em off and go on. he wouldn't put up the fence neither. he was a hunter--a sporting man. "me? yes ma'am, i used to vote--the republican ticket. we ain't nothin' now, we can't vote. i never had any trouble 'bout votin' here but in the old country we had some trouble. the democrats tried to keep us from votin'. had to have the united states soldiers to open the way. that was when hays and wheeler was runnin'. "here in the south the colored folks is free and they're not free. the white folks gets it all anyway--in some places. "but they ain't nobody bothered me in all my life--here or there. "i went to school some after the war. didn't have very much, but i learned to read and write and 'tend to my own affairs. "i have done farm work all my life and some public work. i got the same ambition to work as i used to have but i can't hold it. i start out but i just can't hold it. "just to pass my opinion of the younger generation, some of 'em level-headed, but seems to me like they is a little rougher than they was in my day. "i think every one should live as an example for those coming behind." may interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: george greene temporary-- pulaski st., little rock, ark. permanent--wrightsville, ark. age: ? birth and age "i don't know when i was born. i don't know exactly, but i was born in slavery time before the war began. i was big enough to wait on the table when they was fighting. i remember when they was setting the negroes free. i was born in aberdeen, mississippi, in monroe county. seven miles from the town of aberdeen, out on the prairies, that is where i was born. "i figure out my age by the white woman that raised me. she sent me my age. when they was working the roads, my road boss, i told him i was forty-five years old and he didn't believe it. so i sent to the white woman that raised me from a month-old child. when i left her, i'd done got grown. her name was narcissus stephenson; she had all our ages and she sent mine to me. "she may be dead now. i could've stayed right there if she isn't dead, because she never did want me to come away. right out in arkansas, i come,--to my sorrow. well, i done right well till i got crippled. got hit by an automobile. that's what i'm doin' here now." parents and relatives "my father's name was nathan greene. i reckon he went by that name, i can't swear to it. i wasn't with him when he died. i was up in mississippi on the mississippi river and didn't get the news in time to get there till after he was dead. he was an old soldier. when the yankees got down in mississippi, they grabbed up every nigger that was able to fight. if i'd get his furlough papers, i'd a been drawin' pension before i did. but his brother was with him when he died and he let the dismiss papers get lost, and nobody got nothin'. don't draw nothin' from it at all. couldn't find the papers when i was down there. "i don't know whether my father used his master's name or his father's name. his father's name was jerry greene, and his master's name was henry bibb. i don't know which name he went by, but i call myself greene because his father's name was jerry greene. no bibb owned him at first. jerry greene was born in north, alabama in morgan county. that's where he was born. bibb bought him and brought him down to mississippi where i was born. lord! old man bibb owned a lot of 'em, too. my father and grandfather were both colored but my grandfather was an old yellow man. you know, he had to take his color after his papa. i don't know my great-grandfather's name. they can't tell nothin' 'bout that in them days. his papa, my grandfather's papa, i can't tell for sure whether he was white or black. "my mother's name was adeline greene. grandpa's wife's name was louisa. she was one of these kinder mixed with indian. she lived to see a many a year before she died. she lived to be a hundred and fifteen years of age before she died. i knowed grandma louisa. up until i was a man grown. she was about my color with long straight hair and black (hair). old lady bibb was her mistress. she died way after freedom. "i don't know mama's age. i was here in arkansas when she died. didn't know she was dead until a month after she was buried. she died in mississippi. grandma, mama, and all of them died in mississippi. "my grandma on my mother's side was named--i can't remember her name, but i knowed her. i can't remember what the old man's name was neither. it's been so long it just went from my memory. they never told me much neither. folks didn't talk much to children in those days. i wouldn't hardly have thought of it now anyway." house and furniture "a old log house was what i was born in,--when i come out from mississippi that old house was still standing. aw, they put up houses them days. it had one room. didn't have but one room,--one window, one door,--didn't have but one door to go in and out. i remember that well. didn't have no whole parcel of doors to go in and out. plank floors. i wasn't born on the dirt! i was born on planks. our house was up off the ground. we had a board roof. we used four foot boards. timber was plentiful then where they could make boards easy. boards was cheap. there wasn't no such things as shingles. didn't have no shingle factories. "we didn't have nothing but on old wooden bed. it wasn't bought. it was made. made it at home. carpenter made it. making wooden beds was perfect then. they'd break down every two or three years. they lasted. there was boards holding then. wasn't no slats nor nothing. nail them boards to the post and to the sides of the house, and that was the end of it with some people. we had a corded bed. put them ropes through the sides and corded them up there as tight as dick's hatband--and they stayed. they made their own boards, and made their own ropes, and corded them together, and they stayed. chairs! shucks! they just took boxes. they made chairs too--took shucks and put bottoms in them. them chairs lasted. them shucks go way, they'd put more there. wish i had one of them chairs now. we made a box and put our rations in it. them days they made what they called cupboards. they made anything they wanted to. when they got free, they'd buy dishes. when they got free, boxes and cupboards went out of style. they bought safes. there wasn't no other furniture. we used tin pans for dishes in slavery time. when we got free, we bought plates. "when them pans fell they didn't break. they even as much as made their own trays to make bread in. they would take a cypress tree and dig it out and them scoundrels lasted too. don't see nothin' like that now. tin pan is big enough to make up bread in now. in them days they made anything. water buckets,--they did buy them. old master would give 'em a pass to go get 'em. anything they wanted, he would give 'em if he thought it necessary. old master would get 'em all the buckets. he was good and he would buy what you would ask him for. they made milk buckets. they made 'em just like they make 'em now." work of family in slave time "my people were all field hands. my master had a great big farm--three or four hundred acres. i waited table when i was a little chap and i learned to plow before the war was over." good master "old man bibb was as good and clever a man as ever you knowed. that overseer down there, if he whipped a man old man bibbs would say, 'here's your money. don't want you beating up my niggers so they can't work. i don't need you.' he'd tell 'im quick he don't need him and he can git. that's the kind of man he was. wouldn't let you be mobbed up. he was a good christian man. i'll give that to him. in the time of the war when they was freeing slaves and i was a little old eight-year-old kid, there was a little old dutchman, a tennessee man, he came out in the country to get feed. out there in alabama. "i was in alabama then. the white woman that raised me had taken me there. she had done married again and left me with mama awhile. while i was little, that was. when i was about seven, she came and got me again and carried me down in alabama and raised me with her children. that white woman never called me nothin' but baby as long as she lived. you know she cared for me just like i was one of her's. when a person raise a child from a month old she can't help from loving it. "this dutchman come and asked me where my parents was and i told him they was in mississippi. he slipped me away from my folks and carried me to decatur and they got cut off there. he was a yankee soldier, and old forrest's army caught 'em and captured me and then carried me first nearly to nashville. they got in three miles of the town and couldn't get no closer. they ran us so we never got no res' till we got to booneville, mississippi. then i sent word to bibb and my uncle came up and got me. him and billie bibb, my young master. billie bibb was a soldier too. he was home on a furlough. i was glad to see him because i tell you in the army there was suffering. but i'll tell you i'll give them credit, those tennessee men took care of me just as though i was their own. i was in a two mule wagon. i drove it. i was big enough to drive. the ambulance man stopped in nashville to see his folks and got a furlough and went on home." work "i learned how to work--work in the field. wasn't nothing but field work. i learned how to hoe first. but in alabama i learned how to plow. i didn't want to be no hoe man; i wanted to plow. when i went back to mississippi, they put me on the plow. i was just eight years old when i learned to plow." share cropping "right after freedom, i just kept on plowing. we share cropped. my mama and i would take a crop. she'd work. we'd all work like the devil until i got a job and went to town. she was willing to let me go. that was when i married too." how freedom came "all i know about freedom was old man henry bibb come out and told us we was free. that is how i came to know it. he came out there on the farm and said, 'well, you all free as i am. you can stay here if you want to or you can go somewhere else.' we stayed. mama stayed there on the farm plumb till she come to town. i don't know how many years. i was there in town and so she come onto town later. moved in with the people she was with. they gave up their place. i was nineteen years old when i left the country. my mother gave me her consent,--to marry then, too. she came to town a few years later. "the slaves weren't given nothin' after they was freed. nothing but what they worked for. they got to be share croppers." ku klux klan "the ku klux never bothered me but they sure bothered others. way yonder in mississippi directly after the surrender, they'd hated it so bad they killed up many of them. they caught white men there and whipped them and killed them. they killed many a nigger. they caught a white man there and whipped him and he went on up to washington, d. c. and came back with a train load of soldiers. they came right down there in the south end of our town and they carried them ku kluxers away by train loads full. they cleaned out the east side of the river. the ku klux had been stringing up niggers every which way. 'twasn't nothin' to find a nigger swinging up in the woods. but those soldiers come from washington city. if they didn't clean 'em up, i'll hush. "i don't know what become of 'em. they never did come back to aberdeen." occupations followed and life since freedom "i ain't worked a lick in four or five years. if i lived to see august tenth, i will be eighty-six years old. i used to follow railroading or saw milling or farming. that is what i followed when i was able to work. the last work i did was farming, working by the day--a dollar and a half a day. and they cut it down and cut me down. now they ain't giving nothing. if a man gets six bits a day he doing good. harder times in arkansas now than i have ever seen before. if a man is able to take care of his family now, he is doing well. they don't give niggers nothing now. "the only way i live is i get a little pension. they give me eight dollars a month and commodities. that is all i live on now. that keeps me up, thank god. i have been getting the pension about ever since they started. i reckon it is about two years. i have been receiving it every month. it ain't failed yet. they been taking care of me pretty well ever since they started. first start it wasn't nothin' but rations. they give me groceries enough to las' me every month. i had a wife then. "i have been a _widow_ now four years. four years i've been a _widow_. but there ain't nothin' like a man staying in his own house. i have made out now for four years. right there cooking and washing for george! i didn't have nothing else to do. fellow can't tell what day the lord will say, 'stop', but as long as i am this way, i'll keep at it. "this soreness in my leg keeps me in bad shape. i came here to get my leg fixed. it gets so i can't walk without a stick. i don't like to stay with other folks. they're sinners and they use me sorta sinful--speak any sort of language. but they sure 'nough treats me nice. "i got my leg hurt last december. car ran into me at wrightsville, and knocked me down and threw me far as from here to that thing (about fifteen feet). after they flung me down, i was flat on my back a long while. i couldn't move. when a fellow gets old and then gets crippled up, it's hard. but i'm gettin' 'long pretty well now, 'cept that this leg ain't strong." dec -- interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: andrew gregory brinkley, arkansas age: "i was born in carroll county, tennessee. my mother was owned by houston. she said when war was declared he was at a neighbor's house. he jumped up and said, 'i gonner be the first to kill a yankee.' they said in a few minutes he fell back on the bed dead. my father owner was tillman gregory. after freedom he stayed on sharecroppin'. from what he said that wasn't much better than bein' owned. they had to work or starve. he said they didn't make nobody work but they didn't keep nobody from starvin' if they didn't go at it. they was proud to be free but that didn't ease up the working. "my people stayed on in tennessee a long time. when i was nineteen years old they was making up a crowd to come here to work. said the land was new. i come wid them. it was a big time. we come on the hardcash (steamboat). i farmed and cleared land all my life. i sold wood, hauled wood. i've done all kinds of form work. i get $ from the welfare association. "the young generation is a puzzle to me. that why i stand and watch what they do. the folks make the times. it's a puzzle to me too." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: annie griegg madison, arkansas age: "i was born a slave, born in nashville, tennessee. i was sold twice. i don't recollect my mother; i was so small when i was parted from her. i had two sisters and i recollect them. one of my sisters was sold the same day i was sold and i recollect my other sister was named rebecca. i never seen her no more after i was sold. i was the youngest. "mother belong to captain walker. that was before the civil war so i know he wasn't an officer in it. his daughter married a man named mr. foster. captain walker had give me to his daughter when she married. they lived in nashville, tennessee too. mr. foster sold me and captain walker sold my sister ann and mr. bill steel henderson at columbia, tennessee bought us both and give my sister to his widowed sister for a house girl and nurse and he kept me. "they lived close to us and my sister stayed at our house nearly all the time. my sister and me was sold for the some price, $ a piece. she could count and knew a dollar. she had some learning then. i never went to school a day in my life. "the first block was a big tree and stumps sawed off for steps by the side of it. the big tree had been sawed off up high. the man cried me off standing on the next stump step. my sister told me our mother was a cook at captain walker's. she told me my father was a foster. it was my understanding that he was a white man. my sister was darker than i was. mr. foster sold me for a nurse. mr. henderson's sister was name mrs. mcgaha (?). my sister nursed and cooked. i nursed three children at mr. henderson's. he was good to me. i loved the children and they was crazy about me. he sold me to mr. field mathis. i nursed four children for them. i never did know why i was sold. mr. henderson was heap the best. mr. henderson never hit me a lick in his life. "mathis was cruel. he drank all the time. he got mad and stamped my hand. i nearly lost the use of my hand. it was swollen way up and hurt and stayed riz up till his cousin noticed it. he was a doctor. he lived in the other end of the house--the same house. he found some bones was broke loose in my hand (right hand). dr. mathis (dr. mathis or dr. mathews who died at forrest city, arkansas) set his brother out about treating little nurse thater way. told him he oughter be ashamed of hisself. dr. mathis splintered my hand and doctored it till it got well. "mr. field mathis was a merchant. they moved to colt, arkansas at the beginning of the war, dr. and mr. field mathis both. we come on the train and steamboats. it was so new to me i had a fine time but that is all i can tell about it. mr. field was cross with his wife. she was fairly good to me. i had all the cooking, washing and ironing to do before i left there. "after we come to arkansas i never got to see my sister. my husband was a good scholar. he could write. he wrote and wrote back to find my sister and mother but they never answered my letters. i asked everybody that come from there about my sisters and mother but never have heard a word. i slept on a pallet on the floor nearly all my life. i had a little bed at mr. henderson's. "i didn't know it was freedom till one day when i was about fourteen or fifteen years old--judging from my size and what i done. i went off to a spring to wash. i had one pot of clothes to boil and another just out of the pot to rub and rinse. a girl come to tell me mrs. field had company and wanted me to come cook dinner. i didn't go but i told her i would be on and cook dinner soon as i could turn loose the washing. there was two colored girls and a white girl could done the cooking but i was a good cook. the girl put on the water for me to scald the chickens soon as she went to the house. when i got there mrs. field mathis had a handful of switches corded together to beat me. i picked up the pan of boiling water to scald the chickens in. she got scared of me, told me to put the pan down. i didn't do it. i didn't aim to hurt her. i wouldn't throwed that boiling water on nothing. she sent to the store for her husband. he come and i told him how it was about the clothes and three girls there could cook without me. he got mad at her and said: 'mary agnes, she is as free as you are or i am. i'm not going to ever hurt her again and you better not.' that is the first i ever heard about freedom. it had been freedom a long time. i don't know how long then. "i stayed on, washed out the clothes and strung them up that evening. i ironed all the clothes and cooked the rest of the week. mr. field got me a good home with some colored folks. he told me if i would go there he never would let nobody bother me and he never would mistreat me no more. i worked some for them but they paid me. she ought to thought a heap of me the way i cooked and worked for her. that was my freedom. i was sold on a platform to mr. mathis. "after freedom i done field work. i never seen a ku klux in my life. i cooked out some and i married. i still cooked out. i was married once and married in a church. i have seven children living and seven dead. "i live with my daughter and her family and i get $ and commodities. i'm mighty thankful for that. it helps me a whole lots. "i recken young folks do the best they know to do. seems like folks are kinder hearted than they used to be. times have changed a heap every way. times is harder for poor folks than the others. it is a true saying that poor folks have hard ways and rich folks have mean ways. they are more selfish. i always had to work hard. both times i was sold for $ ." interviewer: miss irene robertson persons interviewed: william and charlotte guess west memphis, arkansas ages: and william guess "i was born in monroe county, arkansas. father come from dallas, texas when a young man before he married. him and two other men was shipped in a box to indian bay. i've heard him and ike jimmerson laugh how they got bumped and bruised, hungry and thirsty in the box. i forgot the name of the other man in the box. they was sent on a boat and changed boats where they got tumbled up so bad. it was in slavery or war times one. white folks nailed them up and opened them up too i think. father was born in dallas, texas. mother was a small woman and come from tennessee. billy boyce in monroe county owned her. that is the most i ever heard my folks tell about the civil war." charlotte guess "mother was born in dallas, texas. she was born into slavery. she was a field woman. she was sold there and brought to mississippi at about the close of the civil war. she was sold from her husband and two children. she never seen them. she farmed cotton and corn in texas. her husband whooped her, so she was glad to be sold. she married after the surrender to another man in mississippi. no, he didn't beat her. they had disputes. she was the mother of ten children. she lived to be years old. she went from arkansas back to mississippi to die." interviewer's note it would be interesting if i could find out more about why the negroes were sent in the box. he seemed not to know all about it. this negro man when young was a light mulatto. he is light for his age. he looks and acts white. has a spot on one eye. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lee guidon clarendon, arkansas age: "yes maam i sho was in the cibil war. i plowed all day and me and my sister helped take care of the baby at night. it would cry and me bumpin' it. [in a straight chair, rocking.] time i git it to the bed where its mama was it wake up and start cryin' all over again. i be so sleepy. it was a puny sort o' baby. its papa was off at war. his name was jim cowan an' his wife miss margaret brown 'fore she married him. miss lucy smith give me and my sister to them. then she married mr. abe moore. jim smith was miss lucy's boy. he lay outen the woods all time. he say no needen him gittin' shot up and killed. he say let the slaves be free. we lived, seemed lack, on 'bout the line of york an' union counties. he lay out in the woods over in york county. mr. jim say all they fightin' 'bout was jealousy. they caught him several times but ebry time he got away frum 'em. after they come home mr. jim say they never win no war. they stole and starved out the south. "they didn't want the slaves talkin' 'bout things. one time i got ruffed up and i say i was goin' to freedom--the wood whar mr. jim be--and i recollect we was crossin' over a railin' fence. my ma put her hand over my mouth like dis, and say you don't know anything 'bout what you sain' boy. "i neber will forgit mr. neel. he was all our overseer. he say 'lee good boy' plows so good. he never spoke an unkind word in his life to me. when i haf to go to his house he call me in an' give me hot biscuits or maybe a potato. i sure love potato [sweet potatoes]. he was a good old christian man. the church we all went to was made outer hand hewd logs--great big things. my pa lived in union county on the other side the church. "he lived to be years old. ma lost her mind. they both died right here with me--a piece outer town. he was named pompey and ma fannie. her name 'foe freedom was fannie smith, then she took the name guidon. "after freedom a heap of people say they was going to name their selves over. they named their selves big names then went roaming 'round lack wild, huntin' cities. they changed up so it was hard to tell who or whar anybody was. heap of 'em died an' you didn't know when you hear 'bout it if he was your folks hardly. some of the names was abraham an' some called their selves lincum. any big name 'ceptin' their master's name. it was the fashion. i herd 'em talking 'bout it one ebenin' an' my pa say fine folks raise us an' we goiner hold to our own names. that settled it wid all of us. "ma was a sickly woman all her life. they kept her 'round the house to help cook and sweep the yards. not a speck of grass, not a weed growd on her yard. she swep it 'bout two times a week. it was prutty and white. the sand jes' shined in the sun. had tall trees in the yard. "i can't recollect 'bout my papa's master cause i was raised at my mama's master's place. he said many and many a time joe guidon never had to whoop him. after he growd up he never got no whoopins a tall. joe guidon learned him to plow an' he was boss of the plow hands. his wife was named mariah guidon. he say she was a mighty good easy woman too. "saturday was ration day and sunday visitin' day. but you must have your pass if you leave the farm an' go over to somebody elses farm. "when i was a boy one thing i love to do was go to stingy tom's still house. his name was tom whiteside. he sure was stingy and the meanest white man i ever seed. i went to the still house to beat peaches to make brandy. it was four miles over there and i rode. we always made least one barrel of peach brandy and one of cider. that would be vinegar 'nough by spring. 'simmon beer was good in the cole freezin' wether too. we make much as we have barrels if we could get the persimmons. he had a son name bill whitesides. "once an old slave woman lost her mind. stingy tom sent her to get a bull tongue and she chased after one of the bulls down at the lot try in' to catch it. she set his barn fire and burned thirteen head of horses and mules together. stingy tom had the sheriff try to get her tell what white folks put her up to do it. he knowed they all hated him cause he jes' so mean. the old woman never did tell but they hung her anyhow. there was a big crowd to see it. miss lucy jes' cried and cried. she say satan got no use for stingy tom he so mean. that the first person i ever seed hung. they used to hang folks a heap. the biggest crowds turned out to see it. "the old woman's son he went to the woods he so hurt cause they going to hang his ma. "the missouri soldiers were worse than the yankees. they waste an' steal your corn and take your horses. they brought a little girl they stole and let stingy tom have her. he kept her and treated her so mean. they thrash out wheat and put it on big heavy sheets to dry. the little girl had to sit outen the sun an' keep the chickens offen it. i seed him find her 'sleep and hit hard as he could in the face wid big old brush. it was old dogwood brush wid no leaves on it. he wouldn't let that little girl have no biskit on sunday mornin'. everybody had all the hot biskit they could eat on sunday mornin'. well after freedom, long time, her aunt heard she was down there and come an' got her. she grow up to be a nice woman. them same missouri soldiers took henry guidon (younger brother of lee guidon) off. stole him from the master--stole his mule. they was so mean. they found out when they shoot, the mule so scared it would throw henry. they kept it up and laughed. course it hurt henry. liable to kill him. they say they making a yankee soldier outen him that way. one night before they got too fur gone he rode off home. they burn whole cribs corn. could smell it a long ways off. they was mean to eberybody. "i recken i do know 'bout the ku kluck. i knowed a man named alfred owens. he seemed all right but he was a republican. he said he was not afraid. he run a tan yard and kept a heap of guns in a big room. they all loaded. he married a southern woman. her husband either died or was killed. she had a son living wid them. the ku kluck was called upper league. they get this boy to unload all the guns ( shooters). then the white men went there. the white man give up and said, 'i ain't got no gun to defend myself wid. the guns all unloaded an' i ain't got no powder and shot.' but the ku kluck shot in the houses and shot him up like lace work. he sold fine harness, saddles, bridles--all sorts of leather things. the ku kluck shure run them outen their country. they say they not going to have them 'round and they shure run them out, back where they came from. "charles good had a blacksmith. they [the missouri soldiers] opened a fence gap when they came through. they took him, tied him to a tree and shot him in the face with little shot. he suffered there till wednesday when he was still living. they tied him to the tree wid his own gallowses. they was doubled and strong. then some of them went down there and finished up the job beating him over the head with the guns till he was dead. the ku kluck broke up every gun they could find. they sure better not ketch a gun at the quarters of colored folks. they whoop him and break up the gun. ask him where he got that gun and start more bad trouble. "they packed a two-story jail so full of men they had orders to turn 'em out. then they built a high fence 'bout eight foot tall and put 'em in it. they had lights and guards all 'round it. they kept 'em right out in the hot sun in that pen. that's where the yankees put the ku klucks. then they had trials and some was sent to albany for three years and eight years and the like. they made glass at albany. them yankees wouldn't let 'em have no bonds. then the white folks told them they needn't settle among them. they owned all the land and wouldn't sell them a foot for nuthing. a heap of lawyers and doctors got in it. that fence was iron and bob wire. the ku kluck killed good men, but republicans. "we stayed on like we were 'cause we done put in the crop and the ku kluck never did bother us. we made a prutty good crop. then we took our freedom. started workin' fer money and part of the crop. "i married in . me and emma went to bed. somebody lam on the door. emma say 'you run they won't hurt me.' i say 'they kill me sure.' we stayed and opened the door. they pull the cover offen her looking. they lifted up a cloth from over a barrel behind the bed in the corner. i say that are a hog. he say we right from hell we ain't seen no meat. then they soon gone. the moon shining so bright that night. they were lookin' for my wife's brother i heard 'em say. they say he done something or another. "charleston was the nearest a army ever come to me but i seed a heap of soldiers on the roads. one road was the rock hill road. "one man i heard 'em talk cheap about had the guns and powder. they shot holes in the walls. he climbed up in the fireplace chimney and stood up there close to the brick. it was dark and they couldn't see him. they looked up the chimney but didn't see him. it was a two-story chimney. lady if you ain't never seen one i can't tell you just how it was. but they shot the house full of holes and never harmed him. "for them what stayed on like they were reconstruction times 'bout like times before dat 'ceptin' the yankees stole out an' tore up a scanlus heap. they tell the black folks to do something and then come white folks you live wid and say ku kluck whoop you. they say leave and white folks say better not listen to them old yankees. they'll git you too fur off to come back and you freeze. they done give you all the use they got fer you. how they do? all sorts of ways. some stayed at their cabins glad to have one to live in an' farmed on. some runnin' 'round beggin', some hunting work for money an' nobody had no money 'ceptin' the yankees and they had no homes or land and mighty little work fer you to do. no work to live on. some goin' every day to the city. that winter i heard 'bout them starving and freezing by the wagon loads. "i never heard nuthing 'bout votin' till freedom. i don't think i ever voted till i come to mississippi. i votes republican. that's the party of my color and i stick to them long as they do right. i don't dabble in white folk's buzness an' that white folks votin' is their buzness. if i vote i go do it and go on home. "i been plowin' all my life and in the hot days i cuts and saws wood. then when i gets outer cotton pickin' i put each boy on a load of wood an' we sell wood. then we clear land till next spring. i don't find no time to be loafing. i never missed a year farming till i got the brights disease an' it hurt me to do hard work. the last years we got $ a cord. farmin' is the best life there is when you are able. "i come to holly springs in , stopped to visit. i had six children and $ in money. we come on the train. my parents done come on from south carolina to arkansas. man say this ain't no richer land than you come from. i tried it seven years. i drove from there, ferried the rivers. it took a long time. we made the best crop i ever seed in . i had eight children, my wife. i cut and hauled wood all winter. i soon had three teams haulin' wood to clarendon. some old men, [white men] mean things! learned one of my boys to play craps. they done it to git his money. "when i owned most i had six head mules and five head horses. i rented acres of land. i bought this house and some other land about. the anthrax killed nearly all my horses and mules. i got one big fine mule yet. its mate died. i lost my house. my son give me one room and he paying the debt off now. it's hard for colored folks to keep anything. somebody gets it frum 'em if they don't mind. "the present times is hard. timber is scarce. game is about all gone. prices higher. old folks cannot work. times is hard for younger folks too. they go to town too much and go to shows. they going to a tent show now. circus coming they say. they spending too much money for foolishness. it's a fast time. folks too restless. some of the colored folks work hard as folks ever did. they spends too much. some folks is lazy. always been that way. "i signed up to the governmint but they ain't give me nuthin' 'ceptin' powdered milk and rice what wasn't fit to eat. it cracked up and had black somethin' in it. a lady said she would give me some shirts that was her husbands. i went to get them but she wasn't home. these heavy shirts give me heat. they won't give me the pension an' i don't know why. it would help me buy my salts and pills and the other medicines like swamp root. they won't give it to me." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: linley hadley madison, arkansas age: "i was born the very day the civil war started, april , . i was born in monroe county close to aberdeen, mississippi. my papa was named dave collins. he was born far back as . he was a carriage driver. "mama was born same year as papa. she was a field hand and a cook. she could plough good as any man. she was a guinea woman. she weighed ninety-five pounds. she had fourteen children. she did that. had six or seven after freedom. she had one slave husband. her owners was old master wylie collins and mistress jane. we come 'way from their place in . "i can recollect old master collins calling up all the niggers to his house. he told them they was free. there was a crowd of them, all mixes. why all this took place now i don't know. most of the niggers took what all they have on their heads and walked off. he told mama to move up in the loom house, if she go off he would kill her. we moved to the loom house till in . "one night some of the niggers what had been collins' slaves come and stole all mama's children, toted us off on their backs at night. where we come to cross the river, uncle george tunnel was the ferryman. he had raised mama at his cabin at slavery. he took us to his white folks. we lived with them a year and then mama moved on bill cropton's place and we lived there forty years. all the croptons dead now. "we come to arkansas in close to cotton plant. , i come to madison. been here ever since. "grandma belong to master rogers where we knowed george tunnel. mama, named harriett, and aunt miller was sold. a man in texas bought aunt miller. we never could hear a word from her. after freedom we tried and tried. master collins was mean. you couldn't lay your hand on mama's back without laying it on marks where she had been beat. all his niggers was glad to leave him. they stripped mama's clothes down to her waist and whooped her, beat the blood out with cowhides. master collins 'lowed his niggers to steal, then his girls come take some of it to their house to eat. master collins didn't have no boys. "papa was a little chunky man. he'd steal flour and hogs. he could tote a hog on his back. my papa went on off when freedom come. they was so happy they had no sense. mama never seen him no more. i didn't neither. mama didn't care so much about him. he was her mate give to her. i didn't worry 'bout him nor nobody then. "master collins did give us plenty to wear and eat too. when i left there we all worked. mama married ag'in. we kept on farming. i farmed all my life. "i got a boy what works. we own our house and all this place (one-half acre). i don't get no help from nowhere. seem like them what works and tries ought to be the ones to get help and not them what don't never pay no taxes. fast generation it is now. but they don't bother me. i got a good boy. times is hard. everything you have to buy is high." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: anna hall (mulatto) brinkley, arkansas age: "i don't know nuthin' cept what i heard folks talk 'bout when i was a child. i was born good while after that war. my folks lived in scott county near jackson, mississippi when i was little and in slavery times too. my mother's mistress was miss dolly cruder. she was a widow and run her own farm. i don't remember her. she give her own children a cotton patch apiece and give the women hands a patch about and they had to work it at night. if the moon didn't give light somebody had to hold a literd (lantern) not fur from 'em so they could see to hoe and work it out. i think she had more land then hands, what they made was to be about a bale around for extra money. it took all the day time working in the big field for miss dolly. i heard 'em say how tired they would be and then go work out their own patches 'fore they go to bed. i don't remember how they said the white girls got their cotton patches worked. and that is about all i remembers good 'nough to tell you. "they didn't expect nothing but freedom out the war. the first my mother heard she was working doing something and somebody say, 'what you working fur don't you know you done free?' that the first she knowed she was free. they just passed the word round; that's how they heard it and the soldiers started coming in to their families. some of them come back by themselves and some come riding several of them together. "i know they didn't give my mother nothing after the war. she washed and ironed 'bout all her life. "the young generation is doing better than we old folks is. if there is any work to get they gets it in preference to us. education is helping some of 'em here in brinkley. some of the young ones gets good money. they teaches and cooks. times is hard for some. "i live wid my son. yes he own his house. i gets $ from the relief. we has 'bout 'nough to live on and dat is all." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: ellie hamilton (male) clarendon, arkansas age: "i was born about near holly springs, mississippi. my parents' masters' name william and mary ellen jefferies. i don't know much 'bout them. my parents' name neely and amos hamilton. i judge that was pa's master's name. they had eight children. three of us living yet. "i been farmin' and workin' 'round clarendon ever since i was a chap. i work 'round hotels and stores and farm too. "i votes when we have a leader for our party. it don't do no good. i never seed no good come outen the colored race votin' yet. "some ways times is much better, much better! some ways they is worser. the people is educated better'n i had a chance at. "work wages is a heap better. i has worked for $ a month. now some can get $ to $ a week. but the young generation throwin' it away. they ain't going to save a bit of it. the present condition is worse morally. they used to could depend on a man. you can't hardly depend on the younger generation. they is so tricky. folks going too much. i recollect when i was a child i went to town one or two times a year. i didn't want all i seen there then neither. seems lack folks spends so much money foolishly. "i own a home, no cow, no hog, no land. get $ a month from the pwa. [hw: [wpa?]] "i come to arkansas to farm. it is a fine farmin' country, miss. my father died and left my mother wid seven children to raise. she come on out here to make a livin'. "i remember when tilden and hendrick lost and hayes and wheeler was elected. they sung songs 'bout 'em and said 'carve that possum nigger to the heart.' it done been so long since we sung them rally songs i forgot every line of all of them. people used to sing more religious songs seems like than they do now. they done gone wild over dancin' 'stead of singin'. "i farmed for j. p. cherry at holly springs from time i was eight year old till i was twenty-one year old. that's a long time to stay by one man ain't it?" interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: josephine hamilton hazen, arkansas age: "i was born near houston, mississippi, in . we lived about three miles north when i can first recollect. my mistress was named frankie hill and my master was littleton hill. i had some sisters and brothers dead but i had four brothers and one sister that got up grown. the first house i remembers living in was a plank house. then we lived in a log house wid a stick-and-dirt chimney. i was wid my old master when he died of heart trouble. she lack to died too. we setting by de fire one night and he held the lamp on one knee and reading out loud. it was a little brass lamp with a handle to hook your finger in. he was a baptist. he had two fine horses, a big gray one and a bay horse. joe drove him to preaching. miss frankie didn't go. he said his haid hurt when dey went to eat dinner and he slept all the evening. he et supper and was reading. i was looking at him. he laid his haid back and started snoring. he had long white hair. i say 'miss frankie, he is dieing.' cause he turned so pale. he was setting in a high back straight chair. we got him on the bed. he could walk when we held him up. his brother was a curious old man. he et morphine a whole heap. he lived by himself. i run fast as my legs would take me. soon as i told him he blowed a long horn. they said it was a trumpet. you never seen such a crowd as come toreckly. the hands come and the neighbors too. it being dot time er night they knowed something was wrong. he slept awhile but he died that night. i stayed up there wid miss frankie nearly all de time. it was a mile from our cabin across the field. joe stayed there some. he fed and curried the horses. nom i don't remember no slave uprisings. they had overseers on every farm and a paddyroll. i learned to sew looking at the white folks and my ma showed me about cutting. there wasn't much fit about them. they were all tollerably loose. we played hiding behind the trees a heap and played in the moonlight. we played tag. we picked up scaley barks, chestnuts, and walnuts. miss frankie parched big pans of goobers when it was cold or raining. some of the white folks was mean. once young mistress was sick. she had malaria fever. i was sitting down in the other room. young master was lying on de bed in the same room. a woman what was waiting on her brought the baby in to put a cloth on him. he was bout two months old, little red-headed baby. he was kicking and i got tickled at him. young master slapped me. the blood from my nose spouted out and i was jess def for a long time. he beat me around till miss polly come in there and said 'you quit beating that little colored girl. you oughter be ashamed. your wife in there nearly dead.' 'yes maam, she did die.' i never will forgit miss polly. i saved one of the young mistress little girl bout seven or eight years old. miss frankie raised a little deer up grown. it would run at anybody. didn't belong at the house. it got so it would run me. it started at the little girl and i pulled her in on the porch backwards and in a long hall. her mama show was proud. said the deer would paw her to death. "i remembers everybody shouting and so glad they was free. it was a joyful time. if they paid my folks for work i didn't know it. we stayed on with miss frankie till i was grown and her son billy hill took her to houston, texas to live. miss sallie and miss fannie had been married a long time. we always had a house to live in and something to eat. "i show never did vote. i would not know nothing about it. i think the folks is getting wiser and weaker. some of us don't have much as we need and them that do have wastes it. i always lived on the farm till eight years ago when my husband died. i wasn't able to farm by myself. i didn't have no children. i come to hazen to live wid dese here girls i raised. (two girls.) they show is good to me. no maam i ain't never got no old age pension. they won't give it to me. we come to arkansas in . we lived down around holly grove. we had kin folks wrote about out here and we wanted to change. long as i was able i had a good living but since i been so feeble i have to make out wid what the children bring me. i don't know if de times is getting any better, don't seem lack the people training their children a tall. they say they kaint do nothing wid em. i allus could do something wid dem i raised. i used to look at them and they minded me. the trouble is they ain't learning to work and won't do nothing less they going to get big pay. then they run spend it fast as they can go for fool-bait." folklore subjects [hw: arkansas] little rock district name of interviewer: irene robertson subject: herbs--cures & remedies, etc. story--information (if not enough space on this page add page) if you borrow salt it is bad luck to pay it back. parch okra seed grind up or beat it up and make coffee. parch meal or corn and make coffee. in slavery times they took red corn cobs burned them and made white ashes, sifted it and used it instead of soda. beat up charcoal and take for gas on the stomach. sift meal add salt and make up with water, put on collard leaf, cover with another collard leaf put on hot ashes. cover with hot ashes. the bread will be brown, the collard leaves parched up, "it is really good." roast potatoes and eggs in the ashes. in slavery times they made persimmon beer. had regular beer barrels made a faucet. put old field hay in the bottom, persimmons, baked corn bread and water. let stand about a week, a fine drink with tea cakes. it won't make you drunk. comb hair after dark makes you forgetful. asafoetida and garlic on the bait makes the fish bite well. rub fishing worms on the ground makes them tougher so you can put them on the hook. this information given by: josephine hamilton place of residence: hazen, arkansas occupation: field work and washwoman. age: _folklore subjects_ pine bluff district name of interviewer: martin--pettigrew subject: negro customs story--information (if not enough space on this page add page) "my mother made three crops after she wuz freed, and i wuz born when she made her third crop, so i thinks i wuz born 'round . i wuz born in bolivar county, mississippi. my mother and father were slaves and belonged to the harris family. only one i 'members is my sister, she died. my brothers went off and worked on ships, and i never saw them no mo'. "after freedom, my mother kept working for her marster and misstis, and they paid them for their work. they stayed on the same plantation until i wuz almost grown. "at christmas time, we had heaps to eat, cakes, homemade molasses candy that you pulled, popcorn, horse apples which wuz good, mo' better'n any apples we get these days. "the white folks give gifts in the big house and mammy went to the house and the white folks give her the things to put in we nigger chilluns' stockings. "we hung up our stockings in our house and up at the white house too. 'fore christmas, the white folks would tell us if we stole chickens, eggs, ducks and things, or go in the apple orchard, and wuz bad, santa claus would not come to us. but if we were good, he would bring gifts to us. 'fore christmas, the white folks would make a santa claus out of clothes and stuff it, put a pack on his back, and stand him up in the road. colored chillun feared to go near him. "i have never been arrested, never been in the jail house or calaboose. went to school when i could. "traveled all over, worked on canal in south america. "name of boat i wuz on was the 'clamshell, no. ', with captain nelson, fum new york." this information given by: peter hamilton place of residence: near airport--pine bluff, ark. occupation: age: interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lawrence hampton r.f.d., forrest city, arkansas age: "i was born in orangeburg, south carolina. my parents' names was drucilla and peter hampton. she was the mother of twelve children. they both b'long to john d. kidd and texas kidd. to my knowing they had no children. they was old to me being a child but i don't reckon they be old folks. they had a plantation, some hilly and some bottom land. he had two or three hundred slaves. he was a good, good man. he was a good master. he had some white overseers and some black overseers. grandpa peter was one of his overseers. he was proud of his slaves. he was a proud man. "we all had preaching clothes to wear. he had his slaves be somebody when they got out of the field. they went in washing at the fish pond, duck pond too. it was clear and sandy bottom. wouldn't be muddy when a lot of them got through washing (bathing). they was black but they didn't stink sweaty. they wore starched clean ironed clothes. they cooked wheat flour and made clothes. when the war come on their clothes was ironed and clean but the wheat was scarce and the clothes got flimsy. john d. kidd was loved by black and white. he was a good man. grandpa george had a son sold over close to memphis. they had twelve children last letter mama had from them. i've never seen any one of them. "grandpa peter was a overseer. after he was made overseer he was paid. that was a honor for being good all his life. when freedom come on he had ten thousand dollars. he was pure african, black as ace of spades. he give papa and the other four boys five hundred dollars a piece to start them farms. papa died when he was sixty-five and grandma was about a hundred. mama was seventy-five when she died. grandpa was eighty-five when he died. they didn't know exactly but that was about their ages. it was a pretty big honor to be a carriage man. they had young men hostlers and blacksmiths. "freedom--the boys all stayed around and girls too. they bought places about. they never would charge john d. kidd for work. they let the girls cook, milk, and set the fowls, long as the old couple lived. they never took no pay. they go in gangs and chop out his crop and big picnic dinners all they ever took from him. we all loved that old man. "they done some whooping on the place but it was a shame. they got over it and went on dressed up soon as the task was done. never heard much said about it. i never seen nobody whooped. "my own folks whooped me. we was free then. "i heard how easy to farm out in arkansas. i come to forrest city in . i was 'bout twenty-five years old then. it was a mud hole is right. i farmed all my life. we made money. "my color folks don't know how to take care of their money. they can make money but don't handle it long. "i owns a home and twenty acres of land. i want to keep it. me and my wife live out there. i had ten children and four of them still living. they all good children and i'm proud to own they mine. "john d. kidd had a lot of his wife's brothers that come visiting. i'd find out they be up there. here i'd go. we'd swim, fish, ride, and i'd love to be around them and hear them talk. that was the kind of good times we had when i was a boy. i missed all that when i come here. it was sich fine farming land. i couldn't go back to stay. i been back numbers of times visiting. "i heard of the ku klux but i never seen none of them. they was hot over there in south carolina in some spots. "i'm able by the grace of god to make my own humble living. sometime i may like a little help but i ain't asked foe none yet. "i heard this here about the ku klux in forrest city. i heard different ones say. they was having a revival out here at lane chapel and the captain of the ku klux come in and they followed in their white clothes and he give the colored minister a letter. he opened it and it had some money for him. they went on off on their horses. i don't know when that was. i didn't see it, i heard about it." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: hannah hancock [hw: biscoe, arkansas?] age: past "i was born in chesterfield county, south carolina. my mother's name was chloa. we lived on hardy sellers plantation. she was the white folks cook. i et in the white folks kitchen sometimes and sometimes wid the other children at maw's house. show my daddy was livin. but he lived on another man's farms. his master's name was billy hancock and his name was dave. der was a big family of us but dey all dead now but three of us. ize got two sisters and a brother still livin, i reckon. i ain't seed them in a long time. mrs. sellers had several children but they were all married when i come along and she was a widow. joe pete was her son and he lived close, about a mile across the field, but it was farther around the road. billy hancock married mrs. sellers daughter. my mistress didn't do much. miss becky hancock wove cloth for people. you could get the warp ready and then run in the woof. she made checked dresses and mingledy looking cloth. they colored the cloth brown and purple mostly. mrs. sellers get a bolt of cloth and have it all made up into dresses for the children. sometimes all our family would have a dress alike. yesm, we did like dot. granny made de dresses on her fingers. she was too old to go to de field an she tote water from the big spring and sometimes she water de hands when dey be hoeing. she would cut and dry apples and peaches. nobody knowed how to can. they dried de beef. it show was good. it was jess fine. no maam, granny didn't have no patterns. she jess made our dresses lack come in her haid. we didn't get many dresses and we was proud of em and washed and ironed and took care of em. "i recollects hearing de men talking about going off to war and em going. no jess de white men left from mrs. sellers place. de children didn't set around and hear all that was said. they sent us off to play in the play houses. we swept a clean place and marked it off and had our dolls down there. we put in anything we could get, mostly broken dishes. yes maam, i had rag dolls and several of them. no wars real close but i could hear the guns sometimes. "mrs. sellers had two large carriage horses. the colored boys took them down in the bottoms and took off a lot of the meat and groceries and hid them 'fo the yankees come along. they didn't nebber fin them things. mrs. sellers was awful good and the men jess looked after her and took care of her. me or maw stayed at the house with her all the time, day and night. when anybody got sick she sent somebody to wait on them and went to see what they needed and sometimes she had 'em brought up to the house and give 'em the medicine herself. she didn't have no foman. uncle sam and uncle john was the oldest and uncle henry. they was the men on the farm and they went right on with the work. folks had bigger families than they do now. they show did work, but de field work don't last all de time. they cleared land and fixed up the rail fences in the winter. a rail fence was on each side of a long lane that led down to the pasture. the creek run through the pasture. it was show a pretty grove. had corn shuckings when it was cold. we played base down there. we always had meat and plenty milk, collards and potatoes. old missus would drip a barrel of ashes and make corn hominy in the wash pot nearly every week and we made all the soap we ever did see. if you banked the sweet potatoes they wouldn't rot and that's where the seed come from in the spring. in the garden there was an end left to go to seed. that is the way people had any seed. times show have changed. i can't tell what to think. they ain't no more like than if they was another kind of folks. so much different. i jess look and live. i think they ought to listen to what you say. say anything to them they say 'kaint run my business.' i don't know if they spected anything from freedom. seemed like they thought they wouldn't have to work if dey was free and dey wouldn't have no boss. missus let a lot of her land grow up in pine trees. said she had no money to pay people to work for her. some of de families staid on. my maw and paw went on a farm on share not far from mrs. sellers. when she was going to have company or she got sick she sent for my maw. my maw washed and ironed for her till they moved plum off. they said somebody told them it was freedom. when dey picked up and moved off de missus show didn't give em nothing. they didn't vote. they didn't know how. i heard a lot about the ku klux klan but i wasn't scared. i never did see none. "de younger generation jess lives today and don't know what he'll do tomorrow or where he'll be. i ain't never voted and i don't know if my boys do or not. "i never heard of uprisings. de paddyroll was to see after dot and mrs. sellers didn't have none. uncle sam and uncle john made em mind. "sing--i say dey did sing. sing about the cooking and about the milking and sing in de field. "i never did see nobody sold. but i heard them talk about selling em. they took em off to sell em. that was the worst part about slavery. the families was broke up. i never lived nowhere 'cept in south carolina and prairie county (arkansas). my folks come here and they kept writing for me to come, and i come on the train. mrs. sellers son, joe sellers, killed himself, shot himself, one sunday evening. didn't know how come he done it. i was too little to know what they expected from the war. the colored folks didn't have nothing to do with it 'cept they expected to get freed. a heap of people went to the cities, some of them died. after freedom things got pretty scarce to eat and there was no money. i worked as a house girl, tended to the children, brushed the flies off the table and the baby when it slept and swept the house and the yard too. after i come here (to arkansas) i married and i worked on the farms. we share cropped. i raised my children, had chickens, geese, a cow and hogs. when the cotton was sold we got some of it. yes maam, i show had rether be out there if i could jess work. we lived on mr. dick small's place till he sold out. we come to town a year and went back and made enough in one year to buy dis place. it cost $ . jess my two sons and me. the others were married. my husband died on the farm. i come in town and done one or two washings a week. yes maam i walked here and back. that kept me in a little money. it was about two miles. i washed for mr. l. hall and part of the time for mrs. kate hazen. i guess they treated us right about the crop settlement. we thought they did. we knowed how much was made and how much we got. the cheatin come at the stores where the trading was done. "i lives with my son and his wife. sometimes i do my cooking and sometimes i eat in there. i get $ . from the rfc and prunes, rice, and a little dried milk. i buys my meal and sugar and lard and little groceries with the money. it don't buy what i used to have on the farm. "i don't remember much about the war. i was so little. i heard them talk a lot about it and the way they killed folks. i thought it was awful. my hardest time is since i got old and can't work." folklore subjects little rock district name of interviewer: irene robertson subject: spells--voodoo-- story--information (if not enough space on this page add page) i asked her if she believed anyone could harm her and she said not not unless they could get her to eat or drink something. then they might. she said a gypsy was feeling her and slipped a dollar and a quarter tied up in her handkerchief from her and she never did know when or how she got it. said she never believed their tales or had her fortune told. she didn't believe anyone could put anything under the door and because you walked over it you would get a "spell". she said some people did. she didn't know what they put under the doors. she never was conjured that she knew of and she doesn't believe in it. said she had to work too hard to tell tales to her children but she used to sing. she can't remember the songs she sang. she can't read or write. the old woman is blind and gray, wears a cap. her mistress was mrs. mary and her master was mr. hardy sellers in chesterfield county, south carolina. her husband died and left her with six children. her brother came with a lot of other fellows to arkansas. "everybody was coming either here or to texas". mr. david gates at devalls bluff sent her a ticket to come to his farm. her brother was working for mr. gates wattensaw plantation and that is where she has been till a few years ago she moved to hazen and lives with her son and his wife. she remembered when the civil war soldiers took all their food, mules and hitched mrs. sellers driving horses to the surry and drove off. her mistress cried and cried. she said she had a hard time after she left mr. and mrs. sellers, they was sure good to them and always had more than she had ever had since. she wanted to go back to south carolina to see the ones she left but never did have the money. said they lived on mr. dick small's place and he was so good to her and her children but he is dead too now. this information given by: hannah hancock place of residence: hazen, arkansas occupation: work in the cotton field--cook and wash. age: she is blind. she gets $ . pension, she is proud to tell. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: julia e. haney pulaski street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in gallatin, tennessee, twenty-six miles north of nashville, september , . willard blue and mary blue were my master and my mistress. "i wanted to put in for a pension and didn't want to tell a story about my age. in reading the gazette, i found out that william blue got shot by an insurance man in dallas, texas over a stenographer. i found out where my young master was and after allowing him time to get over his grief, i wrote to him about my age. he wrote me that andrew was the oldest and he didn't know, so he sent my letter to tacoma, tennessee, to henry blue. henry wrote to him and told him to look in the bottom of the wardrobe in the old family bible. he looked there and found the bible and sent my age to me. they wrote to me and sent me some money and were awful nice to me. they said that i was the only one of the slaves living." good masters "our masters were awful good to us. they didn't treat us like we were slaves. my mother carried the keys to everything on the place. they lived in the city. they didn't live in the country. i came here in ." family "my mother married a thompson. her married name was margaret thompson and her name before she married was margaret berth. her master before she married was berth. her last master was blue. her mother's name was cordelia lowe. her maiden name was berth. when the old man berth died, he made his will and bullard berth didn't want any slaves because he wanted to train his children to work. willard, my mother's master, should have been a berth because he was old man berth's son, but he called himself blue. it might have been that old man berth was his stepfather. anyway he went by the name of willard blue. he was an undertaker. "my father's name was oliver thompson. i don't remember any of my father's people. his people were in nashville, tennessee, and my mother's people were in gallatin, tennessee. we were separated in slavery." separation of parents "i don't know how my mother and father happened to get together. they didn't belong to the same master. my father belonged to thompson and lived in nashville and my mother belonged to blue in gallatin. they were not together when freedom came and never did get together after freedom. they only had one child to my knowledge. i don't know how they happened to be separated. it was when i was too small. nashville is twenty-six miles from gallatin. perhaps one family or the other moved away." patrollers "i have heard my mother speak about the pateroles. i don't know whether they were pateroles or not. they had guards out to see if the slaves had passes and they would stop them when they would be going out for anything. they would stop my mother when she would be going out to get the cows to see if she had a pass." jayhawkers "i never heard my mother speak of jayhawkers, but i have heard her say that they used to catch the slaves when they were out. i don't know whether it was jayhawkers or not. i don't know what they done with them after they caught them. i have heard other people speak of jayhawkers. my people were very good to us. they never bothered my mother. she could go and come when she pleased and they would give her a pass any time she told them she wanted one." really scared to death "i know one thing my ma told me. when the soldiers came through, there was an old rebel eating breakfast at our place. he was a man that used to handcuff slaves and carry them off and sell them. he must have stolen them. when he heard that the yankees were marching into town with all them bayonets shining, it scared him to death. he sat right there at the breakfast table and died. i don't know his name, but he lived in tennessee." mother's work "my mother was a cook and she knitted. she molded candles and milked the cows, and washed and ironed. she and her children were the only slaves they owned. they never whipped my mother at all. i stayed in the house. they kept me there. i never had to do anything but keep the flies off the table when they were eating." schooling "my grandfather gave me my schooling after i came here. i had come here in . i went to school in capitol hill and union schools. mrs. hoover (white) was one of the teachers at union school when i was there. she was a good teacher. miss lottie andrews--she is a stephens now--was another one of my teachers." how freedom came "my master came right on the back porch and called my mother out and told her she was free, that he wasn't going in no war. that was at the beginning when they were mustering in the soldiers to fight the war. and he didn't go neither. she stayed with him till after emancipation. she was as free as she could be and he treated her as nice as anybody could be treated. she had the keys to everything." house, furniture, and food "my mother had a little house back in the yard joined to the back porch and connected with the kitchen. it had one room. she did all cooking in his kitchen. her room was just a bedroom. "the furniture was a bed with high posters. it didn't have slats, it had ropes. it was a corded bed. they had boxes for everything else--for bureaus, chairs, and things." further details about schooling "i went to school as far as the eighth grade. professor hale, professor mason, and professor kimball were some of the teachers that taught me. they all said i was one of the brightest scholars they had." later life "i married cado haney in . he is dead now. he's been dead nearly forty years. we didn't live together but fifteen years before he died. we never had no children. after he died i laundried for a living until i got too old to work. now i get old age assistance." interviewer's comment a mighty sweet old lady to talk to. interviewer: pernella m. anderson person interviewed: rachel hankins el dorado, arkansas age: "i was born in alabama. my old mistress and master told me that i was born in . get that good-- ! that makes me about but i can't member the day and month. i was a girl about twelve or fourteen years old when the old darkies was set free. my old mistress and master did not call us niggers; they called us darkies. i can't recollect much about slavery and i can recollect lots too at times. my mind goes and comes. i tell you children you all is living a white life nowdays. when i was coming up i was sold to a family in alabama by the name of columbus. they was poor people and they did not own but a few slaves and it was a large family of them and that made us have to work hard. we lived down in the field in a long house. we ladies and girls lived in a log cabin together. our cabin had a stove room made on the back and it was made of clay and grass with a hearth made in it and we cooked on the hearth. we got our food from old mistress's and master's house. we raised plenty of grub such as peas, greens, potatoes. but our potatoes wasn't like the potatoes is now. they was white and when you eat them they would choke you, especially if they was cold. and sorghum molasses was the only kind there was. i don't know where all these different kinds of molasses come from. "they issued our grub out to us to cook. they had cows and we got milk sometimes but no butter. they had chickens and eggs but we did not. we raised cotton, sold part and kept enough to make our clothes out of. raised corn. and there wasn't no grist mills then so we had a pounding rock to pound the corn on and we pound and pound until we got the corn fine enough to make meal, then we separated the husk from the meal and parched the husk real brown and we used it for coffee. we used brown sugar from sorghum molasses. we spun all our thread and wove it into cloth with a hand loom. the reason we called that cloth home-spun is because it was spun at home. splitting rails and making rail fences was all the go. wasn't no wire fences. nothing but rail fences. bushing and clearing was our winter jobs. you see how rough my hands is? lord have mercy! child, i have worked in my life. "master columbus would call us niggers up on sunday evening and read the bible to us and tell us how to do and he taught us one song to sing and it was this 'keep your lamp trimmed and burning' and he'd have us to sing it every sunday evening and he told us that that song meant to do good and let each other see our good. when it rained we did not have meeting but when it was dry we always had meeting. "i never went to school a day in my life. i learned to count money after i was grown and married. "my feet never saw a shoe until i was fourteen. i went barefooted in ice and snow. they was tough. i did not feel the cold. i never had a cold when i was young. if we had ep-p-zu-dit we used different things to make tea out of, such as shucks, cow chips, hog hoofs, cow hoofs. ep-p-zu-dit then is what people call flu now. "when war broke out i was a girl just so big. all i can recollect is seeing the soldiers march and i recollect them having on blue and gray jackets. some would ride and some would walk and when they all got lined up that was a pretty sight. they would keep step with the music. the southern soldiers' song was 'look away down in dixie' and the northern soldiers' song was 'yankee doodle dandy.' so one day after coming in from the field old master called his slaves and told us we was free and told us we could go or stay. if we stayed he would pay us to work. we did not have nothing to go on so we stayed and he paid us. every th of june he would let us clean off a place and fix a platform and have dancing and eating out there in the field. the th of june is the day we thought we was freed but they tell me now that we was freed in january but we did not know it until june , . never got a beating the whole time i was a slave. "i came to north arkansas forty years ago and i been in union county a short while. my name is rachel hankins." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mary jane hardridge west barraque st., pine bluff, ark. age: "oh don't ask me that, honey. yes, i was here in slavery days. i reckon i was here before the civil war; i was born in ' . i'm right now in my birth county about four miles from this city. "i can remember my young masters that went to war. one was named ben and one chris. old master's name was james scull. he was kinda mixed up--he wasn't the cruelest one in the world. i've heard of some that was worse than he was. i never suffered for nothin' to eat. "i can tell you about myself as far back as i can remember. i know i was about thirteen or fourteen when the war ended. "my father's birth home was in virginia. his name was flem price and his father was a doctor and a white man. mother's name was mary price and she was half indian. you can tell that by looking at her picture. she was born in arkansas. "i can remember seeing the soldiers. i had to knit socks for them. used to have to knit a pair a week. yes ma'm i used to serve them. i had it to do or get a whippin'. i nursed and i sewed a little. my mother was a great seamstress. we did it by hand too. they didn't have no sewing machines in them times. "when my white folks went on summer vacations--they was rich and traveled a great deal--mama always went along and she just left us children on the plantation just like a cow would leave a calf. she'd hate to do it though. i remember she went off one time and stayed three months and left me sick in the white folks house on a pallet. i know i just hollered and cried and mama cried too. there was another old colored lady there and she took me to her house. we lived right on the river where the boat landed and i remember the boat left at high noon and i cried all the rest of the afternoon. "i remember the first yankee i ever saw. they called him captain hogan. i had a white chile in my arms. he set there and asked the boss how many negroes did he have and the boss said what was the news. he come out to let the negroes know they was as free as he was and told marse jim to bring all of them back from texas. i know i run and told mama and she said 'you better hush, you'll get a whippin'.' "they sho didn't burn up nothin'--just took the mules and horses. now i remember that--they didn't burn up nothin' where i lived. "i heard of the ku klux but i never seen any. we was expectin' 'em though at all times. "my grandmother belonged to creed taylor and after freedom mama got her and she lived there with the sculls two years. my mother and father was paid a salary and they paid me too--four dollars a month. and i remember mama never would let me have it--just give me what she wanted me to have. they treated us better than they did before the war. cose they was a little rough, but they couldn't whip you like they did. they could threaten it though. "i went to school just a little after freedom. mama and papa wasn't able to send me. wasn't no colored teachers competent to teach then and we had to pay the white teacher a dollar a month. "i had very strict parents and was made to mind. when i went out i knew when i was comin' in. i had one daughter who died when she was eight years old and if i could bring her back now, i wouldn't do it cause i know she would worry me to death. "i used to sew a lot for people in pine bluff but i am too old now. i own my home and i have some rooms rented to three young men students and i get a little help from the welfare so i manage to get along. "well good-bye--i'm glad you come." # interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mary jane hardrige w. barraque, pine bluff, arkansas age: "well, i don't believe in signs much. my sister was sick about a year once. they said she had the t. b. (tuberculosis). one day i was there and she said, 'sis, do you hear that peckerwood? he's drivin' a nail in my coffin.' and sure enough she died not long after. "but let me tell you i had a peculiar dream yesterday morning just before day. there's a little child here. his mother died and left him, the baby child. i dreamt his mother brought him to me. she said, 'i brought my boy here and i want you to keep him.' i thought he come to me just as naked as he could be. he kept sayin', 'come on, mrs. hardrige, and let's go home, i'm cold.' he didn't have a garment on. his mother was with him and she's dead you know. "i mentioned it to one of my neighbors and she said it was a sign of some woman's death. "i was very much devoted to the child. i love him, and that dream stayed with me all day. i don't know but i've always heard if you dream of the dead it's goin' to rain. "i ain't four miles from where i was born. i was born across the river. we belonged to jim scull. i've lived all my life in jefferson county." interviewer: pernella anderson person interviewed: o. c. hardy el dorado, ark. age: "o. c. hardy is my name and i is years old. i like [hw: lack? kwf] a lot of being a real old time slave, but i tell you i am a slave now, and ain't no slave. i was born way down in louisiana. we lived on a plantation with some white people by the name of chick johnson. that is the first place i remember we ever stayin' on. my ma and pa slave for them folks. all of the children worked like slaves. what i mean by working like slaves--we didn't stop to get our breath until night. i was slavin' for just the white folks then and since i got grown and married i've been slavin' for my wife and children and the white folks. my mama and papa went in the name of their mistress and master's name and so did i, so we was all hardys. "sixty-nine years ago the time wasn't like it is now. everything was different. there was no cars, no airplanes, a few buggies, no trains. the go was ox teams and stage coaches. people used ox teams in place of mule and horse teams. sometimes you would see ox teams with twelve and fourteen oxen. the ox wore yokes that sometime weigh a hundred or more pounds. the reason of that, they were so mean they had to wear them yokes to hold em down. one yoke would go across two oxen's heads. they could pull--oh my!--as much as some big trucks. we made much better crops back in the s than we do now. the winters was much harder and you know the harder the winter the better the crop year you have. we always plowed and turned our ground over in the hard of winter--that was in order for the cold to kill all insect and germs in the ground. you see, worms eats up your seed and plant, and germs do your seed and plant just like they would do your body. so we got rid of them little hinderings. in january we was ready to get our corn ground ready for planting, and man! we raised some crops. i recollect one year way back yonder we had what they called a centennial snow--that was the biggest snow that's ever been and the best crop year i ever knowed. i started plowing when i was about eight. before then all i can remember doin' was bushing. after gathering crops we split rails and built fences. we played on sunday evening. our sport was huntin', fishin', and bird thrashin' and trap settin'. to catch fish easy we baited snuff and tobacco on the hook. we used to be bad about stealin' watermelons, eggs, chickens and sweet potatoes and slippin' way down in the woods and cookin'. "wasn't no such things as screen windows and doors. that is some of this stuff to my knowing. flies and mosquitos was plentiful. our cooking was plain boiled or fried cause we cooked on fireplaces. wasn't no stoves. we used all brown sugar from syrup that turned to sugar. white sugar is about forty years old to my knowings. my ma used to cook the best old syrup cake and syrup potatoes pudding. she knitted all our socks and sweaters for you couldn't buy things like that because stores was few and she spun and wove for the white folks and knitted too." # interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: rosa hardy biscoe, arkansas age: ? "i was born in brownsville, tennessee. my mother died when i was real young, and i had no father. pike sutton was mother's master. he was my old grandfather. he owned a big farm. tove sutton was his son and my father. mother was light but not as light as i am. i had a sister older than i am i lived with. i never lived among white folks except in a town with them. i don't know a thing about my people to tell. i don't know my age. i give myself a birthday. i don't know the day nor month i was born. but i'm old. i can count back enough to tell that. "i work in the sewing room. i'm the oldest woman in there at de valls bluff. i get twenty-one dollars and this month i am to get twenty-seven. "if you don't have work times are not good. i know that. i don't hardly know the young generation. of course i see them but that is all. they hurrying their way and i'm going my way." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: ida harper west pullen street; pine bluff, arkansas age: "now what you want with me? i was born in mississippi. i come here tollable young. i'se ninety-three now. "my old master mean to us. we used to watch for him to come in the big gate, then we run and hide. he used to come to the quarters and make us chillun sing. he make us sing dixie. sometimes he make us sing half a day. seems like dixie his main song. i tell you i don't like it _now_. but have mercy! he make us sing it. seems like all the white folks like dixie. i'se glad when he went away to war. "but they used to feed you. heap better meat than you get now. i tell you they _had_ things to eat in them days. "i 'member when the soldiers was comin' through and runnin' the white folks both ways. law chile--you don't know nothin'! we used to hide in the cistern. one time when the yankees come in a rush my brother and me hide in the feather bed. "when the war ended, white man come to the field and tell my mother-in-law she free as he is. she dropped her hoe and danced up to the turn road and danced right up into old master's parlor. she went so fast a bird could a sot on her dress tail. that was in june. that night she sent and got all the neighbors and they danced all night long. "i never went to school a day in my life. i wish i could read but they ain't no use wishin' for spilt milk. "how long i been in arkansas? let me see how many chillun i had since i been to arkansas. let me see--i fotch four chillun with me and i'se the mother of ten. "yes'm i sho' has worked hard. i worked in the field and cooked and washed and ironed. but oh lord i likes my freedom. "i couldn't tell you what i think of this present generation. they is just like a hoss on the battle field--white and black. they say 'grandma, you just an old fogy.' "i think they is another slave-time gal down in the next block. you want me to show you?" folklore subjects name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: signs and superstitions story--information (if not enough space on this page, add page) "in slavery times you used to carry a rabbit foot in your pocket to keep old massa from whippin' you." this information given by: eda harper place of residence: w. pullen street, pine bluff, arkansas occupation: age: folklore subjects name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: games of pre-war days story--information (if not enough space on this page, add page) "we used to play a game called 'once over.' throw a ball over the house and if they caught it on the other side, they'd run around and try to catch you. "then we used to play 'hide the switch.' and if you found it, the others all run to keep from bein' hit. oh lawd, that's been a long time." this information given by: eda harper place of residence: w. pullen, pine bluff, arkansas occupation: none age: # interviewer: watt mckinney person interviewed: abram harris marvell, arkansas, ( miles west) age: abram harris, an ex-slave, just past ninety-three years of age lives with his daughter, hannah, years old, on the farm of mrs. alice davison a few miles west of marvell, arkansas. the two of them have just completed, within the last few days, the harvesting of a small crop of cotton and corn, and abram was found in a small thicket not far from their cabin where he was busily engaged in cutting some firewood for their winter use. a small tree had been felled and the old man was swinging his axe with the strength and enthusiasm of one far younger than he as the wood was being cut to the proper length for his heater. interrupted at my approach, abram laid aside the axe and greeted me with that courtesy so characteristic of an ex-slave. after stating the purpose of my visit, the old negro apparently pleased at this opportunity afforded him to rest and talk, sat on the body of the newly cut tree and told me the following story: "yes sir, cap'n, my name is abram harris and i is jist past ninety-three year old. en cose i knows dat i don't look dat old en all de folks sey dat i acts er heap younger dan my age iffen i really is old as i claims, en i kin still wuk bettern heap dese young uns, kase i is always knowed how ter wuk. my old boss man teach me de tricks. he war er wukker he-self, en eberybody hed ter roll roun old marster. he neber low no lazy pussen ter stay wid him. yes sir, cap'n, i sho has kept up wid my age eber since dat time when old marster tole me how ole i is. yo kin see dat i is er old nigger, kase dese here whiskers so white en de hair on my haid so white too. when ye see dat on er nigger yo kin know dat he er old pussen right off. i gwine ter tell yo, how cum dat i sho knows how old i is. er heap er niggers, dey tell yo dat dey is so en so year old when dey aint no sich er thing en dey don't know dey age, but i does, en hit wus jes dis er way. "i wus borned en raised in south carolina not fur from greenville en my old marster whut i belonged ter, wus marse hodges brown, en my young marster he wus marse hampton, en me en marse hampton wus sho born in de same mont en de same year, en de mont, hit wus october, en dats zackly whut old marster tole me, en marse hampton sed dat same thing. us wus boys togedder, me en marse hampton, en wus jist er bout de same size, en marse hampton, he claimed me, en i gwine ter be his property when bofe us grown. dat is iffen de war not cum on en marse hampton hadn't er got kilt in de battle. when de war fust brake out, marse hampton he too young den ter jine de troops, how-sum-eber he went ter jine up den when he older brudder, marse thad, jine up, but old mis she wud'nt hear ter marse hampton gwine off den, kase he not old enuf, en den, he old mis' baby chile. marse thad, he bout two er three year older dan marse hampton en he jine de troops at de fust muster en went off ter de war en fit de yankees night bout two years when de ball shot him in de shoulder, en he wounded den en hab ter cum bak home fer ter git well ergin. atter marse thad cum home en stay fer er mont er sich time fer he wound ter heal up, den he ready ter go bak ter de company, en marse hampton gwine ter be eighteen year old pretty soon den, so dey swade old mis ter let marse hampton go wid marse thad bak ter de war, so old mis en old marster, dey gib in en marse hampton lef wid marse thad ter jine up wid him in de same company whut he in when de ball hit him. now dat wuz in de spring when marse hampton jine up wid de troops, en him en me gwine ter be eighteen dat fall in october, but hit twarnt as awful long fore marse hampton got kilt in de big battle, en marse thad too. dey wuz bofe kilt in de charge, right dar on de bres-wuks, wid dey guns in dey hans, dem two young marsters er mine, right dar in dat gettysburg battle, dats whut old marster en old mis bofe tole me er meny er time, en i wus eighteen in dat october atter dat big fight whut mars thad en marse hampton git kilt in, en marse hodges writ hit down fer me on er paper, en ebery october since den i gits sumbody whut kin figger ter tell me how old i is so's i kin know en tell folks when dey ax me, en jes last mont, my gal hannah figgered hit out er gin en she sey dat i is now ninety-three past, so dat is de way dat i gits at hit cap'n. now is dat right? "my white folks wus sho good ter all dey niggers. dere wus nigh bout no whippin er tall, least old marster neber did whip his slaves ter do no good, en he mos ginerally tole us mammies er pappies ter do de whippin er de chillun en de older boys en gals. he hab whip me do en he whip marse hampton too when us wus boys. old marster start in wid dat hickry en mek out lak he gwine ter frail us out, but atter he done landed er few licks on us, en den us commence hollerin lak he hirtin bad, den he quit whippin, dat de way old marster wus. he neber want ter hurt nobody. "my pa wus name, jake, en my mammy wus named, fanny, old marster bought dem from sum-whar, but i wus borned right dar, me en delia en all de res er de chillun. "cap'n, wud ye lak fer me ter tell ye bout dat time dat me en delia wuz stole? well, we sho wux stole. de speckle-ladies (speculators or traders) stole us er way frum old marster when us wus chillun, bout twelve er thirteen year old. hit happened in de night, when dar warnt nobody dar in de quarters but de wimmin. old marster en all de men wus down on de ribber dat night, er floatin logs er cuttin timber er sum sich wuk es dat, when dese hear folks cum er stealin chillun. delia en me wus de fust ones dat dey grab en de onliest ones dat dey git frum old marster, but dey sho got us. i 'members dat stealin good. dem folks tuk us off ter de woods whar dey tied us up ter er tree fer er whole night en day, en tell us dat iffen we cry er holler dat dey gwine ter kills us sho. den dey cum en tuk us er way en ganged us up wid er lot mo nigger boys en gals whut dey done stole sum whars else. dey yoked us togedder en walked us clean ter georgia whar dey sole us. dey sho pushed dem chillun hard ober de rocks en de hard places till our feets wud bleed frum de sores whar de rocks en de thorns scratch. "dey sole me en delia ter er young white man en he wife whut ain't been married long en ain't got no start er niggers yit. us stayed dar fer mo dan er year i rekkin, en dem wus good white folks en wus good ter us. de mis teach delia ter be er house gal en de marster teach me ter handle stock en plow wid him eber day. us wus skeered ter tell dem white folks whut bought us whar us home wus en who us marsters used ter be, kase we skeered dat de speckle-ladies mout cum bak en steal us sum mo, en tek us er way sum mo. i don't know how hit wus dat old marster hodges brown cum ter fine out whar we wus, but he sho learnt er bout hit sum sich er way, en one mornin early here cum old marster hodges brown wid two mo white mens cumin atter me en delia. atter dey thru dentifyin us, old marster tuk us on bak home wid him, en we sho wus glad ter go. now cap'n, dat is de truf i am tellin you bout dat stealin, when me en delia wus stole. "my pappy wus named, jake, en he wus de wagoner fer marster till he daid, den marster tuk me en trained me fer de wagoner atter den. my marster warnt no big, rich man lak er heap er de white folks in dem slabery times, yit en still, he sho hed er plenty er ebery-thing, en de bes of all he fed he niggers good en wus always good ter tem. marster used ter peddle er heap in columbia en greenville bofe atter i git ter be de wagoner fer him. us wud tek big loads er taters en truck ter dem towns whar marster wud sell em ter de folks dar. sumtimes he wud tek er bout twenty beeves ter one er dem towns en rent him er yard whar he wud butcher er bout one beef ebery day en peddle out de meat. marster neber hed many niggers lak lots de white folks. he jes hed er bout er dozen in all. he sey dat all he want, er got eny use fer. "marster hed er big fruit orchard. jes all kines er fruit wud be in dat orchard, en when dey ripe, marster send loads dem apples en peaches down ter de still whar he had dem made up in ter brandy en put in de kegs en barrels en brought bak home when hit done. heap er times dat i 'members he call de folks up ter de bak gallery en sey, 'cum on up here folks en git yo all er dram'. dats whut he say. "whilst our marster wus good ter all he niggers, dar wus heap er de marsters in dem slabery times whut wus mean, en dat whut mek de niggers run off en hide in de woods, en dats when dey git de nigger hounds on em en track em down jes lak ye do er coon. my pappy, jake, he owned by er mean white man, fore old marster bought him in. i 'members bout him tellin us chillun when he used ter run off en hide in de cane thickets fer days en days kase he marster so mean en beat him up so bad, en dat he git so hungry dat he slip bak in close ter de house in de night, en dat sum de wimmins slip him sum meat en bread. he sey dat he used ter sleep wid de dogs under de crib on cold nights so de togs cud keep him warm. "dar warnt none er de white folks in dem slabery times whut wud let dey niggers hab any learnin. yo sho better not be cotch er tryin ter learn no readin er writin. our marster neber eben lowed dat, en iffen er nigger wus ter be foun whut cud write, den right straight dey wud chop his fore finger offen dat han whut he write wid. dar warnt no sich er thing es no schools fer de niggers till atter de surrender. "endurin er de war, dar warnt no fightin tuk place roun whar us libed, en de onliest yankees dat i eber seed wus in greenville atter de surrender. i sho wus sprized when i seed dem yankees, kass i neber knowed whut sort er lookin thing dat er yankee wus. no sir, cap'n, i neber knowed dat er yankee wus er man jes lak my white folks till i seed dem in greenville, but yo know cap'n er yankee looks jes lak yo is, only he do talk funny en fast, mo so dan de kine er white folks dat i is always been er roun. "dar warnt nary one er old marsters niggers whut lef him eben when dey set free, dat is dey did'n lebe him fer two er three years eny way, but atter den sum of em started ter driftin er roun en hirin er roun er bout. when de surrender cum, old marster tole em all dat dey free en kin go iffen dey want ter go, en effen dey want ter go dat he gib em sum grub ter go on. marster wus er good man en iffen he war libin ter day, i wud sho quit dis place en go on wid him, whar-sum-eber he want me ter go. "no sir, cap'n, de niggers dey did'n know what de war wus gwine on fer, en dey did'n know dat dey free till dere marsters tole em, whilst dey wus wantin ter be free all right. atter us wus free, de white folks hab ter teach us jes lak yo teach er chile. "dem klu klux whut dey brought on atter de surrender wus sho pizen. dey wus white mens. dats whut dey wus, en all dressed up in dem long white garments wid er red cross on em en ridin er big hoss. dey wus atter dem niggers whut dey claim is mean en zerted dey marsters en went en tuk up wid de yankees. when dem klu klux fust cum in operation de niggers think dat dey is hants er spirits, till dey fine out dat dey warnt nuthin but white mens wid dem garments on em. dem klux wud cotch er nigger dat dey want en pin he haid down ter de groun wid er forked stick en one wud hold him whilst de others whip im wid er strop er a lash. yes sir, cap'n, dem klu klux sho did dis-encourage de niggers er heap. "plenty er de white mens whut wus mustered in ter de war wud tek er nigger wid em ter wait on em en ter tend ter de hosses en de sich eber whut dey want done, en i sho did want ter go wid marse hampton, en mebbe dat i cud tek care of im. marse hampton want me ter go wid him too en try ter swade old marster ter let me go, but old marster sey dat he hab ter hab me dar at home ter help mek de crops so's dat he kin send corn en meat ter de sojers. de day dat marse hampton lebe, he cum down ter de quarters fer ter tell all de niggers good-bye, en he sey ter me 'abe,' he called me abe, 'i gwine off ter dat war en kill out dat whole crowd er yankees, en den i'se cumin bak en gwine ter georgia en buy me er farm whar i kin git rich mekin cotton en terbakker. yo know yo is my nigger en yo gwine ter georgia wid me, when i goes'. hit sho did hurt me when marse hampton got kilt kase i lubed dat white man. he wus good ter me. "in my dreams at night i kin yit see marse hampton, en er heap er times in de day when i is by myself er hoein de cotton he talks ter me plain so's i kin understand, en he ax me iffin i is yit en still er good nigger, en tell me ter not be dis-encouraged. cap'n de bible is right when hit sey dat, 'de young mens dream dreams en de old uns see de visions'. "i kin jes natchally feel spirits, cap'n, i sho don't spute dat. i is skeered ter spute hit. when yo is gwine long de road en feel sum warm air, den dat is whar de spirits hes jes been. de wings er de daid has done fanned dat air till hits hot, en when i is gwine er long en hits dat hot air, den i knows dat sum spirit er hant hes been er long dat same route, kase hit sho is hants in dis worl, yit en still dey don't walk en act lak natchal people. "yes sir, cap'n, i kin tell yo sum er dem old songs whut de niggers used ter sing in de slabery times. dis is sum of em:" black judy wus er good gal, en black judy wus er bad gal too. mus jesus bear de cross alone and all de worl go free? oh brother don't stay away oh blackslider, don't stay away. my old mistis promised me dat when she died, she gwine set me free, but she lived so long en got so po dat she lef me diggin wid er garden ho. wheel er bout en do er bout en jump jim crow. ebery time i do er bout i do jes so. yo can't do wrong en git by no matter how hard yo try. yo kin do lak you please en feel at yo ease but you can't do wrong en git by. may interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: betty harris brinkley, arkansas age: about or ? "my parents wus both in the civil war. he was levi berthy and she was misson berthy. mid hill was mother's owner. she said he was better to them than most owners. he never whooped 'em. mother was real light and father was dark. i was born in pinola county, mississippi. i had a stroke five years ago. i can't walk a step for two years now. my parents didn't let us hear them talk, they sent us out to play, then they died before they got old. i never heard much of their own lives. i live with my daughter and her husband. i don't get welfare aid." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mary harris n. plum street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born right here in arkansas and i remember they was havin' somethin'. i remember when they taken this town (pine bluff). the people what owned me was the parson of the methodist church--parson walsh. yes ma'm i knowed the union soldiers was dressed in blue and the secessors was called greybacks. my father was with the yankee soldiers. i don't know how he got with em but i know he was gone away from this town three years. he come back here after he was mustered out in vicksburg. "i remember the yankee soldiers come and took the colored folks away if they wanted to go. that was after surrender. they carried us to the 'county band' and fed us. "i know the day the yankees taken pine bluff; it was on sunday and marse jesse went to services. the secessor soldiers left pine bluff. of course i didn't understand what it was all about cause in them times people didn't enlighten children like they does now. they know everything now, ain't no secrets. "most work i've done is washin' and ironin' since i been a full-grown, married woman. i was twenty some odd when i was married. i know i was out of my teens. "i went to school a good while after the war. my first teacher was mr. todd from the north. "i used to do right smart sewing. i did sewing before machines come to this town. the frocks they used to make had from five to ten yards. "we is livin' now in a time of worry. what they is doin' is told about in the scripture." dec interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: rachel harris ½ e. fifth, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i reekolect when the war started. i was big enuf to be totin' water, sweepin', feedin' chickens. i was a big chap when it started. i went with the white chillun and watched the soldiers marchin'. the drums was playin' and the next thing i heered, the war was gwine on. you could hear the guns just as plain. the soldiers went by just in droves from soon of a mornin' till sundown. they said they was goin' to head off the yankees. dis fore the war ended i heered en say they was gwine to free the colored folks. that was in mississippi. "my old master was jim smith and old mistress' name was louisa smith. "i had many a whip put on me. when they wasn't whippin' me the chillun was. they whipped my mother and everybody. "my brother lewis went plum through the war till surrender. he waited on a rebel soldier--cooked and washed for him. i never did see no white yankee soldiers but i seed the colored soldiers with the blue suits. i stood out many a night and day and heered them guns. "jim smith had near bout a hundred head of colored folks on his place. he didn't go to war--he just seed that all the white women had plenty to eat while their men folks was away. "my mother was sold away from my father long 'fore i was born. he used to come to visit, but a little while 'fore i was born they stopped him and wouldn't let him come no more. "after surrender one of my brothers come home and say the war was over. "we stayed there three years after surrender. they paid my mother and stepfather but they wouldn't pay us chillun nothin', so my mother sent me to town to live with my sister. "i hired out as a nurse girl and them white folks just as good to me as could be. she paid me $ a month and give me all my clothes. i was young and didn't have no sense, but all i didn't spend on candy i sent to my mother. "in slavery times the white folks had a servant to comb the hair and lift up the dress. yes ma'm, they had servants. i sho was glad they had that war and freed me. "yes, jesus, i seen them ku klux. i member once we had a big ball. we was cuttin' a dash that night. the ku klux come and made out they was dead. some of the folks run they was so scared, but one woman come out and said she knowed every one of the men. she knowed em by their hosses. next mornin' we went by old purvis newman's house and it looked like they was a hundred saddles layin' out in the yard. i was a young woman then and sparkin' fit to kill. yes ma'm i member all about it. i reekolect it just as well as i can walk out that door. "my son wrote me bout eight years ago and say, 'mama, you is might near a hunderd.' my daughter, my baby chile, is bout sixty-three. "about this younger generation, i don't know what to think. some say the devil loose 'for a season.' i say if he ain't loose, he tied mighty slack." folklore subjects little rock district name of interviewer: irene robertson subject: tales [hw: superstitions and charms] story--information (if not enough space on this page add page) when she was a child she remembered white children and colored playing "no boogerman tonight." one would catch the others as they ran from behind big trees. then whoever he caught would be the boogerman, till he caught somebody else. * * * * * they made ash cakes and put black walnuts in it. it was just as good as crackling bread which was made from rendering lard. they made molasses candy and pulled it at the master's house during christmas. * * * * * mothers combed their children's hair sunday and wrapped it, sometimes had dyed string. the master had a mule named beck. only one on the farm could tend old beck. he would buck and kick. sometimes he would run and he would lope if you "hitched" him to a buggy. when freedom came the master studied who would tend old beck so he gave him to jack. jack felt so free as he rode from the farm out into the big world all his own and no place to go. in about a year jack sent a letter back by somebody to the master. "i want you to send me $ . of your own money. my wife has gone raving destracted. my mule is dead. i am pestered and bothered. i bound you." * * * * * will said there used to be witches when somebody got mad with somebody they would bewitch the cows. you couldn't get the butter to come no matter how long you churned and sometimes a bewitched cow would come up and give bloody milk. if you keep plenty salt around in the troughs the witches wouldn't come about so much. * * * * * if you carry a rabbit foot in your pocket it will bring you good luck. if you find anything pointed with point toward you, that is a sign of good luck. if you put your shirt or dress on wrong side out, don't change it. thats good luck for the day. * * * * * don't start to sew a piece of goods on friday unless you are sure you can get it done before night for that is bad luck. * * * * * this information given by: rachel harris place of residence: green grove, hazen, arkansas occupation: field.--lives with her daughter. age: interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: william harris devalls bluff, ark. age: or "i was born in chetam county close to nashville, tennessee. our master was named joe harris. his wife was miss sallie harris. they had eight children. i knowed newt, tom and kittie. my mother had nine children. her name was julia. my papa's name was isom harris. i think they belong to the same family of white folks. granny was old woman looked after white children. see if any of em got sick. she seen after little nigger children too. mama was a field hand like papa. after war plummer harris went on off. he was cruel to his wife and grown folks but good to the children. we had good houses and plenty wood but the feed was light. "i seen the yankees riding through the country. they looked pretty, 'specially them on white horses. my papa and mama left. mama died with pneumonia. papa died, too. we had a mighty hard time after freedom and before too. papa worked about on shares--hired out on jobs. "when freedom come on we went on and they didn't think to give us nothing. when the hands all left they had the land and nobody to work. they was land pore. it was tore up. fences down, houses down, and nothing to be raised to eat in the winter. "when i got bigger i helped build the north western railroad into nashville. i made right smart of money. i was building up the track bed. i farmed, worked on the section. i delivered here till my feet got in bad fix. "i got thirteen children in all. some in tennessee by my first wife and some here and some grandchildren. "folks won't work like i used to work. it ain't no use to be 'larmed bout the times--they been changing since the world started--still changing. if you able it is best to go hunt work and be at a job working. "i heard about the ku klux, they never troubled us. i seen em. i was scared of em. "i get commodities and a check for us three old folks. my wife washes and irons. "i got a bunion on one foot and raw sores on top of my toes. it won't cure up. both feet in bad shape. my wife had both her legs broke. we doing very well." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: william h. harrison forrest city, arkansas age: over "i was born march , in richmond, virginia. master anderson harrison was a cousin to benjamin harrison, the twenty-third president of the united states. master anderson harrison was my owner. i was a personal attendant of his young son and when i reached manhood i was the carriage boy. i did all the driving on all the trips the young people of the family took. my memories of slave days was my easiest days. slavery was pleasant for me. my owner's wife was named ann. the son was gummel l. harrison. i went with him to war. i was his servant in the battle-field till we fought at gettysburg and manassas gap. then i was captured at bulls gap and brought to knoxville, tennessee and made a soldier. i was in the war three and one half years. they had us going to school. they had yankee teachers in the army. all the schooling i ever got. i was mustered out at chattanooga, tennessee. "my parents was julia ann hodge and cairo hodge. i don't know my mother's last owners. when i was about eight years old i was sold to ben cowen. when i was thirteen years old i was sold to master anderson harrison. my brothers sam and washington never were sold. me and sam hodge, my brother, was in the war together. we struck up and knowed one another. a man bought mama that lived at selma, alabama. i never seen her ag'in to know her. after i was mustered out i went to birmingham where she was drove and sold in search of her. i heard she was taken to selma. i went there. i give out hunting for her. it was about dusk. i saw a woman standing in the door. i asked her to tell me where i could stay. she said, 'you can stay here tonight.' i went in, hung my overcoat up. i started to the saloon. i met her husband with a basket on his arm coming home. i told him who i was. we went to get a drink. i offered him sherry but he took whiskey. i got a pint of brandy, two apples, two oranges, for his wife and two little boys. i spent two nights there and two and a half days there, with my own mother but neither of us knew it then. "fourteen years later wash wrote to me giving me the address. i told him about this and he said it was mama. he told her about it. she jumped up and shouted and fell dead. i never seen her but that one time after i was sold the first time. i was about eight years old then. she had eighteen of us boys and one girl, diana, and then the half-brothers i seen at selma. i had eleven brothers took off in a drove at one time and sold. they was older than i was. i don't know what become of them. i never seen my papa after i was sold. diana died in knoxville, tennessee after freedom. i seen better times in slavery than i've ever seen since but i don't believe in slave traffic--that being sold. "i was with my young master till my capture. that was my part in freedom. i was forced to fight by the yankees then in the union army. i was with general grant when lee surrendered at appomattox. that was freedom. after the war i come to arkansas and settled at madison. my hardships started. i got married the first thing. "this is how good my owners was to me. he sent me to hendersonville, north carolina (henderson?) to learn to fiddle. i was so afraid of the old colored teacher i learned in a month about all he could play. i played for parties in eight states in slavery. all up in the north. they trained children to dance then. i took martha jane, easter ann, jane daniel, my young mistresses and their mother's sisters, emma and laura, to parties and dances all time. we went to ashville, north carolina to a big party. while they was having fine victuals after the dance they sent me out a plate of turnip greens and turnips, fat meat and corn bread. i took it and set it down. when miss martha jane got in sight i took her to our carriage. she said, 'empty it to the dogs,' and give me one dollar fifty cents and told me to go to town and buy my supper. i was treated same as kin folks. i et and drunk same as they had to use. after freedom i fixed up twice to move back to my young master. once he sent me three hundred fifty dollars to move on. betty fell off the porch and broke her thigh. that ended my hopes of going back. betty was my first wife. i had seven children by her and one by my second wife and this wife ain't had none. she's been married twice though. "i got one boy in virginia seventy-three years old and one boy sixty-eight years old. my boys are scattered. one lives here. i don't hear from them now. "after the war i come to madison. it was a thriving little river town surrounded on all sides by wilderness. there were thousands of indians camped in the neighboring woods. there was nothing but wooded hills where forrest city now stands. "when general nathan bedford forrest built the cut between forrest city and madison for the road, i was his cook and the first fireman to make the run through the cut. i used to drive a stagecoach over the old military road through pine tree on the stage run from memphis to little rock. "game was the nicest thing the country afforded. i killed bear and other wild game on sites where marianna, wynn, and jonesboro now stand. where this house now is was a lake then. (west part of town on north side of the railroad track.) they caught fish in it then. "when i heard benjamin harrison had been elected president of the united states, i asked mr. george lewis to write to him for me. i was working for him then. i handled freight at the depot for him. he was dubious of me knowing such a person but wrote it to please me. a few weeks a reply come to our letter and a ticket. "i got my fiddle and went and visited two weeks. i et at the same table with the president. i slept in the white house. we et out of skillets together when i was a little boy and drunk out of the same cups. me and him and gummel raised up together. i played for the president and his cabinet. "twice more i went and it cost me nothing. i played for big balls. my young master sent me my gold name plate. (it is heart shaped with his name, birth and birthplace--ed.) i been wearing it on my watch chain a long time. it is my charm. mr. lewis was so glad when i got my letter and ticket. he was good to me. "i have voted. i voted a republican ticket because it hope the party out that freed my race. some white men told me they burnt up a lot of our votes. i never seen it done. i can't see to fool with voting. "the colored folks are seeing a worse time now than in slavery times. there is two sides to it. the bible say they get weaker and wiser. i did read before i got blind. i get a federal pension of one hundred dollars a month. i'm thankful for it." interviewer's comment he has trouble talking. one lung is affected. he is deaf. he is blind. he said he was wounded caused his lung trouble. seems to me old age. he isn't very feeble in the house. their house was clean and he and his wife, also born in slavery, looked clean. interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: laura hart eleventh & orange st., pine bluff, arkansas age: "i just can't tell you when i was born cause i don't know. my mother said i was born on christmas eve morning. i'm a old woman. i was big enough to work in slave times. "yes ma'am. i member when the war started. i was born in arkansas. i'm a arkansas hoosier. you know i had to have some age on me to work in slave times. "i pulled corn, picked cotton and drive the mule at the gin. just walked behind him all day. i've pulled fodder, pulled cotton stalks, chopped down corn stalks. i never worked in the house when i was a child while i was under the jurisdiction of the white folks. "my old master was sam carson and his wife was named phoebe carson, boy named andrew and a daughter named mary and one named rosie. "we had plenty to eat and went to church on sunday. after the white folks had their services we went in. the church was on his place right across the river. that's where i was when freedom taken place. "when the war started--i remember that all right--cause when they was gettin' started old master sent a colored man to take his son's place in the war. "i was born up here at fort smith and brought here to jefferson county and sold--my mother and three chillun. "now wait--i'm goin' to give you the full history. my father's mother was a white woman from the north and my father was a colored man. her folks run her here to arkansas and she stayed with her brother till my father was nine months old and then she went back north and my papa stayed with his uncle. "when his uncle died he willed my papa his place. he had it recorded at the cotehouse in little rock that my papa was a free man. but he couldn't stay in arkansas free, so he just rambled 'till he found old man carson and my mother. he offered to buy my mother but old master wouldn't sell her so he stayed with old man carson till they was all free. "my white folks was tollable fair--they didn't beat up the people. "my mother was as bright as you are. she could sit on her hair. her mother was a creole and her father was a frenchman. after freedom they would a killed my father if it hadn't been for old sam carson, cause they thought my mother was a white woman, she was so bright. "ku klux? the lord have mercy! i remember them. they came and surrounded the house, hundreds of em. we had a loose plank in the floor and we'd hide under the floor with the dogs and stay there, too, till they'd gone. "my father was a gambler. he gambled and farmed. my mother was a christian woman. when i got big enough to know anything, she was a christian woman. "i married when i was fourteen. we lived at a place called 'wildcat.' didn't have no school. nothin' up there but saloons and gambling. "then we moved to what they called the earl wright place. i had four chillun--three boys and one girl. most of my work was in the field. "i been here in pine bluff gwine on seventy-one years. you know--i knowed this town when they wasn't but one store and two houses. i'm a old woman--i ain't no baby. "honey, i even remember when the indians was run out o' this town! "well, i done telled you all i know. in my comin' up, the colored people didn't have time to study bout the chillun's ages." # interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: hatty haskell w. pullen, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm, i reckon i was about twelve when the civil war ended. oh, i could nurse a little. "no ma'am, i wasn't born in arkansas. i was born in tennessee, but i was brought here when i was a baby. come here before the war. the old master had sold 'em. "we was bought by will nichols. you ever hear of this here dick lake? well, that's the place. "they taken my father and my sister to texas and stayed till after freedom. my mother was sick and they didn't carry her and i was too little, so they left me. they was pretty good to us as far as i know. "i remember when the yankees come through. oh, yes'm, i was scared. i used to hide under the bed. i wouldn't give 'em a chance to talk to me. "our folks stayed on the nichols' place about two years. then they farmed on the shares till he got able to buy him a mule, then he rented. "after the war the cholera disease come along. my mother and sister died with it. "somebody said if you would hang up some beef outdoors between the road and the house, it would stop the disease. i know old master hung up about a half a quarter and it seemed to work. the meat would turn green. "the yankees took things to eat but the rebels would take the women's clothes--and the men's too. i guess they just took 'em 'cause they could. "biggest work i've done is farm work. "my daddy said i was sixteen when i married. i had thirteen children but they ain't all livin'. "i remember when they said they was free. some of the folks left the place and never come back and some of 'em stayed. "sometimes i had a pretty good time and sometimes pretty tough. "i'm gettin' along all right now. i stay here with my son part of the time and then i go to the country and stay with my daughter." # interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: matilda hatchett w. twenty-fifth street, north little rock, arkansas age: between and "i was born right here in arkansas about nine miles from dardanelles (dardanelle) in sevier county. i think it's sevier. no, it was yell county. yell county, that's it. you put the dardanelles there and if they get that they'll get the yell part. can't miss yell if you get dardanelles. "i wish i could get holt of some of my old white folks. maybe you can find 'em for me. there's one big policeman here looks like them but i don't know whether he is or not. the first white owners that i knowed was jackie george in south carolina. that is where i heard them talkin' about him comin' from. i wasn't born there; i was born here. i wasn't born when he come from south carolina. his wife was named nealie. he was just like a ole shoe. never whipped me but one time in my life. "i'll tell you about it. this is what they whipped me for. me and my brother, sam, had to water the horses. i didn't have to go with sam, but i was big enough to do that. we had one ole horse named john--big ole horse. i would have to git up on a ten-rail fence to git on him. one day i was leading ole john back and i got tired of walking. so when i come to a ten-rail fence, i got up on ole john. i got up on 'im backwards and i didn't have hold of no bridle nor nothin' because i was lookin' at his tail. "the others got back there before they did. ole master said to them, 'where's tillie?' "they said to him, 'she's comin', leadin' ole john.' "atter a while they saw me comin', an' one of 'em said, 'there's tillie now.' "an' 'nother one, 'man, she's sittin' on the horse backwards.' and ole john was amblin' along nippin' the grass now an' then with his bridle draggin' and me sittin' up on his back facin' his tail and slippin' and slidin' with every step. "ole john was gentle. but they were scairt he would throw me off. ole missis come out the gate and met him herself, 'cause she was 'fraid the others would 'cite him and make him throw me down. she gentled him and led him up to ole master. they was careful and gentle till they got me off that horse, and then ole master turned and lit into me and give me a brushin'. "that's the only whippin' he ever give me. but that didn't do me no good. leastwise, it didn't stop me from ridin' horses. i rode ole john ever chance i could git. but i didn't ride him backwards no more." dresses "we used to wear homespun dresses. i have spun a many a yard and wove it. did you ever see a loom? i used to have a wheel, and my children tore it up some way or 'nother. i still have the cards. we done our own knittin' and spun our own thread and knitted our socks and stockings." houses "the white folks lived in pretty good houses and we did too. they lived in big log houses. the white folks' houses had piazzas between the rooms. that haney didn't build them houses. his daddy, tim haney, built 'em. the haneys come in by tim bein' thad's father. thad married jackie george's daughter--louisa george. george was her daddy and haney was her husband. "there were four rooms besides the piazza. on one side, there was a big room built out of lumber. on the other side, there was a big room that a doctor lived in. there was a great big kitchen west of the piazza. the kitchen was about fifteen by fifteen. i know it was that large because we'd all eat at the same time. the old man, tim, owned about thirty niggers. after he died they were all divided out among the boys. every boy took his part of the land and his part of the niggers. but i wasn't at his house then. i was livin' with ole jackie george. the white folks hadn't moved together then. "but i went to ole tim haney's funeral. the old white woman fainted and they rubbed her with camphor and stuff and had her layin' out there. i wasn't old enough to cry over him and wouldn't anyhow because i didn't care nothin' much about him. but i would have cried for my ole master though, because i really loved him." soldiers "i saw the soldiers when they come through our place. the first start of us noticin' them was this. i was always up to the white folks' house. thad was goin' back to the rebel army. ole master tole my dad to go git 'im a hat. he'd got 'im one and was ridin' back with thad's hat on on top of his'n. before he could git back, here come a man jus' a ridin'. "thad was eatin'. he look out, and then he throwed his head back and said, 'them's the federals.' "thad finished his breakfast and then he ran on out and got with the federals. he didn't join 'em. he jus' fooled 'em. the bridge was half a mile from our house and the yankee army hadn't near finished crossing it when the head of it reached us. "while they were at the house, pa came ridin' up with the two hats on his head. they took the hats and throwed pa's on the ground and tried thad's on. they took the mare but they give it back. "them folks stood 'round there all day. killed hogs and cooked them. killed cows and cooked them. took all kinds of sugar and preserves and things like that. tore all the feathers out of the mattress looking for money. then they put ole miss (nealie haney) and her daughter (louisa haney) in the kitchen to cookin'. "ma got scairt and went to bed. dreckly the lieutenant come on down there and said, 'auntie, get up from there. we ain't a goin' to do you no hurt. we're after helpin' you. we are freein' you. aunt dinah, you can do as you please now. you're free.' "she was free! "they stayed 'round there all night cooking and eatin' and carryin' on. they sent some of the meat in there to us colored folks. "next mornin' they all dropped off goin' down to take dardanelles. you could hear the cannons roarin' next day. they was all night gettin' away. they went on and took dardanelles. had all them white folks runnin' and hidin'. "the secesh wouldn't go far. they would just hide. one night there'd be a gang of secesh, and the next one, there'd come along a gang of yankees. pa was 'fraid of both of 'em. secesh said they'd kill 'im if he left his white folks. yankees said they'd kill 'im if he didn't leave 'em. he would hide out in the cotton patch and keep we children out there with him. ole mis' made him carry us. "we was freed and went to a place that was full of people. we had to stay in a church with about twenty other people and two of the babies died there on account of the exposure. two of my aunts died, too, on account of exposure then. "the soldiers didn't take anything that night but food. they left all the horses. what they took was what they could eat. but they couldn't catch the turkeys. the lieutenant stayed around all the time to make the soldiers behave themselves. the meals he made my ole mis' and her daughter cook was for the officers. "yes lawd! i have been here so long i ain't forgot nothin'. i can remember things way back. i can remember things happening when i was four years old. things that happen now i can't remember so well. but i can remember things that happened way back yonder." schooling "i learnt to read a little after peace was declared. a ole lady, aunt sarah nunly, learnt us how to spell and then after that we went to school. i went to school three weeks. i never went to school much. "didn't git no chance to learn nothin' in slavery. sometimes the children would teach the darkies 'round the house their abc's. i've heard of folks teachin' their slaves to read the bible. they didn't teach us to read nothin'. i've heard of it, but i've never seen it, that some folks would cut off the first finger of a nigger that could write." father's children freed before emancipation "my father had some children that were set free. they lived down on the river bottom. their ole master was named ole crow. he died and sot his niggers free. he had four slaves. he had five. if any of you know philo pointer, his father was one of 'em. they sot him free. his daughter--crow's daughter--wanted the niggers and they would break the ole man's will. they furnished them a wagon and sot them free. they came by my father's place and he killed his hog and fed them and they put the rest of it in the wagon and went on to the free state. i've got an old piece of a dish them boys give my mama. it's done broke up to a piece now, but i saves that. "patsy crow was the name of the girl that was freed, and one of the boys was named joe crow, and the others i don't know what it was. i guess it was jim. their old master had left a will givin' them the wagon and team because he knew it wouldn't be possible for them to stay there after he died. he said he didn't want his niggers to be under anybody after he died. wills was wills in them days. his daughter wanted them niggers, but they didn't give them to her. they sot them free and sont them off." wants to see her people "i nursed three children for thad haney and louisa, his wife. them girls' names was: the oldest was julia; the next one was named emma; and the youngest one was named virginia. if i can find them and see them again, i'll be so happy. i jus' want to meet them one more time--some of them--all of them if they're livin'; but i know they can't all be living. "matilda haney was my name then, and i nursed thad's children in slavery time." age "i think i'm between ninety-seven and ninety-eight years old. they had an old-age contest in reverend smith's time. they had reverend coffee and another man here since reverend smith. the pastor we have now is yates. our church is lee chapel a. m. e. church. the contest was in i think and the people all agreed that i was the oldest colored woman in north little rock. they said i was ninety-six years old then. that would make me about ninety-eight years old now. but i saw my children afterwards and they said i was a year older. i used to have my age in the family bible and my husband's too, but it got burnt up. accordin' to them i oughta be about ninety-nine or a hundred." occupation "my folks didn't raise no cotton. they raised about two bales a year. didn't have nobody to raise it. thirty slaves were not enough for that. and they didn't care nothin' about it nohow. they had forty-six acres of land in wheat and lots in corn and potatoes. they raised cows, hogs, horses, turkeys, chickens, and everything else. even had peafowls. the geese used to run me 'round many a day. "they ran a cotton gin and my father managed it. that was his job all the time before the war. "after the war, my father farmed. he worked on shares. they never cheated him that he knew about. if they did, he didn't know it. he owned his horses and cows." # interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: john g. hawkens biscoe, arkansas age: "i was born in monroe county, mississippi december , . my parents was frances hawkens. she was a half white woman. i was told my daddy was a white man, mr. young. mother was a cook and house woman. grandmother was a field woman. she was dark but had some indian blood in her. i believe they said it was part choctaw indian. i don't remember a grandfather. "lamar county, alabama was across the line from monroe county, mississippi. one of the hawkens girls (white girl) married a man in mississippi. the master had three boys and one or two girls. grandmother was sold to the hawkens and mother was born there in alabama. there was another woman they owned called mandy. they was all the slaves they owned that i knowd of. "when the war come on, the old man hawkens was dead. his widow had three sons but one was married and off from her home somewhere. all three boys went to war. her married son died in the war. "one son went to war but he didn't want to go. he ask his mother if she rather free the negroes or go to war. she said, 'go fight till you die, it won't be nothing but a breakfast spell.' he went but come back on a furlough. he spent the rest of the time in a cave he dug down back of the field. he'd slip out and come to the house a little while at night. it was in the back woods and not very near anybody else. "aunt mandy, another old man, grandmother and my mother lived in a house in the yard, two of us was born in slavery. my sister mandy was fifteen years old when slavery ended. "the way we first heard about freedom, one of the boys come home to stay but no one knew that when he came. he told sister mandy cook him a good supper and he would tell her something good. she cooked him a good supper and set the table. he set to eat and she ask him what it was. he told her, 'all the slaves are free now.' from that on it was talked. we left there. my mother and sister mandy told me i wasn't born. we went to mississippi then. i was born over there. some sharecropped and some worked as renters. "sister mandy told so many times about carrying fire in a coffeepot--had a lid and handle--to the son in the cave. she'd go across there, a meadow like and a field, calling the sheep for a blind so if the cavalry spied her they would think she had a little feed for the sheep. the cavalry was close about. it was cold and the young master would nearly freeze in his cave. "mother said they was good to them. they never touched them to beat them but they all went from early till late. they all worked and the old mistress too. "two of mother's children was slave born. sister mandy is dead but my brother george hawkens is on appenway, little rock. he can tell you more than i know. two of us was born after slavery. we all had the same father--mr. young. he lived about two miles from hawkens and had a white wife and family. i carried water to the field where he worked and talked a little with him. i saw him when he was sick. he had consumption. i heard when he died and was buried. he never did one thing for us children. mr. young and the hawkens was partners some way in the farming. mr. young died young. "when her son told my sister mandy at supper table, 'all the slaves are free now', old mistress jumped up and said, 'it's not recorded! it's not recorded!' "mr. wolf was a man, old, old man on a big plantation. he had one hundred slaves. he didn't know his slaves when he met one of them. he had overseers. he talked with his slaves when he met one about and they would tell him, 'you're my master.' they said during the war the old man had cotton seed boiled down for his slaves to eat. the war was about to starve them all out. oil mills were unheard of at that time. "the war brought freedom and starvation both to the slaves. i heard old people say they died in piles from exposure and hunger. there was no let-up to their work after freedom. "all my family came from mississippi to forrest city, arkansas together. i married the first time there. my wife died. then i married at brinkley, arkansas. we have one boy living in lee county. he's my only child." interviewer's comment j. g. hawkens is the whitest negro i have ever seen. he has blue eyes and straight hair. he was fishing two days i went to see him. # interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lizzie hawkens biscoe, arkansas age: "i was born close to magnolia, arkansas. "my mother was harriett marshal. her old mistress was a marshal. she was a widow woman and had let all her slaves go out to her children but mama. mama was her husband's chile, what she tole mama. they come here from atlanta, georgia visiting her married daughter. they was the joiners at magnolia, arkansas. she brought mama and on her way back home to atlanta she died. her daughter brought her back and buried her in arkansas and kept mama. "mama said they was nice to her. they wouldn't let her keep company with no black folks. she was about as white as white folks. she was white as my husband. her mother was light or half white. my own papa was a black man. "the joiners and scotts visited down at magnolia among themselves but they didn't want mama to marry in the scott family (of negroes). but the white folks was mighty good friends. mama took care of the children. they was in the orchard one day. papa spied mama. he picked up a plum and threw at her. she say, 'where that come from?' he stooped down and seen her under the limbs. they was under another plum tree. papa got to talk to her that day. the old mistress wouldn't let her out of sight. papa never could have got her if mistress marshal had lived. "mama had three or four sisters and brothers in atlanta, and her mother was in atlanta. her parents were bob and lucindy marshal. bob was lucindy's master. mama told old mistress to bring harriett back and she promised she would. that was one thing made her watch after her so close. she never had been made a slave. she was to look after old mistress. "after she died mama's young mistress let papa have her. he mustered up courage to ax for her and she said, 'yes, l (for elbert), you can have her.' that was all the marrying they ever done. they never jumped over no broom she said. they was living together when she died. but in slavery times mama lived on at judge joiner's and papa at scott's place. one family lived six miles east of magnolia and the other six miles north of magnolia. papa went to see mama twelve miles. they cut through sometimes. it was dense woods. mama had one boy before freedom. in all she had three boys and four girls. "the scott and joiner white folks told the slaves about freedom. papa homesteaded a place one mile of the courthouse square. the old home is standing there now. "papa said during the civil war he hauled corn in an ox wagon. the cavalry met him more than once and took every ear and grain he had. he'd have to turn and go back. "he said when freedom come, some of the people tole the slaves, 'you have to root pig or die poor.' "my great-grandpa was sold in south carolina. he said he rather die than be sold. he went up in the mountains and found a den of rattlesnakes to bite him. they was under a stone. said when he seen them he said, 'uhher! you can't bite me.' they commenced to rattle like dry butter-beans. he went on and dressed to be sold. master scott bought him and brought him on to arkansas. he had to leave his wife. he never got back to see her. "grandpa had to come leave his wife. he married ag'in and had five sons and a girl. they was glasco, alex, hilliard, elbert, bill, and katherine. they belong to spencers till the scotts bought them but all these children was his scott children. "my uncle's wife belong to white folks not scotts. scotts wouldn't sell and her folks wouldn't part from her. they moved down in louisiana and took her and one chile. uncle run away to see her. the scotts put the hounds after him and run him two days and two nights. he was so tired he stopped to rest. the dogs come up around him. he took a pine knot and killed the lead dog, hit him in the head and put him in a rotten knot hole of a hollow tree been burned out and just flew. the dogs scattered and he heard the horns. he heard the dogs howl and the hoofs of the man's horses. the old master was dead. he didn't allow the boys to slash in among his niggers. after he died they was bossy. uncle said he made his visit and come back. he didn't ever tell them he killed the lead dog nor how close they come up on him. he said they was glad to see him when he come back. his wife was named georgana. "after freedom grandpa named himself spencer scott. he buried his money. he made a truck garden and had patches in slavery both in south carolina and at magnolia. he told me he had rusty dollars never been turned over since they made him came here. he left some money buried back there. we found his money on his place at magnolia when he died. he tole us where it was. "one night he was going across a bridge and taking a sack of melons to magnolia to sell in slavery times. a bear met him. he jumped at the bear and said 'boo'. the bear growled and run on its way. he said he was so scared he was stiff. they let them work some patches at night and sell some things to make a little money. the ole master give them some money if they went to the city. that was about twice a year papa said. he never seen a city till years after freedom. his pa and grandpa got to go every now and then. magnolia was no city in them days. "it is hard to raise children in this day and time. when i went on the betzner place (near biscoe, arkansas) my son was eight years old. he growed up along side brooks (betzner). i purt nigh talked my tongue out of my head and brooks' (white boy) mother did the same thing. every year when we would lay by, me and my husband (white negro) would go on a camp. brooks would ask me if he could go. we took the two of them. (the hawkens boy is said to be a dark mulatto--ed.) he's a smart boy, a good farmer down in lee county now. he married when he was nineteen years old. it is hard to raise a boy now. there is boxing and prize fighting and pool halls and _that's not right_! times are not improving as i can see in that way. worse than i have ever seen them." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: becky hawkins louisiana street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm, i was born in slave times but my mammy was sucklin' me. don't know much bout slavery but just come up free. "my mammy's old master was calvin goodloe in alabama, pulaski county, near tuscumbia. i heered my uncle say old master favored his niggers. "mammy told me bout em gettin' whippin's, but she never let the overseer whip her--she'd go to old master. "my grandmama's hair was straight but she was black. she was mixed indian. my mammy's father was indian and she say he fought in the revolution. she had his pistol and rocks. when he died he was the oldest man around there. "i tell you what i remember. i 'member my mammy had a son named enoch and he nussed me in slave days when mammy was workin' in the field. they didn't low em to go to the house but three times a day--that was the women what had babies. but i was so sickly mammy had enoch bring me to the fence so she could suckle me. "i went to school down here in arkansas in lincoln county. i got so i could read in mcguffy's fourth reader. i member that story bout the white man chunkin' the boy down out of the apple tree. "that was a government school on the railroad--notch house. just had one door and one window. they took the nigger cabins and made a schoolhouse. "after freedom my mammy stayed on old master's place--he didn't drive em away. my mammy spinned the raw cotton and took it to tuscumbia and got it wove. some of it she dyed. i know when i was a gal i wore a checked dress with a white apron. and my first sunday dress was striped cotton. after she worked enough she bought me a red worsted dress and trimmed it and a sailor hat. we went to church and they led me by the hand. after church i had to take off my dress and hang it up till next sunday. had a apron made of cross barred muslin. don't see any of that now. it was made with a bodice and had ruffles round the neck. wore brass toed shoes and balmoral stockin's in my gal time. when my husband was courtin' me, my dress was down to my shoe top. he never saw my leg! "my fust work was nussin'. i went to hot springs with the white folks. i nussed babies till i got against nussin' babies. i stayed right in the house and slep on a sofa with a baby in my arms. in my time they lowed you off half a day on sunday. "chile, i washed and ironed and washed and ironed and washed and ironed till i married. i married when i was seventeen. my mother was dead and i'd rather been married than runnin' loose--i might a stepped on a snake. "my daddy was a ex-soldier. i don't know what side he fought on but my mammy got bounty when he died. that's what she bought that land with down here in lincoln county from her old master goodloe. "i tell you--i'm a old christian and i think this younger generation is growin' up like christ said--they is gettin' weaker and wiser. "my mother's sister, patience goodloe, lived in pulaski county, alabama and i went back there after i was married and stayed two months. i went up and down the fields where my daddy and mommy worked. i went out to the graveyard where my little brother was buried but they had cotton and corn planted on the old slavetime graveyard. "i like that country lots better than this here arkansas. don't have no springs or nothin' here." # interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: g. w. hawkins appianway, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in lamar county, vernon, alabama, january , . i was a slave only four months. "my father was arter hawkins and my mother was named frances. my grandmother on my mother's side was malvina. i forget the name of my great-grandmother, but i believe it was elizabeth. she was one hundred nine years old and i was twelve years old then. her mind was just like a little sparrow floating in the air. that was my great-grandmother on my mother's side. my grandfather on my father's side was named alec young. my mother's father was named eliza wright. "my mother's people were the hawkins, and my father's were the yanceys. "my father and mother were farmers, and ran whiskey stills. there wasn't any revenue on whiskey then. the first revenue ever paid on whiskey was ten cents. the reason i remember that so well was that a fellow named john hayman ran a still after the revenue was put on the stuff. finally they caught him. they fined him. "my folks farmed right after freedom and they farmed in slavery time. they didn't raise no cotton. they raised corn and wheat and such as that in alabama. alabama is good for cotton, corn, wheat, tobacco, or anything you want to grow. it is the greatest fruit country in the world. "right after freedom, my folks continued to farm till they all played out." [hw: insert on p.  ] "i came out here after i got grown. i just took a notion to go somewhere else. i have been in arkansas forty-eight years. i first lived in forrest city. stayed there six years and did carpenter work. i have been a carpenter all my life--ever since i was about sixteen years old. i went to barton, arkansas and stayed there two years and then came here. i have supported myself by carpenter work ever since i came here. i helped build the frisco road from potts camp to the alabama river. that is the other side of jefferson county in alabama. "i haven't asked for the old folks pension--can't get no one to believe that i am old enough for one thing. can't get it nohow. it is for destitute people. i can't get under the security because they say i am too old for that. i'm too much of a worker to get old age assistance and too old to be allowed to put up tax to become eligible for old age pension. "i never went to school. i just got an old blue back speller and taught myself how to read and write with what i picked up here and there from people i watched. that's one way a man never fails to learn--watching people. that's the only way our forefathers had to learn. i learned arithmetic the same way. i never considered i was much at figuring but i took a contract from a man who had all kinds of education and that man said i could do arithmetic better than he could. "i belong to the a. m. e. church. i have been a member of it for forty-one years. "i have three boys living and one stepdaughter. but she feels like she is my own. i don't make any difference. i never have whipped my children. i had one child--a girl--that died when she was eight months old. i taught all my boys the carpenter trade, and they all work and stay right here at home with me." living conditions during and immediately after slavery "there are two quarters that i used to visit with my grandmother when i was a little boy. the boss's house was built so that he could stand on the porch of his house and see anything on the place, even in the slave quarters. the houses were all built out of logs. the roof was put on with what they called rib poles. they built the cable and cut each beam shorter than the other. they laid the boards across them and put a big log on top of them to weight them down, so that the wind couldn't blow the planks off. they were home-made planks. they didn't have no nails. they had nothing but dirt floors. "where the men folks were thrifty when they wanted to, they would go out at night and split the logs into slabs and then level them as much as they could and use those for floors. all the colored folks' were split log floors if there were any floors at all. there was no lumber then. the planks were made with whipsaws and water-mills. i was a grown man before i ever saw a steam mill. the quarters that i saw were those that were built in slave time. "if cracks were too big, they would put a pole in the crack and fill up the rest of it with mud--that is what they called chink and dob. the doors were hung on wooden hinges. they would bore a hole through the hinge and through the door and put a wooden pin in it in place of screws. there wasn't a nail or a screw in the whole house when it was finished. they did mortise and tenon joints--all frame houses. where we use nails now, if they had to, they would bore a hole and drive in a pin--wooden pin." furniture "the colored folks would put a post out from the corner and bore a hole and put the other end in it. they wouldn't have any slats but would just lay boards across the side and put wheat or oat straw on the boards. the women made all the quilts. what i mean, they carded the rolls, spun the thread--spun it on an old hand-turned wheel--and then they would reel it off of the broach onto the reel and make hanks out of it. then they would run it off on what they called quills. then it would go 'round a big pin and come out with the threads separated. then they would run through something like a comb and that would make the cloth. "it was the rule in slave time to card one hundred rolls. sometimes they would be up till after twelve o'clock at night. they carded that in one night and spun it the next night. start with old cotton just like it come from the gin. card it one night and spin it the next. done wool and cotton the same way. one hundred rolls carded gave enough threads to make a yard of cloth. "in them days they tasked everybody to the limit." stoves "for stoves they used an iron pot on a big fire. in the kitchen, they had a fireplace built ten feet wide. they had things they called pot racks hung down from the chimney, and they would hang pots on them. they put the pots on those hooks and not on the logs. when they baked bread they would use iron skillets--north carolina people called them spiders. they would put an iron lid on them and put fire over the top and underneath the skillet and bake good bread. i mean that old-time bread was good bread. they baked the light bread the same way. they baked biscuits once a week. sunday mornings was about the only time you ever got them." food in general (slaves) "in slavery times they had all kinds of meat--more than they have now--, vegetables and fruits too. they raised them themselves. there wasn't no food issued. didn't need to be. one cook cooked it all in one kitchen and they all sat around the same big old long table long as a house. all the hands ate at the same table and in the same room and at the same time. "the way they fed the children, they took pot-liquor or bean soup or turnip liquor or the juice from anything they boiled and poured it out in a great big wooden bowl and let all the children get 'round it like so many cats and they would just tip their hands in it and eat what they wanted. of course they had all the milk they wanted because everybody raised cows. i didn't have to undergo this myself, but this was what they had to undergo at the places where my grandmother took me to visit." clothes "a colored boy had to be more than twelve years old before he wore a pair of pants. he wore nothing but a long shirt that come down to his knees. the hands in slave time wore homemade shirts. all clothes were homemade--pants and coats and dresses and stockings and everything. the shoes were made out of harness leather. tanned and made right by hand at home. i have seen tanning vats and yards two blocks square." patrollers "you had to get a pass from owners to go out at night. if you had a pass and the pateroles found you, it was all right if you hadn't overstayed the time that was written on it. if you didn't have a pass or if you had overstayed your time, it was still all right if you could outrun the pateroles. that held before freedom and it held a long time after freedom. the pateroles were still operating when i was old enough to remember those old quarters. they didn't break them up for a long time. i remember them myself. i don't mean the ku klux. the ku klux was a different thing altogether. the ku klux didn't exist before the war. i don't know where they got the name from--i don't know whether they give it to themselves or the people give it to them. but the ku klux came after the war and weren't before it." ku klux influence on negroes "the ku klux klan weren't just after negroes. they got after white folks and negroes both. i didn't think they were so much after keeping the negro from voting as some other things. "there was one colored fellow in alabama--i think his name was egbert bondman--that wasn't influenced. he was a politician and they got after him one time. he lived about six miles south of vernon in lamar county, alabama. he went down to the hole where they watered their horses and stretched an old cable wire across the road just high enough to trip up their horses. he hid in the woods and cut down on them with his shotgun when they came up. i hear there was one more scramble when those horses commenced stumbling, and those men started running through the forest to get away from that shot. "i remember one night my mother woke me up, and i looked out and there was a lot of the ku klux riding down the road. they had on long white robes and looked like a flock of geese in the dark. "the main thing the ku klux seemed to try to do, it seemed to me, was to try to keep the colored folks obedient to their former masters and to keep the white folks from giving them too much influence. and they wanted to stop the white men that ran after colored women. "but they didn't last long. they whipped a fellow named huggins in the early seventies, and he was a government man. after that government men camped on their trail, and they didn't amount to much." slave breeding "the thing they were fighting began in slavery. there were slave men kept that forced slave women to do what they wanted to do. and if the slave women didn't do it, the masters or the overseers whipped them till they did. the women were beat and made to go to them. they were big fine men, and the masters wanted the women to have children by them. and there were some white men, too, who forced the slave women to do what they wanted to. some of them didn't want to stop when slavery stopped." slave tasks and hours of work "i've told you the slaves were tasked to the limit. the hours of the slave hands--if it was summer time--he must be in the field when the sun rose. and he must come home and eat his dinner and get back in the field and stay till the sun went down. in the winter time he must be out there by the time it was light enough to see the work and stay out till it was just too dark to see the work with just enough time out to stop and eat his dinner. this was just after slavery that i remember. but the hours were the same then. the average on cotton picking was two hundred pounds a day. pulling fodder was a hundred bundles. gathering corn and such as that was all they could do." wages just after freedom "the average wage that a man got for twenty-six days' work--twenty-six days were counted a working month--was eight dollars and board for the month. that was the average wage for work like that. that is the way they worked then." this matter of slave clothes again "clothes!!! they didn't know nothing 'bout underclothes. they didn't wear them just after the war, and i know they didn't before the war--not in my part of alabama. that's the reason why they say the negro is cold natured. he didn't have anything on. i have seen many a boy picking and chopping cotton on a cold autumn day with nothing on but his shirt. in his bare feet too. he got one pair of shoes a year and he didn't get no more. when he wore them out, he didn't have any till the next year. "when i was a boy i have seen many a young lady walk to church with her shoes flung over her shoulders and wait till she got nearly there before she would put them on. she didn't want to wear them out too soon. "i didn't have to undergo this myself. "when i was ten years old, my job was to drive a [hw: ox] team twenty-six miles, and it took me two days to go and two days to come and one day to load and unload--five days. the team was loaded with cotton going and anything coming back. we used to get salt from some place near new orleans. we would drive ox teams down there, put in on order, wait till they dipped the water out of the lake, boiled the salt out of it, and packed it up. there was no such thing as mining salt like they do now. it would take from august first till about the middle of september to get it. ox team won't make more than about twelve miles a day. the people would make up a wagon train and go and come together. people in those days didn't believe a horse would pull anything but a buggy, so they used steers mostly for heavy pulling. they ran all gins and thrashers by horse power and the running gear was all made out of wood. a lot of people say you couldn't make a wooden cotton press that would pack a bale of cotton. you can make a wooden press that will break a bale in two. of course the gin was made out of metal. but they made the press out of wood." slave schooling "the slaves were not allowed to learn anything. sometimes one would be shrewd enough to get in with the white children and they would teach him his a-b-c's, and after he learnet to spell he would steal books and get out and learn the rest for himself." how freedom came "the way i heard it the owners called their slaves up and told them they was free. they give them their choice of leaving or staying. most of them stayed." first crop after freedom "in , when the slaves were freed, they acknowledged they were free in may in alabama. all that was free and would stay and help them make their crops, they give them one-tenth. that is, one-tenth went to all the hands put together. of course if they had a lot of hands that wouldn't be much. then again, it might be a good deal. i know about that by hearing the old people talk about it." opinions "i'll tell you my opinions some other time. i think the young people are beyond control. i don't have any trouble with mine. i never have had any trouble with them." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: eliza hays w. twentieth street, little rock, arkansas age: or more "on the fourth of august, my birthday, and directly after the colored people were set free, all the white people gave a great big dinner to the slaves. all the white people at my home came together and gave a big dinner to us. it was that way all over the united states. my mother told me i was four years old at that big dinner. they went to a great big book and throwed it open and found my birthday in it. i never will forget that. you can figure from that exactly how old i am. (seventy-seven or seventy-eight--ed.) "my mother's name was elizabeth tuggle and my father's name was albert tuggle. my mother was the mother of sixteen children. they were some of them born in freedom and some born in slavery. they are all dead but three. my mother was married twice. "old tom owens was my mother's master. i just do remember him. my father's master was named tom tuggle. my mother and my father got together by going different places and meeting. they went together till freedom and weren't married except in the way they married in slavery. during slavery times, old master gave you to some one and that was all of it. my father asked my mother's old master if he could go with my mother and old man owens said yes. then father went to her cabin to see her. when freedom came, he taken her to his place and married her accordin' to the law. "aunt mariny tuggle was my father's mother. i don't know anything about his father. she has been dead! she died when i was young. i can remember her well, though. "i can remember my mother's mother. her name was eliza whitelow. her husband was named jack whitelow. they was my grandfather and my grandmother on my mother's side. they old people. i can remember seeing them. "i never saw my grandfather on my father's side. that was way back in slavery time. i used to hear them say he was a guinea man. he was short. my own father was small too. but my father's father was short as i am. i am about four and a half feet tall. (i stopped here and measured her, and she was exactly four feet six inches tall--ed.) i never heard nobody say where he came from. my father's sisters were part indian. their hair was longer than that ruler you got in your hand there. it came down on their shoulders. they was a shade brighter than i am. "my father's mother was small too. his sisters were not whole sisters; their daddy was indian." occupation "my father and his father and mother were all farmers. my mother and her mother were farmers too. all my people were long-lived. grandpa, grandma, and all of them. i reckon there about a hundred children scattered back there in tennessee. brother's children and sister's children. i believe my folks would take care of me if they knew about my condition. these folks here are mean. them folks would take care of me if i were home." slave houses "the slaves lived in old log houses; just one room, one door, one window, one everything. they had any kind of furniture they could git. some of them had old homemade beds and some of them one thing and another. you know the white folks wasn't goin' to give them no furniture. "they had plenty of meat and bread and milk to eat. coarse food--the commonest kind of food they could get 'hold of! when i knowed anything, i was in the big house eating the bes' with the white folks. some of them could live well then. my mama gave me to the owenses--her old mistress. i was raised on a pallet in the house. i was in the house from the time i was large enough to be taken from my mother. i didn't never do any work till i was married. old mistress wouldn't let me work. just keep by her and hand her a drink of water, and on like that. she's dead now--dead, dead, dead! they didn't leave but two children, they was 'round in the country somewheres then i left there. "after i married i went to her husband's first wife's child. she had about nine or ten boys and one girl. i raised part of them. but most of them was great big children--big enough for me to throw a glass of milk at their heads. i would fight. sometimes they used to hear them hollering and come out, and i would be throwing a glass at one and jumping across the table at the other. but when them boys grew up, they loved me just the same as anybody. nobody in town could touch me, right or wrong." mean masters "my mother's masters used to tie her down before the dairy door and have two men beat her. she has told me that they used to beat her till the blood ran down on the bricks. some white people in slavery times was good to the niggers. but those were mean, that's the reason i ain't got no use for white folks. i'm glad i was not old in that time. i sure would have killed anybody that treated me that way. i don't know that my father's people beat him up. i think his people were kinder and sorter humored him because he was so small." marriage "they tell me some of them would have a big supper and then they would hug and kiss each other and jump over the broomstick and they were supposed to be married." amusement and recreation "they used to go out and dance and carry on for amusement, and they would go to church too. it was just about like it is now. dancing and going to church is about all they do now, isn't it? they got a gambling game down there on the corner. they used to do some of that too, i guess." breeders "i have heard my mother say many times that a woman would be put up on the block and sold and bring good money because she was known to be a good and fast breeder." ku klux, patrollers, robbers "i've heard of the pateroles and ku klux. i thought they said the ku klux was robbers. i think the ku klux came after the war. but there was some during the war that would come 'round and ask questions. 'where's yo' old master?' 'where's his money hid?' 'where's his silverware?' and on like that. then they would take all the money and silver and anything else loose that could be carried away. and some of them used to steal the niggers theirselves 'specially if they were little childrens. they was scared to leave the little children run 'round because of that." opinions "i don't know. i better keep my 'pinions to myself. you just have to go on and be thankful and look to the lord." support and later life "i haven't done a day's work for seven years. i haven't been able. i have a son, but he has a family of his own to support and can't do nothin' for me. i have another son but he is now out of work himself. he can't get anything to do. i just have to git along on what little i can turn up myself, and what little i get from my friends. "my husband died about seven years ago. i have lost two boys inside of seven years. after they died, i went right on down. i ain't been no good since. the youngest one, mose, got killed on a sunday night. i felt it on saturday night and screamed so that people had to come 'round me and hold me and comfort me. then on sunday night mose got shot and i went crazy. he was my baby boy and he and his brother were my only support. my other boy got sick and died at the hospital. when the man stepped on the porch to tell me he was dead, i knew it when i heard him step up before he could say a word. i can't git to see his wife now. she was the sweetest woman ever was. she was sure good to my son. she treated him like he was a baby. she was devoted to him and his last request to her was to see to me. i don't know just where she is now, but she's in the city somewheres. she would help me i know if i could get to her. "my husband was a preacher. he pastored the st. john baptist church for fifteen years. he lived here over thirty years before he died. i left a good home in brownsville, tennessee. that's where we were married. i have been married twice. i lived with my first husband, george shaver, a year. i married him about . i was single for two years. after that i married rev. hays. i lived with rev. hays about twenty-one years in brownsville, tennessee. we bought a house and lot there. we were gettin' along fine when we decided to come here. he was a shoemaker then. he made shoes after he came here, too. i ran a restaurant in brownsville. i guess we lived together more then fifty years in all. he died seven years ago. "i rent these two rooms in this little shack. they won't give me no help at the welfare." --- - interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: tom haynes w. second street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was six years old when the war ended--the day we was set free. my old mistress, miss becky franks, come in and say to my mother 'addie, you is free this morning' and commenced cryin'. she give my mother some jerked beef for us. "i know i run out in the yard where there was eighty yankee soldiers and i pulled out my shirt tail and ran down the road kickin' up the dust and sayin', 'i'm free, i'm free!' my mother said, 'you'd better come back here!' "i never knew my mother to get but one whippin'. she put out her mouth against old mistress and she took her out and give her a breshin'. "i can remember away back. i can remember when i was three years old. one day i was out in the yard eatin' dirt and had dirt all over my face. young master henry come out and say 'stick out your tongue, i'm goin' to cut it off.' i was scared to death. he said 'now you think you can quit eatin' that dirt?' i said 'yes' so he let me go. "one time the yankee soldiers took young master henry and hung him up by the thumbs and tried to make him tell where the money was. master henry's little brother jim and me run and hid. we thought they was goin' to hang us too. we crawled under the house just like two frogs lookin' out. "old master had about thirty-five hands but some of em run away to war. my father run away too, but the war ended before he could get into it. "i went to school a little while, but my father died and my mother bound me out to a white man. "when we was first freed i know those eighty soldiers took us colored folks to the county band in monticello. there was forty soldiers in the back and forty in front and we was in the swing. "i learned to read after i was grown. i worked for the railroad in the freight office fifteen years and learned to check baggage. "i was a house mover when i was able, but i'm not able to work now. i own this house here and i'm livin' on the relief. "my father was a blacksmith and shoemaker--made all our shoes. i've lived in town all my life. "the people are better off free if they had any sense. they need a leader. when they had a chance if they had bought property, but no--they wanted to get in office and when they got in they didn't know how to act. and the young people don't use their education to help themselves." # interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: joe haywood west eleventh street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born the first day of january, born in mississippi, yazoo county. my mother said i was a new year's present. a. m. payne was our owner. "i just do 'member seein' the soldiers and that's all. i 'member the brim of slavery and that's all. "i member henry dixon. he was a klu klux. he was klu klukin round breakin' up the benevolent societies. he was a real bad man. he just went round with his crowd and broke 'em up. my owner was a good man--good man. they all give him a good name. "our folks stayed there till i was plumb grown. "i've farmed, carpentered, and all kinds of work on the plantation. i've been a engineer in a gin and gettin' out crops every year. "after i left mississippi i just roved around. went through louisiana to texas. i lived in texas. i reckon, from to ' . then i started to rove again. i roved from texas back home to mississippi in . stayed there till , then i roved over here to arkansas. i done got too old to rove now. "school? oh lord, i went to school all my days till i was grown. they kep' me in school. my mother kep' me in till she died and then my stepmother kep' me in. i got very near through the fifth grade. in my day the fifth grade was pretty good. wilson's fifth reader was a pretty good book. they took me out of wilson's fifth reader and put me in mcguffy's and there's where i quit. studied the blue back speller. "i've had some narrow escapes in my life. i had a shot right through here in the breast bone--right over my heart. that was in ninety-six. me and another fellow was projectin with a gun. "then i had a bad accident on the ninth of march, . a -foot log came down on me. it near 'bout killed me. i was under a doctor 'bout six or eight months. that's how come i'm crippled now. it broke my leg and it's two inches shorter than the other one. i walked on crutches 'bout five years. got my jawbone broke too. couldn't eat? i ain't never stopped eatin'. ain't no way to stop me from eatin' 'cept to not give it to me. "i compressed after i got my leg broke. and i was a noble good bricklayer. "i never have voted. nobody ever pushed me up to it and i ain't never been bothered 'bout anything like that. everythin was a satisfaction to me. just whatever way they went was a satisfaction to me. "i have never heard my folks give my white folks no 'down the hill'. my daddy was brought from charleston, south carolina. he was a ship carpenter. he did all of payne's carpenter work from my baby days up. "the last of the paynes died since i came here to arkansas. he was a a. m. payne, too. "i can 'member the soldiers marchin' by. they wore yellow shirts and navy blue coats. i know the coats had two little knobs right behind, just the color of the coat. "i don't know what to think of the younger generation. i don't know why and what to think of 'em. just don't know how to take 'em. ain't comin' like i did. lay it to the parents. they have plenty of leaders outside the family. "i'm lookin' for a better time. god's got his time set for 'em on that. "i belong to st. james methodist episcopal church." # interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: marie e. hervey pulaski street, little rock, arkansas age: "i have heard my father and mother talk over the war so many times. they would talk about how the white people would do the colored and how the yankees would come in and tear up everything and take anything they could get their hands on. they would tell how the colored people would soon be free. my mama's white folks went out and hid when the yankees were coming through. "my father's white people were named taylor's--old job taylor's folks. they lived in tennessee. "my mother said they had a block to put the colored people and their children on and they would tell them to tell people what they could do when the people asked them. it would just be a lot of lies. and some of them wouldn't do it. one or two of the colored folks they would sell and they would carry the others back. when they got them back they would lock them up and they would have the overseers beat them, and bruise them, and knock them 'round and say, 'yes, you can't talk, huh? you can't tell people what you can do?' but they got a beating for lying, and they would uh got one if they hadn't lied, most likely. "they used to take pregnant women and dig a hole in the ground and put their stomachs in it and whip them. they tried to do my grandma that way, but my grandpa got an ax and told them that if they did he would kill them. "they never could do anything with him. "my mother's people were the hess's. they were pretty good to her. it was them that tried to whip my grandma though. "you had to call everybody 'mis'' and 'mars' in those days. all the old people did it right after slavery. they did it in my time. but we children wouldn't. they sent me and my sister up to the house once to get some meal. we said we weren't goin' to call them no 'mars' and 'mis'.' two or three times we would get up to the house, and then we would turn 'round and go back. we couldn't make up our minds how to get what we was sent after without sayin' 'mars' and 'mis'.' finally old man nick noticed us and said, 'what do you children want?' and we said, 'grandma says she wants some meal.' when we got back, grandma wanted to know why we took so long to go and come. we told her all about it. "people back home still have those old ways. if they meet them on the street, you got to get off and let them by. an old lady just here a few years ago wouldn't get off the sidewalk and they went to her house and beat her up that night. that is in brownsville, tennessee in hayeard [hw: haywood] county. that's an old rebel place. "white people were pretty good to the old colored folks right after the war. the white folks were good to my grandfather. the taylors were. they would give him a hog or something every christmas. all the old slaves used to go to the big house every christmas and they would give them a present. "my husband ran off from his white people. they was in helena. that's where he taken the boat. he and a man and two women crossed the river on a plank. he pulled off his coat and got a plank and carried them across to the other side. he was goin' to meet the soldiers. he had been told that they were to come through there on the boat at four o'clock that afternoon. the rebels had him and the others taking them some place to keep them from fallin' into the hands of the yankees, and they all ran off and hid. they laid in water in the swamp all that night. their bosses were looking for them everywhere and the dogs bayed through the forest, but they didn't find them. and they met some white folks that told them the boat would come through there at four o'clock and the white folks said, 'when it comes through, you run and get on it, and when you do, you'll be free. you'll know when it's comin' by its blowin' the whistle. you'll be safe then, 'cause they are yankees.' "and he caught it. he had to cross the river to get over into helena to the place where the boat would make its landin'. after that he got with the yankees and went to a whole lot of places. when he was mustered out, they brought him back to little rock. the people were burl ishman and two women who had their children with them. i forget the names of the women. they followed my husband up when he ran off. my husband's first name was aaron. "my husband had a place on his back i'll remember long as i live. it was as long as your forearm. they had beat him and made it. he said they used to beat niggers and then put salt and pepper into their wounds. i used to tell daddy that 'you'll have to forget that if you want to go to heaven.' i would be in the house working and daddy would be telling some white person how they 'bused the slaves, and sometimes he would be tellin' some colored person 'bout slavery. "they sold him from his mother. they sold his mother and two children and kept him. he went into the house crying and old mis' gave him some biscuits and butter. you see, they didn't give them biscuits then. that was the same as givin' him candy. she said, 'old mis' goin' to give you some good biscuits and some butter.' he never did hear from his mother until after freedom. some thought about him and wrote him a letter for her. there was a man here who was from north carolina and my husband got to talking with him and he was going back and he knew my husband's mother and his brother and he said he would write to my husband if my husband would write him a letter and give it to him to give to his mother. he did it and his mother sent him an answer. he would have gone to see her but he didn't have money enough then. the bank broke and he lost what little he had saved. he corresponded with her till he died. but he never did get to see her any more. "nothin' slips up on me. i have a guide. i am warned of everything. nothin' happens to me that i don't know it before. follow your first mind. conscience it is. it's a great thing to have a conscience. "i was born in tennessee. i have been in arkansas about forty-six years. i used to cook but i didn't do it long. i never have worked out much only just my work in the house. my husband has been dead four years this last april. he was a good man. we were married forty years the eleventh of december and he died on the eighth of april." may interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: phillis hicks edmondson, arkansas age: "my mother's owner was master priest gates. he had a son in memphis. i seen him not long ago. he is an insurance agent. they was rosy rich looking folks. mama was a yellow woman. she had fourteen living children. her name was harriett gates. papa named shade huggins. they belong to different folks. they was announced married before the war and they didn't have to remarry. "she said the overseers was cruel to them. they had white men overseers. she was a field hand. i heard her say she was so tired when she come to the house she would take her baby in her arms to nurse and go to sleep on the steps or under a tree and never woke till they would be going to the field. she would get up and go on back. they et breakfast in the field many and many a time. old people cooked and took care of the children. she never was sold. i don't know if my father was. they come from alabama to mississippi and my mother had been brought from georgia to alabama. "she picked geese till her fingers would bleed to make feather beds for old master i reckon. they picked geese jus' so often. the gates had several big quarters and lots of land. they come to be poor people after the war--land poor. mother left gates after the war. they didn't get nothing but good freedom as i ever heard of. my father was a shoemaker at old age. he said he learned his trade in slavery times. he share cropped and rented after freedom. "i heard 'em say the ku klux kept 'em run in home at night. so much stealing going on and it would be laid at the hands of the colored folks if they didn't stay in place. ku klux made them work, said they would starve and starve white folks too if they didn't work. they was share cropping then, yes ma'am, all of them. i know that they said they had no stock, no land, no rations, no houses to live in, their clothes was thin. they said it was squally times in slavery and worse after freedom. they wore the new clothes in winter. by summer they was wore thin and by next winter they had made some more cloth to make more new clothes. they wove one winter for the next winter. when they got to share croppin' they had to keep a fire in the fireplace all night to warm by. the clothes and beds was rags. corn bread and meat was all they had to eat. maybe they had pumpkins, corn, and potatoes. they said it was squally times. "i got a place. i rented it out to save it. my brother rents it. i can't hardly pay taxes. i'd like to get some help. i could sew if they would let me on. i can see good. i'm going to chop cotton but it so long till then. "i washed and ironed in memphis till washing went out of style. prices are so high now and cotton cheap. i'm counting on better times. "times is close. young folks is like young folks always been. some are smart and some lazy. none don't look ahead. they don't think about saving. guess they don't know how to save. right smart spends it foolish. i'm a widow and done worked down." ex-slaves interviewer: pernella anderson [hw: hicks, will] "i was born in farmerville, la., i don't know what year. i was about three or four years at surrender. i lived with my mother and father. the first work i ever did was plow. i did not work very hard at no time but what ever there was to do i went on and got through with it. all of our work was muscle work. there were no cultivators. "i stayed at home with my father and mother until i was years of age. i was thirty years old when papa died and mother lived two years longer. about a month after mother died i married. we lived in a real good house. my father bought it after slavery time. we had good furniture that was bought from the hardware. the first stove that we used we bought it and father bought it just after surrender. never used a homemade broom in my life. now, ma just naturally liked ash cakes so she always cooked them in the fireplace. we wore all homespun clothes, and we wore the big bill baily hats. we chaps went barefooted until i was years old then i bought my first pair of shoes. they were brass toe progans. i never been in the school house a day in my life. can't read neither write nor figure. i went to church. our first preacher was name prince jones. the biggest games i played was ball and card. i was one of the best dancers. we danced the old juland dance, swing your partner, promonate. danced by fiddling. the fiddlers could beat the fiddlers of today. get your partners, swing them to the left and to the right, hands up four, swing corners, right hands up four promonate all around all the way, git your partners boys. i shoot dice, drink, i got drunk and broke up church one sunday night. me and sister broke up a dinner once because we got drunk. whiskey been in circulation a long time. there have been bad people ever since i been in the world." --will hicks. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: bert higgins missouri street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in slavery times. i was thirteen when peace declared. i was workin' in the field. "no ma'am, i wasn't born in arkansas. i was born in macon, mississippi. "marcus higgins was my old master. he was good to me. he treated me all right. "he had a good big plantation--had two plantations. one in north carolina and one in mississippi. "sold? yes'm, i was put up on the block, but they couldn't quite make it. had six of us--boys and girls--and he sold one or two i 'member. but that's been a long time. "yes'm, i can 'member when i was a boy in slavery. run off too. old master ketch me and switch me. look like the switch would sting so. 'member the last switchin' i got. dr. henderson--i think he was old master's son-in-law. me? well, he whipped me 'cause i'd steal his eggs. i don't reckon i would a been so bad but i was raised up a motherless child. my mother died and my stepmother died. "i can 'member pretty well way back there. "he'd send me off on a mule to carry the mail to his people around. and i used to tote water. he had a heap a darkies. "i could do very well now if i could see and if i wasn't so crippled up. i was a hard worker. "we had a plenty to eat and plenty to wear in slavery times. "old master would whip me if i went any further than the orchard. if i did happen to go outside the field, i come in 'fore night. but i hardly ever went outside. sometimes i run off and when i come back to the house, he'd give me a breshin'. "i seen the yankees durin' of the war. i run from 'em and hid. i thought they was tryin' to carry me off. white folks never did tell me nothin'. they'd come in and throw things outdoors and destroy 'em--old master's provisions. and they'd take things to eat too. "my father belonged to marcus higgins when i first could remember. "after freedom we stayed there till i was grown. i don't never 'member him payin' me, but i got somethin' to eat and a place to stay. "i never went to school; i had to work. i farmed all my life till i come to the city of pine bluff. i worked here 'bout thirty years. "i've always been well treated by my white folks. i never sassed a white person in my life as i remember of--never did. i think that's the reason i was so well took care of 'cause i never sassed 'em. i've always tried to do what was right. "i think these here government people have treated us mighty well. they have give us money and other things. "when we got free old master read it to us out of the paper. we was out in the field and i was totin' water. some of 'em struck work and went to the house and set around a while but they soon went back to the field. and a few days after that he hired 'em. "old master was good. he'd let you stop and rest. he hired a overseer but he didn't do no work. the time run out 'fore he got started. "i think this younger generation is havin' a heap harder time than the old folks did. their disbehavior and the way they carry theirselves now'days. so many of 'em will pick up things don't belong to 'em. "i don't believe in these here superstitions. i tried carryin' a rabbit foot and i know it never brought me no good luck. if you serve the lord and try to live right, pray and serve the lord, and whatever you need you'll get it." # form a _circumstances of interview_ state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave . name and address of informant--annie hill, izard street, little rock. . date and time of interview-- . place of interview-- izard street, little rock. . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant-- . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you-- . description of room, house, surroundings, etc.-- # form b _personal history of informant_ state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave name and address of informant--annie hill, izard street, little rock. . ancestry--father, richard hill; mother hulda bruce. . place and date of birth--nashville, arkansas in . . family-- . places lived in, with dates--nashville, benton and little rock. no dates. . education, with dates-- . occupations and accomplishments, with dates--laundry work. . special skills and interests-- . community and religious activities-- . description of informant-- . other points gained in interview-- # form c _text of interview (unedited)_ state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave name and address of informant--annie hill, izard street, little rock "my mother lived to be one hundred years old. she died in . her name is hulda bruce. she belonged to a man named leslie during slavery. i forget his name--his first name. she come from mississippi. she was sold there when she was eleven years old. that is where all her people were. there might be some of them here and i don't know it. she said she had three sisters but i don't know any of them. the folks raised her--the leslie white folks. it was the leslies that brought her and bought her in the old country. i don't know the names of the people that sold her. she wasn't nothing but a kid. i guess she would hardly know. "the leslies brought her to arkansas when she was eleven. that is what she always told us kids. she was eleven years old when they sold her. just like selling mules. "i don't know what is the first place they come to here. benton, arkansas was the first place i knowed anything about. that is where her folks were and that is where the young generation of them is now. the old ones is dead and gone. "i was born in nashville. and she had come from benton to nashville. she was living in benton, arkansas when she died. she was never able to send me to school when i was young. when the white folks first turned them loose they weren't able to do for them as they are now. children have a chance now and don't appreciate it. but when i was coming up my folks weren't able. mother knew she was one hundred eight years old because her white folks told her what it was. when her old white folks died, the young ones hunted it up for her out of the old family bible and sent it to me. the bible was so old that the leaves were yellow and you could hardly turn them. they were living in benton, arkansas and i guess they are still living there because that is the old home place. that is the kids is still there, 'cause the old folks is dead and gone. one girl is named cora and one of the boys is called bud, buddy. leslie is the last name of them both. "i got one of her pictures with her young master's kids--three of 'em--in there with her. anybody that bothered that picture would git in it with me, 'cause i values it. "mother farmed right after the surrender. she married after freedom but went back to her old name when her husband left. he was named richard hill. he was supposed to be a bishop down there in arkadelphia. but he wasn't no bishop with mama. all them hills in arkadelphia are kin to me. she had four children--one boy and three girls. the boy died before i was born. she was just married the one time that i know about. "her white folks were good to her. you know there was so many of them that weren't. and you know they bound to be because they were always good to her. they would be looking for her and sending her something to eat and sending her shoes and clothes and things like that, and she'd go to them and stay with them months at a time so they bound to 've been good to her. all the young kids always called her their black mammy. they thought a heap of her. that is since freedom. since i been born. that is somethin' i seen with my own eyes. "i spect my mother's white folks is mad at me. they come to see her just before she died and they knew she couldn't live long. they told me to let them know when there was a chance. "that was about three days before she died. there come a storm. it broke down the wire so we couldn't let them know. my boy was too small; i couldn't send him. he was only nine years old. and you know how it is out in the country, you can't keep them long. you have to put them away. you can't keep no dead person in the country. so i had to bury her without letting 'em know it. "i do laundry work for a living when i can get any to do. i am living with my boy but i do laundry work to help myself. it is so good, and nice to kinda help yourself. i'll do for self as long as i am able and when i can't, the children can help me more. i have heard and seen so many mothers whose children would do things for them and it wouldn't suit so well up the road. you see me hopping along; i'm trying to work for annie. "my mother told me about seein' the pateroles before the war and the ku klux klan afterwards. she knowed them all right. she never talked much about the pateroles. it was mostly the ku klux. neither of them never got after her. she said the ku klux used to come in by droves. she said the ku klux were dressed all in white--white caps and white hoods over their faces, and long white dresses. they come out mostly at night. they never did bother her, but they bothered others 'round her that she knowed about. sometimes they would take people out and beat them and do 'round with them. but she never did know just what it was they did and just what they did it for. you see, her white folks was particular and didn't talk much before her. so many colored folks learnt things because they eavesdropped their white folks, but mother didn't do that. she didn't learn nothin' but what they talked before her, and they were careful. but they protected her. they never did allow nobody to bother her no way. "she was a baptist. she belonged to the white folks' church before she was freed. then she joined the methodist church at benton because there wasn't no other church there. but she was a full-blood baptist." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: clark hill e. th street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "good morning. my name is clark hill. my name goes by my white folks. i was born in georgia--in americus, georgia. my old master was will g. hill and they called my young master bud. i never did know what his name was--they just called him bud. "it was my job to sweep the yard, keep smoke on the meat and fire under the kiln. yes mam! old master had a big orchard and he dried all the fruit in the kiln--peaches, apples, and pears. then he had lots a watermelons too. when they got ripe they'd get all the childun big enough to tote a melon and we'd carry 'em to the house. i would like to be with my white folks now. "old master raised pigeons too and it used to be my job to go down to the pigeon house and ketch the squalls (squabs). "i used to go to church with my white folks too. i was the gate opener. they put me on the little seat at the back of the carriage. when we got there they'd let us childun sit in the back. the preacher would tell us to obey our master and not take anything that belonged to him. "oh, my white folks was good to me. he never hit me but once and that was one time when my brother went into the kitchen, went into some peas the cook had and she told on him. old master come down and told my brother to eat the whole dish full. he never hit him or nothin' but just stood there and made him eat 'em. i thought i'd help him out a little and said to my brother, 'give me some.' old master just took his walking stick and hit me over the head, and that's the onliest time he ever hit me. "when you got big enough to marry and was courtin' a woman on another plantation, you couldn't bring her home with you. old master would marry you. he'd say 'i give this man to you' and say 'clark, i give this woman to you and now you is man and wife.' they never had no book of matrimony--if they did i never seen it. then you could go over to see her every saturday and stay all night. "i used to work in the field. they didn't farm then like they do now. they planted one row a cotton and one row a corn. that was to keep the land from gettin' poor. "i remember when the yankees was comin' through i got scared because some of the folks said they had horns. i know old master took all his meat and carried it to another plantation. "when freedom come old master give us all our ages. i think when they say we was free that meant every man was to be his own boss and not be bossed by a taskmaster. cose old master was good to us but we wanted to have our own way 'bout a heap a things. "i come to arkansas the second year of surrender. yes'm, i voted when clayton was sheriff and i voted for governor baxter. i voted several tickets. i was here when they had the brooks-baxter war. they fit not far from where i was livin'. "well, that's 'bout all i can remember. my mind ain't so good now and i got the rheumatism in my legs." # interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: clark hill e. fifteenth street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was workin' 'round the house when freedom come. i was eleven. "born in georgia--americus, georgia. used to go with my young master to corinth after the mail. we'd ride horseback with me right behind him. he used to carry me to church too on the back seat to open the gates. "they worked me in the loom room too. had to hold the broche at the reel. i was glad when my young master called me out to go after the mail. then they worked me in the smokehouse. "i never had no schoolin' a tall. what little i know i learned since i married. my wife was a good scholar. "i thank the lord he spared me. eighty-four is pretty old. "i come here to pine bluff in ' . wasn't no town here then. just some little shacks on barraque. and third street was called catfish street. "they was fifty carloads come here to arkansas when i come. "i've farmed mostly. then i've cooked four or five years in railroad camps, when they was puttin' in this cotton belt track. then i've cooked on a steamboat. "yes ma'am, i've voted. i voted teeth and toe-nail for one man, and he got it and then they shot him down. he was about to get on to the fraud. he was 'testin' the election. that was john m. clayton. they can do most anything in these here elections. i know 'cause i done been in so many campaigns." folklore subjects # name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: humorous story story--information (if not enough space on this page, add page) "i heard a story 'bout a old colored man named tony. it was in slave times and he was prayin' to the lord to take him out of bondage. he was prayin', 'oh lord, come and take poor old tony away.' just then somebody started knockin' and tony says, 'who'd dat?' 'it's the lord, i come to take you away.' then tony said, 'no! no! don't take me away. i ain't ready to go.'" this information given by: clark hill (c) place of residence: e. fifteenth street, pine bluff, arkansas occupation: none age: folklore subjects # name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: superstitions story--information (if not enough space on this page, add page) "i've heard if a turkle dove, when the season first starts, comes to your house and starts moanin', it's a sign you is goin' to move out and somebody else goin' move in. "if a squinch owl starts howlin' 'round your house and if you turn your shoe upside down at the door, they sure will hush. now i know that's so. "i used to run myself nearly to death tryin' to get to the end of the rainbow to get the pot of gold. "and i've heard the old folks say if you start any place and have to go back, you make a circle on the ground and spit in it or you'll have bad luck." this information given by: clark hill (c) place of residence: e. fifteenth street, pine bluff, arkansas occupation: none age: interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: elmira hill north willow pine bluff, ark. age: "i'm one of em. accordin' to what they tell me, i think i'll be ninety-eight the ninth day of february. i was born in virginia in kinsale county and sold from my mother and father to arkansas. "the lord would have it, old man ed lindsey come to virginia and brought me here to arkansas. i was here four years before the old war ceasted and i was twelve when i come here. "i was right there standin' behind my mistis' chair when abe lincoln said, 'i 'clare there shall be war!' i was right here in arkansas--eighteen miles from pine bluff when war ceasted. the lord would have it. i had a good master and mistis. old master said, 'fore old lincoln shall free my niggers, i'll free em myself.' they might as well a been free, they had a garden and if they raised cotton in that garden they could sell it. the lord bless his holy name! we didn't know the difference when we got free. i stayed with my mistis till she went back to virginia. "yes, honey, i was here in all the war. i was standin' right by my mistis' chair. i never heard old master make a oaf in his life, but when they brought the paper freein' the slaves, he said, 'dad burn it.' "i member a man called jeff davis. i know they sung and said, 'we'll hand old jeff davis to the sour apple tree.' "i been here a long time. yes, honey, i been in arkansas so long i say i ain't goin' out--they got to bury me here. arkansas dirt good enough for me. i say i been here so long i got arkansas 'stemper (distemper). "my old master in virginia was joe hudson. my father used to ketch oysters and fish. we could look up the patomac river and see the ships comin' in. in virginia i lived next to a free state and the runaways was tryin' to get away. at harper's ferry--that's where old john brown was carryin' em across. my old mistis used to take the runaway folks when the dogs had bit their legs, and keep em for a week and cure em up. this time o' year you could hear the bull whip. but i was lucky, they was good to me in virginia and good to me in arkansas. "yes, chile, i was in alexandria, virginia in kinsale county when they come after me by night. i was hired out to captain jim allen. i had been nursin' for captain allen. he sailed on the sea. he was a good man. he was a christian man. he never whipped me but once and that was for tellin' a story, and i thank him for it. he landed his boat right at the landin' on saturday. next day he asked me bout somethin' and i told him a story. he said, 'i'm gwine whip you monday morning!' he wouldn't whip me on sunday. he whipped me and i thank him for it. and to this day the lindsey's could trust me with anything they had. "i was in virginia a play-chile when the ships come down to get the gopher wood to build the war ships. old mistis had a son and a daughter and we all played together and slep together. my white folks learned me my a b c's. "they come and got me and carried me to richmond--that's where they sold em. sold five of us in one bunch. sold my two brothers in new orleans--robert and jesse. never seed them no more. never seed my mother again after i was sold. "yes, chile, i was here in arkansas when the war started, so you know i been here a long time. "i was here when they fit the last battle in pine bluff. they called it marmaduke's battle and they fit it on sunday morning. they took the old cotehouse for a battery and throwed up cotton bales for a breastworks. they fit that sunday and when the yankees started firin' the rebels went back to texas or wherever they come from. "when we heard the yankees was comin' we went out at night and hid the silver spoons and silver in the toilet and buried the meat. after the war was over and the yankees had gone home and the jayhawkers had went in--then we got the silver and the meat. yes, honey, we seed a time--we seed a time. i ain't grumblin'--i tell em i'm havin' a wusser time now than i ever had. "yankees used to call me a 'know nothin' cause i wouldn't tell where things was hid. "yes, chile, i'm this way--i like everbody in this world. i never was a mother, but i raised everbody else's chillun. i ain't nothin' but a old mammy. white and black calls me mamma. i'll answer at the name. "i was married twice. my last husband and me lived together fifty years. he was a preacher. my first husband, the old rascal--he was so mean to me i had to get rid of him. "yes, i been here so long. i think the younger generation is goin' the downward way. they ain't studyin' nothin' but wickedness. yes, honey, they tell me the future generation is goin' a do this and goin' a do that, and they ain't done nothin'. and god don't like it. "my white folks comes to see me and say as long as they got bread, i got it. "i went to school the second year after surrender. i can read but i ain't got no glasses now. i want you to see this letter my mother sent me in . my baby sister writ it. yes, honey, i keeps it for remembrance. "don't know nothin' funny that happened 'ceptin stealin' my old master's company's hoss and runnin' a race. white chillun too. them as couldn't ride sideways ridin' straddle. better _not_ ride rob roy--that was old master's ridin' hoss and my mistis saddle hoss. that was the hoss he was talkin' bout ridin' to the war when the last battle was fit in helena. but he was too old to go to war. "well, goodbye, honey--if i don't see you no more, come across the jordan." # interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: gillie hill arch street, little rock, arkansas age: about "my grandmother told me that they had to chink up the cracks so that the light wouldn't get out and do their washing and ironing at night. when they would hear the overseers or the paterolers coming 'round (i don't know which it was), they would put the light out and keep still till they had passed on. then they would go right on with the washing and ironing. "they would have to wash and iron at night because they were working all day. "she told me how they used to turn pots down at night so that they could pray. they had big pots then--big enough for you to get into yourself. i've seen some of them big old pots and got under 'em myself. you could get under one and pray if you wanted to. you wouldn't have to prop them up to send your voice in 'em from the outside. the thing that the handle hooks into makes them tilt up on one side so that you could get down on your hands and knees and pray with your mouth close to the opening if you wanted to. anyway, my grandma said they would turn the pots upside down and stick their heads under them to pray. "my father could make you cry talking about the way they treated folks in slavery times. he said his old master was so mean that he made him eat off the ground with the dogs. he never felt satisfied unless'n he saw a nigger sufferin'." interviewer's comment gillie hill is the daughter of evelyn jones already interviewed and reported. the few statements which she hands in make an interesting supplement to her mother's story. the mother, evelyn jones, remembered very few things in her interview and had to be constantly prompted and helped by her daughter and son who were present at each sitting. there was considerable difference of opinion among them over a number of things, especially the age of the mother, the daughter showing letters to prove the age of seventy, the mother saying she had been told she was sixty-eight, and the son arguing that the scattering of the ages of her nineteen children showed that she must be well over eighty. gillie hill claims to be somewhat clairvoyant. she gave a brief analysis of my character, stating accurately my regular calling and a few of my personal traits even indicating roughly my bringing-up and where. she is not a professional fortune-teller, and merely ventured a few statements. my impression was that she was an unusually close and alert observer. like her mother she is somewhat taciturn. i should have said that her mother was reserved as well as forgetful. the mother never ventured a word except in answer to a question, and used monosyllabic answers whenever possible. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: harriett hill forrest city, ark. (visiting at brinkley, ark.) age: "i was born in lithonia, georgia, at the foot of little rock mountain, close to stone mountain, georgia. i been sold in my life twice to my knowing. i was sold away from my dear old mammy at three years old but i can remember it. i remembers it. it lack selling a calf from the cow. exactly, but we are human beings and ought to be better than do sich. i was too little to remember my price. i was sold to be a nurse maid. they bought me and took me on away that time. the next time they put me up in a wagon and auctioned me off. that time i didn't sell. john george (white man) was in the war; he wanted some money to hire a substitute to take his place fightin'. so he have jim george do the sellin'. they was brothers. they talked 'fore me some bit 'fore they took me off. they wouldn't take me to atlanta cause they said some of the people there said they wouldn't give much price--the negroes soon be set free. some folks in atlanta was yankees and wouldn't buy slaves. they 'cluded the best market to sell me off would be ten or twelve miles from home. i reckon it was to augusta, georgia. they couldn't sell me and start on back home. a man come up to our wagon and say he'd split the difference. they made the trade. i sold on that spot for $ . i was nine or ten years old. i remembers it. course i do! i never could forget it. now mind you, that was durin' the war. "master jake chup owned mammy and me too. he sold me to john george. jim george sold me to sam broadnax. when freedom come on that was my home. freedom come in the spring. he got some of the slaves to stay to finish up the crops for / at christmas. when they got through dividin' up they said they goin' to keep me for a bounty. i been talkin' to kitty--all i remembers her name kitty. she been down there at the stream washin'. some children come told me kitty say come on. she hung out the clothes. i lit out over the fence and through the field with kitty and went to conniars. she left me at the railroad track and went on down the road by myself to lithonia. i walked all night. i met my brother not long after kitty left me. he was on a wagon. he knowed me and took me up with him to mr. jake chup's jr. he was the young man. then chups fed me till he come back and took me to mammy. master chups sold her to dr. reygans. i hadn't seen her since i was three years old. she knowed me. my brother knowed me soon as ever he saw me. i might a not knowed them in a gatherin' but i hadn't forgot them. they hear back and forth where i be but they never could get to see me. i lived with my folks till i married. "the first man i lived with ten years. the next one i lived with fifty years and some days over. he died. they both died. the man i married was a preacher. we farmed long with his preachin'. we paid $ . for forty acres of this bottom land. cleared it out. i broke myself plum down and it got mortgaged. the planters bank at forrest city took it over. i ain't had nothin' since. i ain't got no home. i ain't had nothin' since then. my husband died two years ago and i has a hard time. "my folks was livin' in decatur, georgia when the ku klux was ragin'. we sure was scared of em. mighty nigh to death. when freedom come on the niggers had to start up their churches. they had nigger preachers. sometimes a white preacher would come talk to us. when the niggers be havin' preachin' here come the ku klux and run em clear out. if they hear least thing nigger preacher say they whoop him. they whooped several. they sure had to be mighty particular what they said in the preachin'. they made some of the nigger preachers dance. there wasn't no use of that and they knowed it. they must of had plenty fun. they rode the country every night for i don't know how long and that all niggers talked bout. "my mammy had eleven children. i had one boy. he died a baby. "my pa come and brought his family in . he come with a gang. they didn't allow white men to take em off so a white man come and stay round shy and get nigger man to work up a gang. we all come on a train to memphis, then we got on a big boat. no, ma'am, we didn't come on no freight train. we got off at white hall landing. they got off all long the river. we worked on wages out here. pa wanted to go to mississippi. we went and made eighteen bales cotton and got cheated out of all we made. we never got a cent. the man cheated us was mr. harris close to trotter's landing. "mr. anderson, the poor white man we worked for, jumped in the river and drowned his self. the turns (returns) didn't come in for the first batch we sold at all, then when the turns come they said we done took it up--owed it all. we knowed we hadn't took it up but couldn't get nothin'. we come back to arkansas. "i been to detroit, short time, and been way, but i comes back. "i forgot to say this: my mammy was born in south carolina. marbuts owned her and sold her. my pa lived to be or years old. he died in arkansas. she did too. "of course i don't vote! women ain't got no business runnin' the government! "i nursed, worked in the field. when i was a slave they raised a little cotton in georgia but mostly corn. i chopped cotton and thinned out corn. "the present times is too fast. somethin' goin' to happen. the present generation too fast. folks racin'. ridin' in cars too fast. they ain't kind no more. "i rent a house where i can and i get $ . from the government. that all the support i got. i farmed in the field mighty hard and lost all we had." may interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: hattie hill route , main street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes ma'am, i was raised a house gal. me and another cousin and i was borned in georgia. my old master's name was edward maddox. yes ma'am. "i had a good master but i didn't have such a good missis. her name was fannie maddox. we belonged to the old man and he was good to his niggers. he didn't 'low 'em to be cut and slashed about. but when he was gone that's when old mis' would beat on us. "i've seen a many a one of the soldiers. they used to march by our place. "i can remember one of my old missis' neighbors. her name was miss phipps. old mis' would send me there to borry meal. yes ma'am, i'd go and come. she'd always send me. i met the soldiers a many a time. i'd hide behind a tree and as they'd go by i'd go 'round the tree--i was so scared. "but thank the lawd, we is free now. "i heered old master pray a many a prayer that he would live to see his slaves sot free. and he died the same year they was sot free. he sent for all his hands to come and see him 'fore he died. even the little chillun. i can remember it jus' as well as if 'twas yesterday. old mis' died 'fore he did. "our folks stayed on the place two years. old master told 'em he wanted 'em to take care of themselves and said, 'i want you to get you a place of your own.' he said, 'i raised you honest and i want you to stay on the place as long as you live or as long as the boys treat you right.' "i seed the patrollers all right. i 'member that old song 'run nigger run' and a heap of 'em run too. "them ku klux was hateful too, but they never bothered my father's house. they beat one man--steve mclaughlin--till he couldn't get back to the house. they beat him from the soles of his feet to the top of his head. "we had a plenty to eat in slave times. they fed us good. i never did work in the field--i was raised up a house gal. "after freedom my father had me in the field. "i used to cut and split a many a hundred rails in a day and didn't mind it neither. "i used to like to work--would work now if i was able. and i'd rather work in the field any day as work in the house. the people where i lived can tell you how i worked. i didn't make my living by rascality. i worked like my father raised me. oh, i haven't forgot how my old father raised me. "never went to school but one day in my life. i can't read. "i didn't come to arkansas till after i was free. i been livin' here so long i can't tell you how many years. "i married young and i'm the mother of six chillun. "i think a heap of the colored folks is better off free, but a heap of 'em don't appreciate their freedom. "heap of the younger generation is all right and then they's a heap of 'em all wrong. "i can't remember nothin' else 'cause i was too young then and i'm too old now." oct -- interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: oliver hill kentucky street, pine bluff, arkansas age: oliver hill is ninety-four years old, erect, walks briskly with the aid of a cane, only slightly hard of hearing and toothless. he was born and lived in the state of mississippi on the plantation of alan brooks where he said his father was an overseer and not a slave. said his mother was a full-blooded indian. (i have never talked to a negro who did not claim to be part indian.) he cannot read or write and made rather conflicting statements about the reason why. "white folks wouldn't let us learn." later on in the conversation he said he went to school about one month when his "eyes got sore and they said he didn't have to go no more." "i was nineteen years old when de wa' begun. de white folks never tole us nothin' 'bout what it was fo' till after de surrender. dey tole us then we was free. they didn't give us nothin'." after the surrender most of the slaves left the plantations and were supported by the bureau. in the case of oliver hill, this lasted five months and then he went back to his former master who gave him one-fifth of what he made working in the field. alan brooks grieved for the loss of his slaves but at no time were they under any compulsion to remain slaves. after a long time about half of them came back to work for pay. the ku klux klan was "de devil", but about all they wanted, according to oliver, was to "make a democrat" of the ex-slaves. they were allowed to vote without any trouble, but "de democrats robbed de vote. yes'm i knowed they did." concerning the present restricted suffrage, he thinks the colored people should be allowed to vote. in general, his attitude toward the white people is one of resentment. frequent comments were: "dey won't let de colored people bury in de same cemetery with de white people." "dey don't like it if a colored man speak to a white woman." "dey kill a colored man and de law don't do nothin' 'bout it." "old man brooks" when referring to his former master. he lived with the brooks family for five years after freedom, and seems to have been rather a favored one with not much to do but "ride around" and going to dances and parties at night. when alan brooks died he left oliver $ in cash, a cow and calf, horse, saddle and bridle and two hogs. he went to live with his father taking his wife whom he had married at the age of twenty-one. as soon as the inheritance was gone, the scene changed. in his words, "i thought it gwine last forever." but it didn't and then he began to hold a succession of jobs--field hand, sorghum maker, basket weaver, gardener and railway laborer--until he was too old to work. now he is supported by the welfare department and the help a daughter and granddaughter can give. about the younger generation--"i don't know what gwine come of 'em. the whites is as bad as the blacks." he thinks that present conditions are caused by the sinfulness of the people. there were no slave uprisings but sometimes when they did not work fast enough or do the task right, they were "whupped" by the overseer and given no food until it was done right. oliver came to arkansas in . he has had two wives and "de lawd took both of 'em." his second wife was "'ligious" and they "got along fine." all in all he had a good time during his active days "and didn't have no trouble with de white folks". he does not believe god ever intended some of the people to be slaves. may interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: rebecca brown hill brinkley, arkansas age: "i was born october , in northeast mississippi in chickasaw county. it was close to the fulton road to houston, mississippi. my folks belong to c. b. baldwin. after 'mancipation papa stop calling himself jacob baldwin and called himself jacob brown in his own pa's name. mama was named catherine brown. the same man owned them both. they had twelve children. they lost a child born in . i had two brothers sent to louisiana as refugees. the place they was sent to was taken by the yankees and they was taken and the yankees made soldiers out of them. charlie died in in mobile, alabama and lewis after the war joined the united states army. i never saw any grandparents. mama was born in baltimore and her mother was born there too as i understood them to say. mama's father was a white choctaw indian. he was a cooper by trade. his name was john abbot. he sold harriett, my grandma, and kept mama and her brother. then he married a white woman and had a white family. her brother died. that left her alone to wait on that white family. they cut her hair off. she hated that. she loved her long straight black hair. then her papa, john abbot (abbott?), died. her brother run off and was leaving on a ship on the potomac river. a woman lost her trunk. they was fishing for it and found mama's brother drowned. he had fell overboard too. "mama took a bucket on her arm to keep the stealers from gagging her. she knowed if she had a bucket or basket they would not bother, they would know she went out on turn (errand) and would be protected. they didn't bother her then. she went down to the nigger trader's yard to talk awhile but she was making her way off then. sometimes she went down to the yard to laugh and talk with some she knowed down there. she said them stealers would kill 'em and insect (dissect) 'em. but they didn't get her. but might as well, jim williams owned that nigger yard. he put her on a sailboat named big humphries. she was on there hard sailing, she said, twenty-four days and nights. jim williams stole her! on that sailboat is where she seen my papa. when they got to new orleans a white man from baltimore was passing. he seen my mama. he ask her about her papers. she told him she had been stole. he said without papers jim williams couldn't sell her. he told jim williams he better not sell that woman. jim williams knowed she was crazy about my papa. he hired him out and ask her if she wanted to go with him. he got pay for both of them hired out. it was better for him than if he owned her. when they had two children, jim williams come back out to chambers county, alabama where he had them hired out. he ask her if he would agree to let him sell her. he was going to sell papa and the two children. she said she had seen them whooped to death in the yards because they didn't want to be sold. she was scared to contrary him. she had nobody to take her part. so she let him sell her with papa and the two children. jim williams sold her and papa and the two children to billy gates of mississippi. jim williams said, 'don't never separate henry and hannah 'cause i don't have the papers for hannah.' then they lived in the prairies eighteen miles from houston, where billy gates lived. mama done well. she worked and they treated her nice. eight of us was born on that place includin' me. "i was raised up in good living conditions and kept myself so till twelve years ago this next august this creeping neuritis (paralasis) come on. i raised my niece. i cooked, washed and ironed, and went to the field in field time. "master billy gates' daughter married cyrus brisco baldwin. he was a lawyer. he give mama, papa and one child to them. master billy gates' daughter died and left miss bessie. mr. c. b. baldwin married again. he went to war in the 'six day crowd.' miss bessie baldwin married bill buchannan at okolona, mississippi. mama went and cooked for her. they belong to her. she was good as she could be to her and papa both. one time the overseer was going to whip them both. miss bessie said, 'tell mr. carrydine to come and let us talk it over.' they did and she said, 'give mr. carrydine his breakfast and let him go.' they never got no whippings. "mama was white as any white woman and papa was my color (light mulatto). after freedom they lived as long as they lived at houston and okolona, mississippi. she said she left maryland in . "some blue dressed yankees come to our shack and told mama to bake him some bread. i held to her dress. she baked them some. they put it in their nap sacks. that was my first experience seeing the yankees. "they come back and come back on and on. one time they come back hunting the silverware. they didn't find it. it was in the old seep well. the slaves wasn't going to tell them where it was. we washed out of the seep well and used the cistern water to drink. it was good silver. they put it in sacks, several of them, to make it strong. uncle giles drapped it down in there. he was old colored man we all called uncle giles. he was no kin to me. he was good as could be. i loved him. me and his girl played together all the time. her name was roxana. we built frog houses in the sand and put cool sand on our stomachs. we would lie under big trees and watch and listen to the birds. "when mr. billy gates died they give henry, my youngest brother, to his son, john gates. henry, a big strong fellow, could raise a bale of cotton over his head. "one time the yankees come took the meat and twenty-five cows and the best mules. they left some old plugs. they had two mares in fold. uncle giles told them one mare had buck-eye poison and the other distemper. they left them in their stalls. we had to tote all that stuff they give out back when they was gone. all they didn't take off they handed out to the slaves. there was some single men didn't carry their provisions back to the smokehouse. everybody else did. they kept on till they swept us all out of victuals. the slaves had shacks up on the hill. there was six or eight pretty houses all met. mr. gates' house was one of them. "freedom--capt. gehu come and sent for all the slaves to come to mr. john gates. we all met there. he said it was free times now. we lived on and raised peas, corn, pumpkins, potatoes. the yankees come and took off some of it. that was the year of the surrender. mama moved off the hill in a man's home what moved to town to look after the house for them. it was across the road from master john gates' house. we worked for the gates a long, long time after that. we worked for the baldwins and around till the old heads all dead. i come to clarendon, arkansas, eleven o'clock, eleventh of may . i have no children. i raised my sister's baby. she died. i live wid her now. she's got grandchildren. i get ten dollars from the welfare a month. i buy what i needs to eat with it. i helps out a sight. i had a baby girl. it died an infant. "the place they refugeed charlie and lewis was to opelousas, louisiana. it was about the first part of the country the yankees took. "ku klux--they never bothered us but in i seen them pass. my nephew was a little boy. he said when they passed there was jack slaughter on his horse. he knew the big horse. they went on. the colored men had left their wives and children at home and went up to red bud church (colored). we seen five pass but others joined on. they had bad times. a colored man killed a ku klux named tom middlebrook. one man got his foot cut off wid a ax. some called them 'white caps.' i was scared of whatever they called theirselves. "the younger set of folks seems more restless than they used to be. i noticed that since the last war (world war). they ain't never got settled. the women is bad as the men now it seems. times is better than i ever had them in my life." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: tanny hill brinkley, arkansas age: ? no record of age "'uncle solomon' we all called him but he wasn't no kin to us, he was the funniest old man i ever heard tell of. he was a slave. he belong to sorrel crockell i heard him say. he didn't go to no war. "when the war ended he was a fisherman in arkansas. he used to tie his own self to a tree keep the fish from pulling him in the river. he caught big fish in the early times. he'd come to our house when i was nothing but a child and bring 'nough fish for all our supper. ma would cook 'em. pa would help him scale 'em. we'd love to see him come. he lived thater way from house to house. "one time he made me mad. i never had no more use for him. we'd give him tomatoes and onions. he told us to go bring him thater watermelon out of the garden. he cut and eat it before us. never give us a bite. he was saying, 'you goiner get your back and belly beat black and blue.' i didn't know what he was saying. grandma found the watermelon was gone. i owned up to it. ma got switches and whooped us. i was singing what he was saying. grandma tole me what he meant. from that on we had no more of his good fish." interviewer's comment large, medium black. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: elizabeth hines w. fourteenth street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born january , , in baton rouge, louisiana. i came here. i can't read or write. my brother-in-law told me that i was born three years after the war on january tenth. "my mother's name was sara cloady. my father's name was square cloady. i don't remember the names of any of my grand people. yes i do; my father's mother was named bertha because i called my daughter after her. she must have been in the square family because that was his name. "i had four brothers and sisters. three of them i don't know anything about. i have never seen them. my sister, rachael fortune, suckled me on her breast. that is her married name. before she was married her name was rachael bennett. her father and mine was not the same. we was just half-sisters. we have the same mother though. my father was half indian and hers was pure-blooded indian. they are all mean folks. people say i am mean too, but i am not mean--unless they lie on me or something. my mother died when i was three years old. children three years old didn't have as much sense then as they do now. i didn't know my mother was laid out until i got to be a woman. i didn't have sense enough to know she was dead. my sister was crying and we asked her what she was crying about. "i don't know the name of my mother's old master. yes i do, my mother's old master was named laycock. he had a great big farm. he was building a gas house so that he could have a light all night and work niggers day and night, but peace came before he could get it finished and use it. god took a hand in that thing. i have seen the gas house myself. i used to tote water home from there in a bucket. it was cool as ice-water. the gas house was as big 'round as that market there (about a half block). "my father served in the army three years and died at the age of one hundred ten years about twenty years ago as near as i can remember. that is the reason i left home because he died. he served in the war three years. he was with the yankees. plenty of these old white folks will know him by the name of square cloady. the name of his company was company e. i don't know the name of his regiment. he got his pension as long as he lived. his last pension came just before he died. i turned it back to the courthouse because it is bad to fool with uncle sam. they wrote for my name but when i told them i was married they wouldn't send me anything. i didn't know to tell them that my husband was dead. "i was married when i was about twenty-seven and my husband died more than three years before my father did. my father lived to see me the mother of my last child; my husband didn't. when my husband was dying, i couldn't see my toes. i was pregnant. my husband died in the year of the great tornado. the time all the churches were blown down. i think it was about . (storm time in louisiana.) "i don't know what my mother did in slavery. i don't think she did anything but cook. she was fine in children and they buys women like that you know. my sister was a water toter. my father raised cotton and corn and hogs and turkeys. his trade was farming before the war. i don't know how he happened to get in the army but he was in it three years." [hw: cf. p. ] house, furniture and food "laycock's farm was out in the country about four miles from baton rouge, louisiana. some of the slaves lived in log houses and some in big old boxed houses. most of them had two rooms. they had nothing but four post beds and chairs like this i am settin' down in (a little cane chair). i reckon it is cane--looks like it is. they had homemade chairs before the war, boxes, and benches. the boards were often bought. but nothing else. "they et greens and pickled pork. my father got tired of that and he would raise hogs. pickled pork and corn bread! "my father never told me what his master was to him, whether he was good or mean. he got free early because he was in the army. he didn't run away. the soldiers came and got him and carried him off and trained him. [hw: cf. p. ] i just know what my father told me because i wasn't born. he served his full time and then he was discharged. he got an honorable discharge. he had a wound in the leg where he was shot. "i got along all right supporting myself by planting cotton until last year when the doctor stopped me. "i took care of my father and the lord is taking care of me. i am weak and still have that giddy head but not as bad as i used to have it." opinions "some of the young people do very well but some of them ain't got no manners and don't care what they do. i am scared for them. the man above ain't scared and he is going to cut them down." _folklore subjects_ pine bluff district name of interviewer: martin--barker subject: ex-slave story: "son of martha and peter hinton. came from n.c. about years ago, at close of civil war. mother had nine children, she belonged to mr. sam hinton. "at close of war mistis called us to her, said we were free and could go. so we went away for about a year, but came back. sorry we were free. "we saw about soldiers. never went to school. went to white church on plantation. white preachers said, servants, obey your marster. i was valued at $ . . "when i was a small boy i lay at marsters feet and he would let us play with his feet. he always had shiny shoes and we niggers would keep rubbing them so they would shine more. as i grew older, i cleaned the yard, later helped pick cotton. "i am a baptist. have behaved myself. have prayer meeting at my home. "during the war we had prayer meetings at the different houses on the plantations. we prayed to be set free. turned wash pots down in the house to keep the sound down so white folks wouldn't hear us singing and praying to be set free. "overseer would whip neggers when out of humor. miss mary would always tell them not to mistreat her help. "times were so hard during slave times, white marster took them into the bottoms and hid them, so they wouldn't run off with the yankee soldiers. "talk of war got so hot, brought us out of the woods and put us in wagons and took us and de older people off to texas. "we got up at  am, work all day until or at night. on sunday we worked if it was necessary. "i was tough and strong. i could outrun a wild animal, barefooted and bare headed. "we would have a country dance once in awhile. someone would play the banjo. "miss mary, white mistis called us all in one day and opened a large trunk. she showed us money, gold and silver, saying that we had all helped to make it for them. thats the first money i ever saw. "before christmas we killed hogs. "our white folks didn't like any one wearing blue clothes. thought they were yankees, and that meant freedom for us niggers. men in blue clothes came and put a rope around my marsters neck, took him all around the nigger cabins and asked where he hid them. he told them, texas. they said, get them and free them or they would hang him. "he sent after them and everything was alright. "i though my white marster was god. he took sick and died. "i heard the other slaves saying he committed suicide because he had lost all his money. "in those times my father saw my mother, decided he wanted her for his woman. he tol his white folks and they fixed up a cabin for them to live in together. was no ceremony. had nigger midwives for babies. "i knows every lucky silver pieces of money. i believe in lucky pieces of silver. i is a dreamer, always been dat way. i have seen my bright days ahead of me, in dreams and visions. if i hears a woman's voice calling me, a calling me in my sleep i is bound to move outa dat house. i dont keer wher i goes, i is got to go some whars." information by: charles hinton place of residence: rfd old riv. rd. occupation: age: interviewer: bernice bowden. person interviewed: charlie hinton (c) age: home: old river road--pine bluff, ark. "oh lordy, lady, i was pickin' cotton durin' the war. i was here before the first gun was fired. when the war came they sent my mother and father and all the other big folks to texas and left us undergrowth here to make a crop. "my mother's name was martha and my father was named peter hinton. now i'm just goin' to tell you everything--i'm not ashamed. i've got the marks of slavery on me. my old marster and miss mary, they was good to me, but the old cook woman throwed me off the porch and injured my back. i ain't never been able to walk just right since. "now, here's what i remember. our marster, we thought he was god. "they pretty near raised us with the pigs. i remember they would cook a great big oven of bread and then pour a pan full of buttermilk or clabber and we'd break off a piece of bread and get around the pan of milk jest like pigs. yes mam, they did that. "let's see now, what else occurred. old marster would have my father and uncle jacob and us boys to run foot races. you know--they was testin' us, and i know i was valued to be worth five hundred dollars. "but my folks was good to me. they wouldn't have no overseer what would be cruel. if he was cruel he would have to be gone from there. "one time old marster say 'charlie how come this yard so dirty?' you know there would be a little track around. i said, will you give me that old gray horse after i clean it and he said 'yes'. so i call up the boys and we'd clean it up, and then the old gray horse was mine. it was just the old worn out stock you understand. "i want to tell you when the old folks got sick they would bleed them, and when the young folks got sick they give you some blue mass and turn you loose. "i remember when old marster's son sam went to war and got shot in the leg. old marster was cryin' 'oh, my sam is shot'. he got in a scrummage you know. he got well but he never could straighten out his leg. "when freedom come, i heard 'em prayin' for the men to come back home. miss mary called us all up and told us our age and said, 'you all are free and can go where you want to go, or you can stay here.' "oh yes, the ku klux use to run my daddy if they caught him out without a pass, but i remember he could outrun them--he was stout as a mule. "i been here so long and what little i've picked up is just a little fireside learnin'. i can read and write my name. i can remember when we thought a newspaper opened out was a bed-cover. but a long time after the war when the public school come about, i had the privilege of going to school three weeks. yes mam, i was swift and i think i went nearly through the first reader. "i am a great lover of the bible and i'm a member of mount calvary baptist church. "i'm glad to give you some kind of idea 'bout my age and life. i really am glad. goodbye." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: ben hite ohio street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "well, i didn't zactly live in slavery times. i was born in , the th of july. they said it was on the william moore place four miles from chattanooga but i was in georgia when i commenced to remember--in fort valley--just a little town. "i been in arkansas sixty-five years the first day of january. come to the old post of arkansas in . i been right here on this spot forty-three years. made a many a bale of cotton on the barrow place. "went to school three weeks right down here in 'linkum' county. i could read a little but couldn't write any much. "i been married to this wife forty years. my fust wife dead. "i lived in 'linkum' county eight years and been in jefferson county ever since. "three years ago i was struck by a car and i been blind two years. i can just 'zern' the light. when i was able to be about i used to vision what it would be like to be blind and now i know. "yes'm, i just come here on the eve of the breakin' up. i seed the yankees in georgia after freedom. they called em bluejackets. "all my life i have farmed--farmed." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: betty hodge hazen, ark. age: "uncle billy hill used to visit us. he was noah's uncle. he was a slave and one thing i remembers hearing him tell was this: he was the hostler for his old master. the colored folks was having a jubilee. he wanted to go. he stole one of the carriage horses out--rode it. it started snowing. he said he went out to see bout the horse and it seemed be doin' all right. after a while here come somebody and told him that horse he rode was dead. he didn't believe it, but went out there and it was sho dead. he said he took that horse by the tail and started runnin' up the road. they drug that horse home and put him in the stable where he belong at. it was snowing so hard and fast they couldn't see their hands 'fo em he said. it snowed so much it covered up where they drug the horse and their tracks. he said the snow saved his life. they found the horse dead and never thought bout him having him out at the jubilee. he said none of em ever told a word bout it but for long time he was scared to death fear the old master find out bout it. "grandma frances was born in west virginia. she was papa's mama. she purt nigh raised us. mama and papa went to the field to work. she cooked and done the housework. she had a good deal of indian blood in her. i heard em say. she had high cheeks and the softest, prettiest hair. she told about the stars falling. she said they never hit the ground, that they was like shooting stars 'cepting they all come down like. everybody was scared to death. she talked a good deal about haywood county--i believe that was in tennessee--that was where they lived durin' of the war. papa made her a livin' long as she lived. when she got old noises bothered her, so then we growed up and she lived by herself in front of our house in a house. "grandma frances and our family come to arkansas 'reckly after the civil war. they come with mr. john and miss olivia cooper. miss olivia was his wife, but miss presh was a old maid. folks used to think it was sort of bad if a woman didn't marry. thought she have no chances. it sort of be something like a disgrace if a woman was a old maid. don't seem that-a-way no more. i never heard much about miss presh but i heard mama tell this: grandma mary lea come on a visit to see mama and she brought her some sweet potatoes in a bag. had nothing else and wanted to bring her something. miss olivia picked out the biggest ones and took em. said she was mean. said she had a plenty of everything. just left mama the smallest ones. she said miss olivia was stingy. mama was the house girl and nurse and they had a cook. mama was a girl then she belong to the coopers, but mama belong to somebody else. she hadn't married then. "one day miss olivia called her and she didn't get there soon as miss olivia wanted her to. miss olivia say, 'you getting mean, lucy. you like your ma.' she said, 'i just like you if i'm mean.' but miss olivia didn't understand it. she ask the cook and the cook told her she was talking to her. she told mr. john cooper to whoop em but he didn't. he kind of laughed and ask the cook what lucy said to miss olivia. miss olivia told him if he didn't whoop em both she was going back home. he told her he would take her and she wouldn't come back neither when she left. he didn't whoop neither one of em and she never left him till she died, cause i been over to des arc and seen all of em since i come in this world. "mama was lucy lea till she married will holloway, my papa. then she married isarel thomas the preacher here at hazen. he come from tennessee with old dr. hazen (white man). mama's mama was mary lea; she lived out here at green grove. i don't know where she was born, but she was owned by the lea's round des arc. she come and stay a month or two with us on a visit. "old folks was great hands to talk bout olden times. i forgot bout all they told. "in old times folks had more principal, now they steal and fight and loud as they can be. folks used to be quiet, now they be as loud as they can all the time. they dance and carouse all night long--fuss and fight! some of our young folks got to change. the times have changed so much and still changing so fast i don't know what goin' to be the end. i study bout it a lot." # interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: minnie hollomon r.f.d., biscoe, arkansas age: "my parents was elsie and manuel jones. they had five children. the jones was farmers at hickory plains. auntie was a cook and her girl, luiza, was a weaver and a spinner and worked about in the house. "i heard auntie talk about the soldiers come and make them cook up everything they had and et it up faster 'en it took 'er to fix it ready for 'em to guttle down. dems her very words. they took the last barrel er flour and the last scrap er meat they had outen the smokehouse. "uncle sebe jones was massa jones' boss and wagoner (wagon man and overseer). auntie said uncle sebe drunk too much. he drunk long as he lived 'cause old massa jones trained to that. "uncle whit jones was more pious and his young massa learned him to read and write. he was onliest one of the jones niggers knowed how er had any learning er tall. "the women folks spun and wove all winter while the nights be long. "pa said massa jones was pretty fair to his black folks. he fed 'em pretty good and seen they was kept warm in rainy bad weather. he watch see if the men split plenty wood to keep up the fires. jones didn't allow the neighbors to slash up his black folks. he whooped them if he thought they needed it and he knowed when and where to stop. mama didn't b'long to the same people. "grandma was a native of south ca'lina. her name was malindy fortner. she died over at alex hazen's place. she come to some of her people's after the war. i think ma come with her. her own old mistress come sit on a cushion one day. the parrot say, 'cake under cushion, burn her bottom.' grandma made the parrot fly on off but the cake was warm and it was mashed flat under the cushion when she got up. she took it to her little children. she said piece of cake was a rarity. they had plenty corn bread, peas and meat. "grandma said after they had a baby it would be seben weeks b'fore they would let them put their hands in a washtub. they all had tasks in winter time. they sit by the fire and talk and sing. ma said in slavery a girl had a baby and her hugging around a tree. said her mistress come to the cabin to see about her and brought corn bread and pea pot-liquor. said that would kill folks but it didn't hurt her. "pa b'long to the jones and whitlocks both but he never told us about ever being sold. he told us about it took nearly two weeks one time in the bad weather to meet the boat and get provisions. his wagon was loaded and when the rain and freeze set in it caught him. he like never got back. his white folks was proud when he got back." folklore subjects name of interviewer--s. s. taylor person interviewed--h. b. holloway (dad or pappy) story: birth, parentage "i never lived in the country. i lived in town. but sometimes my father would go into the country to hunt and i would go with him. "i was born in austin county, fort valley, georgia, miles below atlanta one way, and by macon it would be . i was thirteen years old when the war began and seventeen when it ended. i was born the fifteenth day of february, . "my mother was a nurse and midwife. my father was a finished mechanic. i never had to do any work until after the civil war, but i was just crazy about railroading and went to railroading early. i railroaded all my life. i did some draying too and a lot of concreting too. "i was born free. there weren't so many free niggers in georgia. none that i knew owned any slaves. i never heered of any owning any slaves. my mother was a full blooded cherokee woman, and my father was a dark spaniard." [("dad" or "pappy" holloway is a fine looking old white man and shows evidence of white and indian blood; however, negro blood shows.) [hw: omit]] "i am the only one out of twelve children that can't talk my mother's language and don't know my father's. i remember the indian war whoop, and the war dance--used to do that myself. when they run the indians out of georgia into florida, my mother never did go. she was one hundred seven years old when she died." marriage, breeding, weddings, separations "you know, there weren't no marriages like now with niggers--just like if you and your wife owned a man and i owned a woman, if your man wanted to marry, he got consent from you and my woman would get consent from me. and then they would marry, and i either got to buy your slave or you got to buy mine. sometimes the white folks wouldn't want you to marry. "they didn't force nobody to marry. they might force you to marry if both of you had the same master, but not if they belonged to different masters. they were crazy about slaves that had a lot of children. "niggers didn't separate in slave times because they never was married except by word of mouth. there was a lot of old souls that came out of slavery times that lived together and raised children that never was married (except by word of mouth), just got together. but they made out better and were better husbands and wives and raised better families than they do now. "sometimes folks would get separated when the slave traders would sell them, and sometimes families would get separated when their white folks died or would run into debt." slave sales "they had a slave block in georgia. you see they would go to virginia and get the people that they would bring across the water--regular africans. sometimes they would refugee them four or five hundred miles before they would get the chance to sell them. sometimes a woman would have a child in her arms. a man would buy the mother and wouldn't want the child. and then sometimes a woman would holler out: 'don't sell that pickaninny.' (you know they didn't call colored children nothin' but pickaninnies then.) 'i want that little pickaninny.' and the mother would go one way and the child would go the other. the mother would be screaming and hollering, and of course, the child wouldn't be saying nothin' because it didn't know what was goin' on. "they had a sale block in my home (fort valley, georgia), and i used to go and see the niggers sold often. some few wasn't worth nothin' at all--just about a hundred dollars. but they generally ran about five or six hundred dollars. some of them would bring thousands of dollars. it depended on their looks. the trader would say, 'look at those shoulders; look at those muscles.' "someone would holler out, 'a thousand dollars.' "then another would holler out, 'fifteen hundred.' "they went like horses. a fine built woman would bring a lot of money. a woman that birthed children cost a heap. "virginia was where the slaves would be brought first. the slave traders would go there and get them and take them across the country in droves--just like you take a drove of cattle. they would sell them as they would come to sale blocks. the slaves would be undressed from the shoulders to the waist." houses, food, clothes "the slaves lived in log huts on the plantations. some men would weatherboard them. they didn't put any ceiling in. you could lay back in your bed and see the moon and stars shining through. "some got good food and some of the owners would make the niggers steal their food from other folks. old myers green would make his niggers steal and he would say, 'if you get caught, i'll kill you.' one or two of them let themselves get caught, and he would whip them. that was to save him from paying for it. they couldn't do anything to you but whip you nohow. but they could make him pay for it. "they used homemade clothes made out of homemade cotton cloth. they would spin the cotton to a thread. when they would get so many broaches of it, they would make it into cloth. a broach was just a lot of thread wound around a stick. they would take it to the wheel and make the cloth, them women used to have tasks:--spinning, weaving, dressmaking, and so on. sometimes they would have five and six spinning wheels running before they would get to the weaving. "i don't know who made the clothes. but you know them niggers made them. they used to learn some slaves how to do some things,--the right way. jus' like they learned themselves. there was plenty of nice seamstresses. the white folks used to make them make clothes for their children. the white folks wouldn't do nothin'. they wouldn't even turn down the bed to get in it." ages "colored folks in slavery times didn't know how old they was. when you would buy a drove of darkies, you would go by what they would tell you, but they didn't know how old they was. some of those niggers they bought from africa wouldn't take nothin' neither. "they would say: 'me goin' do what you say do, but me aint goin' to get no whipping.' and when they whipped them, there was trouble. "the masters kept records of ages of those born in their care. some of them did. some of them didn't keep nothin'. jus' like people nowadays. raised them like pigs and hogs. jus' didn't care." amusements "there used to be plenty of colored folk fiddlers. dancing, candy pulling, quilting,--that was about the only fun they would have. corn shucking, too. they used to enjoy that. they would get on top of that pile and start singing--the white folks used to like that--sometimes they would shuck corn all night long. and they would sing and eat too. "they had what they called the old-fashioned cotillion dance--partners--head, foot, and two sides--four men and four women--each man danced with his partner. music by the fiddlers. i used to dance that. "at the quilting, they'd get down and quilt. the boys and young men would be there too and they would thread the needles and laugh and talk with the girls, and the women would gossip. "the masters would go there too and look at them and see what they'd do and how they'd do and make them do. they would do that at the candy pullin' too, and anything else. "the candy pulling--there they'd cook the candy and a man and a girl would pull candy together. look to me like they enjoyed the corn shucking as much as they did anything else." christmas "they'd give time to celebrate christmas time. they'd dance and so on like that. but they worked them from new year's day to christmas eve night the next year. the good white people would give them a pig and have them make merry. they'd make merry over it like we do now. that's where it all come from." run-away slaves "i seen a many a runaway slave. i've seen the hounds catch them too. you could hear the hounds all hours of the night. some nigger was gone. some of them would run away from the field. and some of them would slip out at night. "i used to mock them hounds. the first hound would say 'oo-oo-oo, he-e-e-e-re he-e-e-e-e g-o-o-o-oes.' the others would say, 'put 'im up. put 'im up. put 'im up. put 'im up. put 'im up.' my mother would laugh at me. the lead-hound howled, and the catch dog wouldn't say nothin' but you could hear the sound of his feet. the lead hound didn't catch the nigger, but he would just follow him. when he caught up with him, he would step aside and let the catch dog get him if he wasn't treed." pateroles "the pateroles were for niggers just like police and sheriffs were for white folks. they were just poor white folks. when a nigger was out from the plantation at night, he had to have a pass. if the pateroles seen him, they would stop him and ask for his pass. if'n he didn't have it, he'd mos' likely get a beating. i was free and didn't have no pass. sometimes they would stop me, but i never had no trouble with 'em. i was a boy then, and everybody knowed me." good masters "men like colonel troutman, major holmes, and preacher russell--thomas russell--they didn't whip their niggers and didn't allow no one else to whip them. they had a little guardhouse on the plantation and they would lock them up in it. you'd better not hit one of their niggers. they'd take a pole or something and run you ragged." mean masters "white folks was cruel in slavery times. you see i was free and could go where i wanted too, and i see'd a lot. old myer green would take a nigger and tie his feet to one side of a railroad track and tie his hands to the other side, and whip him till the blood ran. then he would take him down to the smoke house and rub him down with lard and red pepper. 'rub plenty in,' he would say, 'don't let him spoil.' "then i have seen them take up a ten-rail fence end set it down on a nigger's neck and whip him. if he would rare and twist and try to jump up, he would break his neck." [hw: to follow st. par, p. ] pateroles (see also on page ) "one night, when me and my mother was coming from town, my mother had a demijohn of whiskey. they (pateroles) tried to take it. and she snatched a palling off the fence and nearly beat them poor white trash to death. my mother was a good woman, strong as any man. i was sitting on the demijohn. i was a little fellow then. they didn't do nothin' to her neither, 'cause they knew what old colonel troutman would do." (holloway's mother was midwife to colonel troutman's wife and nurse and 'mammy' to his boy, although a free indian.) [hw: delete last sentence] mixed bloods "i can carry you to columbus, georgia. there was ten mulatto niggers born there and you would think they were all white; but they were all colored. they were slaves, but their master was their daddy. "i'll tell you somethin'. w. h. riley and henry miller,--you know them don't you--they are blood brothers,--had the same mother and the same father. riley's grandfather was a white man named miller. miller got mad at his son, riley's father, and sold him to a white man named riley. riley took the name of his father's second master. after freedom, henry and josephine took the name of miller, their real grandfather. they said, 'miller had never done anything' for them." curious beliefs and slave expectations of freedom "i was looking right in lincoln's mouth when he said, 'the colored man is turned loose without anything. i am going to give a dollar a day to every negro born before emancipation until his death,--a pension of a dollar a day.' that's the reason they killed him. but they sure didn't get it. it's going to be an awful thing up yonder when they hold a judgment over the way that things was done down here." lincoln's visit to atlanta "when the war was declared over, abraham lincoln came south and went to the capitol (of atlanta), and there was so many people to meet him he went up to the tower instead of in the state house. he said, 'i did everything i could to keep out of war. many of you agreed to turn the negroes loose, but jeff davis said that he would wade in blood up to his neck before he would do it.' "he asked for all of the confederate money to be brought up there. and when it was brought, he called for the oldest colored men around. he said, 'now, is you the oldest?' the man said, 'yes sir.' then he threw him one of those little boxes of matches and told him to set fire to it and burn it up. "then he said, 'i am going to disfranchise every one of you (the white folks), and it will be ten years before you can even vote or get back into the union.'" grant's attitude "grant was the one that killed the republican party. we ain't had but three real republican presidents since the war--garfield, mckinley and teddy roosevelt. they killed garfield, and they killed mckinley, and they tried to kill teddy roosevelt. well, they asked grant if they could make state constitutions. grant said, 'yes, if they didn't conflict with the national constitution.' but they did conflict and grant didn't do nothin' about it." schooling, antebellum and postbellum "northern teachers were sent down here after the war and they charged a dollar a month until the state set up schools. some of the niggers learned enough in the six months school to teach, and some white persons taught. "in slave times, they didn't have any schools for niggers. niggers better not be caught with a book. if he were caught with a book they beat him to death nearly. niggers used to get hold of this webster's blue back book and the white folks would catch them and take them away. they didn't allow no free niggers to go to school either in slave times." share cropping "i used to see niggers in georgia share cropping. nigger work all the year. christmas eve night they would be going back to the plantation singing--done lost everything--sitting on the wagon singing: 'sho' pity lawd forgive that ar' pentant rebel live.' "then they would have to get clothes and food against the next year's crop. then you'd see 'em on the wagon again driving back to the plantation loaded down with provisions, singing: 'lawd revive us agin all our increase comes from thee.' "i used to study how them people could live. they didn't give but ten dollars a month for common labor. they didn't give anything to the share cropper. they took all of it. they said he spent it, borrowed it, and on like that." didn't want to be free "some that didn't know any better didn't want to be free. especially them that had hard taskmasters. when the nigger was turned loose sho nuff, some of them didn't have a good shirt to their back. the master hated to lose them so bad, he wouldn't give them anything. "but for twenty-five years after slave times, there ain't no race of people ever traveled as fast as the nigger did. but when the young ones came up, they are the ones what killed the thing. an old white man said: 'we thought if you folks kept it up we or you one would have to leave this country. but when the young ones came on, and began begrudging one another this and that and working against one another, then we saw you would never make a nation.'" riots and kkk "i have been in big riots. i was in the atlanta riots in . we lost about forty men, and i don't know how many the white folks lost, but they said it was about a hundred. i used to live there. i came here in . "we had a riot there when the kkk was raising so much cain. the first ku klux wore some kind of hat that went over the man's head and shoulders and had great big red eyes in it. they broke open my house one night to whip me. "i was working as a foreman in the shops. one night as i was going home, some men stopped and said 'who are you.' i answered 'h. b. holloway.' then they said, 'well we'll be over to your house tonight to whip you.' "i said, 'we growed up together and you couldn't whip me then. how you 'spect to do it now. you might kill me, but you can't beat me.' "and one of them said, 'well we'll be over to see you at eleven thirty tonight, and we are going to beat you.' "i went on home end told my wife what had happened. she was afraid and wanted me to leave and take her and the children with her. "but i said, 'no, you must take the little children and go in the bedroom and stay there.' "she did. i had three sons that were grown up, between twenty and twenty-eight years old, and i had a winchester, a shotgun and a pistol. i gave the winchester to the oldest, the shotgun to the next, and the pistol to the youngest. i took my ax for myself. i stationed the boys at the far end of the room--away from the door. "the oldest said, 'papa, let's kill them.' "i said, 'no. you just stand there and do nothing till i tell you. when they break in, i'll knock the first one in the head with the ax. but don't you do nothin' till i tell you.' "after a while, we heard a noise outside, and i took my stand beside the door. then they gave a rush, and battered the door down. a man with a gray hood on jumped inside. i hit him side the head with the flat of the ax, and he fell down across the door. "then the others rushed up, and the boys cut loose with all three of the guns, and such another uproar you never heard. they high-tailed it down the street, and the boys took right after them, shooting at their legs. the winchester shot sixteen times, and the pistol shot six, and the boy with the shotgun was shooting and breaking down and reloading and shooting again as fast as he could. "i went outside and whistled for the boys to come back. they come. they would always obey me. i told them to carry the man i had hit out. he was still lying there. through all the fuss and uproar, he had been lying there across the doorway. carried him out, and threw him on the sidewalk. my eldest son said the man said, 'holloway, don't hit me no more.' "i didn't, but if i had known who he was then, i would have gone out and cut his throat. he was old colonel troutman's son. there was just two hours difference in our birth. me and him both nursed from the same breast. we grew up together and were never separated until we were thirteen (beginning of the war). many people thought we were brothers. i had fought for him and he had fought for me. when he wasn't at my house, i was at his, and his father partly raised me. that's the reason i don't trust white people. "we had a big dog that everyone was scared of. we always kept him chained up. i unchained the dog, and took the boys and we went out in the woods. it was cold; so we made a fire under a tall sapling. "near daylight, i said, 'the dog sees something, but we can't see what it is.' the eldest son said, 'pappy, if you get astride the dog, and look the way he's looking, you can see what he sees.' "i got astride him and looked, and finally way off through the trees and the branches and leaves, i saw six men riding through the woods on horseback. i took the guns away from the boys and put the pistol and shotgun under the leaves at my feet. i made the boys separate and hide in the brush at a good distance from me and from each other. i made the dog lie down beside me. then i waited. "when the men came near me and were about to pass on looking for me, i hailed them. i told them to stop right where they were or i'd drop them in their tracks. it was colonel troutman and five other of the old men from town out hunting me. "colonel troutman said, 'we just wanted to talk to you holloway.' "i said, 'stand right where you are and talk.' "after some talk, i let them come up slowly to a short distance from me. the upshot of the whole thing was that they wanted me to go back to town with them to 'talk' over the matter. they allowed i hadn't done nothin' wrong. but colonel troutman's man was hurt bad, and some of the young men in the mob had had their legs broke. and they were all young men from the town, boys that knew me and were friendly to me in the daytime. still they wanted me to go to town in their charge, and i knew i wouldn't have a chance if i did that. finally i told colonel troutman, that i was going home to see my wife that evening, and that if he wanted to talk to me, he could come over there and talk. "when they left, i sent the boys along home and told them to tell my wife. that night when i got home, colonel troutman was in the house talking to my wife. i went in quietly. he said that they said i had forty niggers hid in the house that night. i told him that there wasn't anybody there but me and my family, and that all the damage that was done i done myself. he said that well he didn't blame me; that even if it was his son, they broke in on me and i had a right to defend my family, and that none of the old heads was going to do anything about it. he said i was a good man and had never given anybody any trouble and that there wasn't any excuse for anybody comin' stirrin' up trouble with me. and that was the end of it." hoodoo "my wife was sick, down, couldn't do nothin'. someone got to telling her about cain robertson. cain robertson was a hoodoo doctor in georgia. they there wasn't nothin' cain couldn't do. she says, 'go and see cain and have him come up here.' "i says, 'there ain't no use to send for cain. cain ain't coming up here because they say he is a "two-head" nigger.' (they called all them hoodoo men 'two-head' niggers; i don't know why they called them two-head.) 'and you know he knows the white folks will put him in jail if he comes to town.' "but she says, 'you go and get him.' "so i went. "i left him at the house and when i came back in, he said, 'i looked at your wife and she had one of then spells while i was there. i'm afraid to tackle this thing because she has been poisoned and it's been goin' on a long time. and if she dies, they'll say i killed her and they already don't like me and lookin' for an excuse to do somethin' to me.' "my wife overheard him and says, 'you go on, you got to do somethin'.' "so he made me go to town and get a pint of corn whiskey. when i brought it back, he drunk a half of it at one gulp, and i started to knock him down. i'd thought he'd get drunk with my wife lying there sick. "then he said, 'i'll have to see your wife's stomach.' then he scratched it, and put three little horns on the place he scratched. then he took another drink of whiskey and waited about ten minutes. when he took them off her stomach, they were full of blood. he put them in the basin in some water and sprinkled some powder on them, and in about ten minutes more, he made me get them and they were full of clear water and there was a lot of little things that looked like wiggle tails swimming around in it. "he told me when my wife got well to walk in a certain direction a certain distance and the woman that caused all the trouble would come to my house and start a fuss with me. "i said, 'can't you put this same thing back on her.' "he said, 'yes, but it would kill my hand.' he meant that he had a curing hand and that if he made anybody sick or killed them, all his power to cure would go from him. "i showed the stuff he took out of my wife's stomach to old doc matthews and he said, 'you can get anything into a person by putting it in them.' he asked me how i found out about it, and how it was taken out, and who did it. "i told him all about it, and he said, 'i'm going to see that that nigger practices anywhere in this town he wants to and nobody bothers him.' and he did." opinions of young people "the young niggers aint got as much sense as the old ones had,--those that were born before the war. one thing, they don't read enough. they don't know history. i can't understand them. looks like to me they had a mighty good chance; but it looks like the more they get the worse they are. looks like to me their parents didn't teach them right--or somethin'. young ladies--i look at them every day of my life--coarse, swearing, running with bootleggers, and running the hoodlums down, smoking, going half-naked, and so on. they don't care what they do or nothing." relatives "my brother was in collodiusville, georgia, the last time i heard from him. that is in monroe county, or upton county,--i don't know what county it's in. i know he is there if he is living because he owns a home there. "william always lived in macon but he is dead. bud,--i don't know where he is. milton, irving, and zekiel, i don't know where they are. i used to keep up with them regular. but we ain't written to each other in a long time. "the last time i heard from mahala and laura, their husbands were bricklayers and they were living in atlanta, i think. they went some other place where there was plenty of work. i think it was to cleveland, ohio. there's josephine, mandy, and little mary--five sisters and seven brothers. "outside of william, crawford, and milton, i haven't seen none of them since fifty years. i haven't seen zekiel since the year of the surrender. i seen some of the white folks the year they had the re-union here. they seen me on the street, and came over and talked to me, and wanted me to go back to fort valley, and offered to pay my railroad fare. but i told 'em i was goin' to stay here in god's country." this information given by: h. b. holloway (dad or pappy) place of residence: valentine street, little rock, arkansas occupation: formerly railroader and drayman--pension now. age: --- interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: pink holly holly grove, arkansas age: "i was born in anderson county, south carolina. my papa was abe brown and my mama was lizzie white. she died when i was a baby and miss nancy white took me up to her house and raised me. her husband was mars henry white. they was good to me. miss nancy was the best. they treated me like their own boy. it was done freedom then but my papa stayed on the place. i learned to do up the night turns, slop the hogs and help bout the milkin'. they had young calves to pull off. i toted in the wood and picked up chips. she done everything for me and all the mother i knowed. "when i was seven years old my papa pulled me off to arkansas. we come on a immigration ticket, least i recken we did. i don't think my papa paid our way. we was brought here. the land was better they told em. "we settled in the woods close to mariana and commenced farmin'. i been farmin' and workin' in the timber and i carpenters a little. the timber is gone. "i supports myself all i can. i own a little house at clarendon i recken is the reason i don't get no government help." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: dora holmes [hw crossed out: (light brown)] valentine st., little rock, ark. age: ? occupation: housewife "my father's half brothers were white. they all fought in the army. they were confederate soldiers. once during the war when they came home, they brought my mother the goods for two dresses,--twenty yards of figured voile, ten yards for each dress. the cost of the whole twenty yards was fifty dollars ($ . ). "i still have the dresses and some petticoats and pantaloons which are nearly as old. i have ironed these things many a time until they were so stiff they stand straight up on the floor." interviewer's comments mary ann king, mother of dora holmes, was the original owner of the dresses. she died at the age of ninety-eight two or three years ago. one of the dresses is still in the possession of the daughter. it has a skirt with nine gores and a twelve-inch headed ruffle. the petticoat is of white muslin with a fifty-two yard lace ruffle in sixteen tiers of lace with beading at the top. it was worn just after the civil war. there are also a baby dress and a baby petticoat fifty-six years old. may interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: elijah henry hopkins ½ ringo street, little rock, arkansas age: "my father's master was old tom willingham, an awful big farmer who owned farms in georgia and south carolina, both. he lived in southwest georgia in baker county. old man willingham's wife was phoebe hopkins. her mother was old lady hopkins. i don't know what the rest of her name was. we never called her nothin' but old lady hopkins or mother hopkins. she was one of the richest women in the state. when she died, her estate was divided among her children and grandchildren. her slaves were part of her estate. they were divided among her children and grandchildren, too. tom willingham's family come in for its part. he had three sons, tom, jr., john, and robert. my father already belonged to tom willingham, sr., so he stayed with him. but my mother belonged to old lady hopkins, and she went to robert, so my daddy and mother were separated before i knew my daddy. my father stayed with old man willingham until freedom. "robert willingham was my mother's master. he never married. when he died he willed all his slaves free. but his relatives got together and broke the will and never did let 'em go. "when i saw my father to know him, i saw him out in georgia. they told me that was my father. then he had another wife and a lot of children. my mother brought me up and my father taken charge of me after she died and after freedom--about a year after. it was close to emancipation because the states were still under martial law. "i was born may , , in the barnwell district, south carolina. they used to call them districts then. it would be barnwell county now. they changed and started calling 'em counties in [hw:  ?] or thereabouts. i was running around when they mustered the men in for the civil war, and i was about nine years old when the war ended. i was about ten when my mother died and my father taken charge of me. i was taken from south carolina when i was about four years old and carried into georgia and stayed there until emancipation. my mother didn't tarry long in georgia after she was emancipated. she went back into south carolina; but she died in a short time, as i just said. then my father taken charge of me. i got married in south carolina in , and then i came out here in --to arkansas. little rock was the first place i came to. i didn't stay here a great while. i went down to the reeder farm on the arkansas river just about sixteen miles above pine bluff. i started share cropping but taken down sick. i never could get used to drinking that bottom water. then i went to pine bluff and went to work with the railroad and helped to widen the gauge of the cotton belt road. then the next year they started the sewer contract, and i worked in that and i worked on the first water plant they started. in working with the king manufacturing company i learned piping. "i stayed in pine bluff sixteen years. my wife died august , . a couple of years after that, i came back to little rock, and have been here ever since. i went to work on the illinois central railroad just across the river, which is now the rock island railroad. after it became the rock island, the bridge was built across the river east of main street. they used to go over the old baring cross bridge and had to pay for it. the missouri pacific enjoined the rock island and wouldn't let it go straight through, so they built their own bridge and belted the city and went on around. i got stricken down sick in and haven't been able to do heavy work since. you know, a plumber and steam-fitter have to do awful heavy work. "i get a little old age assistance from the state. they are supposed to give me commodities but my card got out and they ain't never give me another one. i went down to see about it today, and they said they'd mail me another one." how the little children were fed "my mother was always right in the house with the white people and i was fed just like i was one of their children. they even done put me to bed with them. you see, this discrimination on color wasn't as bad then as it is now. they handled you as a slave but they didn't discriminate against you on account of color like they do now. of course, there were brutal masters then just like there are brutal people now. louisiana and alabama and mississippi always were tough states on colored people. south carolina and georgia got that way after people from those places came in and taught them to mistreat colored people. yet in alabama and louisiana where they colored people were worse treated, it seems that they got hold of more property and money. same way it was in mississippi." patrollers "the patrollers was just a set of mean men organized in every section of the country. if they'd catch a nigger out and he didn't have a pass, they'd tie him up and whip him and then they'd take him back. you had to have a pass to be out at night. even in the daytime you couldn't go no great distance without a pass. them big families--rich families--that had big plantations would come together and the niggers from two or three places might go to a church on one of them. but you couldn't go no place where there wasn't a white man looking on." reading and writing in slave time "some of the white people thought so much of their slaves that they would teach them how to write and read. but they would teach them secretly and they would teach them not to read or write out where anybody would notice them. they didn't mind you reading as much as they minded you writing. if they'd catch you now and it was then, they'd take you out and chop off them fingers you're doing that writing with." slave occupation and wages "my daddy was a builder. old man willingham gave him freedom and time to work on his own account. he gave him credit for what work he done for him. he got three hundred dollars a year for my father's time, but all the money was collected by him, because my father being a slave couldn't collect any money from anybody. when my father's master died, he may have had money deposited with him. but he was strictly honest with my father. no matter how much he collected, he wouldn't take no more'n three hundred dollars and he put all the rest to the credit of my father. he said three hundred dollars was enough to take." how freedom came "the owners went to work and notified the slaves that they were free. after the proclamation was issued, the government had agents who went all through the country to see if the slaves had been freed. they would see how the proclamation was being carried out. they would ask them, 'how are you working?' 'you are free.' 'what are you getting?' some of them would say, 'i ain't gettin' nothin' now.' well, the agent would take that up and they would have that owner up before the government. maybe he would be working people for a year and giving them nothin' before they found him out. there are some places where they have them cases yet. where they have people on the place and ain't paying them nothin'." memories of soldiers and the war "i have seen thousands and thousands of soldiers. sometimes it would take a whole day for them to pass through. when sherman's army marched through atlanta, it took more than a day. i was in atlanta then. he sent word ahead that he was coming through and for all people that weren't soldiers to get out of the town. i saw the rebels, too; i saw them when they stacked their arms. looked like there was a hundred or more rifles in each stack. they just come up and pitched them down. they had to stack their arms and turn them over. "i was taken to georgia when i was four years old, you know. i recollect when all the people came up to swear allegiance, and when they were hurrying out to get away from sherman's army. they fit in atlanta and then marched on toward savannah. then they crossed over into south carolina. they went on through columbia and just tore it up. then they worked their way on back into georgia. they didn't fight in augusta though. "jeff davis was captured not far from my father's place[ ]. jeff davis had a big army, but the biggest thing he had was about a thousand wagons or more piled up with silver and other things belonging to the confederacy. he was supposed to be taking care of that. he had to turn it over to the north." 'shin plasters' "they had a kind of money right after the civil war--paper money gotten out by the united states government and supposed to be good. the confederate money was no good but this money--these 'shin plasters' as they were called--was good money issued by the government. they did away with it and called it all in. you could get more for it now than it is worth. the old green back took its place but the 'shin plaster' was in all sizes. it wasn't just a dollar bill. it was in pinnies, five cents, ten cents, twenty-five cents, and then they skipped on up to fifty cents, and they didn't have nothin' more till you got to a dollar." schooling "i haven't had a great deal of schooling. i have had a little about in places. just after the emancipation, my mother died and my father married again. my stepmother had other children and they kept me out of my education. since i have been grown, i have gotten a little training here and there. still i have served as supervisor of elections and done other things that they wanted educated people to do. but it was just merely a pick-up of my own. the first teachers i had were white women from the north." politics "i have never taken a great deal of interest in politics. only in the neighborhood where i lived there was a colony of colored people at bentley, south carolina. they chose me to represent them at the polls and i did the best i could. i got great credit for both the colored and the white people for that. but i never took much interest in politics. "my father spent a fortune in it but i never could see that it benefited him. i never did care for any kind of office except a mail contract that i had once to haul mail. i went through that successfully and never lost a pouch or anything but at the end of the year i throwed it up. i couldn't trust anyone else to handle it for me and i had to meet trains at all hours. the longest i could sleep was two or three hours a night, so i gave it up at the end of the year." care of old people "some of the masters treated us worse than dogs and others treated us fine. colonel robert willingham freed his slaves but his sisters and brothers wouldn't stand for it. they went and stole us off and sold us. my mother being a thrifty colored woman and a practical nurse, everywhere she went, a case gave thirty dollars and her board and mine. my father paid his master three hundred dollars a year. he built these gin houses and presses. the old man would write him passes and everything and see that he was paid for his work. some years, he would make as much as three or four thousand dollars. his master collected it and held it for him and gave it to him when he wanted it. that was during slavery times." opinion of the present "slavery days were hard but in the same time the colored people fared better than now because the white folks taken up for them and they raised what they needed to eat. you couldn't go nowhere but what people had plenty to eat. now they can't do it. "i know what caused it too. the jews didn't have much privilege till after the negro was emancipated. they used to kill jews and bury them in the woods. but after emancipation, he began to rise. first he began to lend money on small interest. then he started another scheme. people used to not have sense. they went to work and got in with the southern white folks and got a law passed about the fences. "the greeks and italians are next to the jews. they don't make much off the white man; they make it off the negro. they come 'round and open up a place and beg the niggers to come in; and when they get up a little bit, they shut out the niggers and don't want nothin' but white folks. it's a good thing they do, too; because if somebody didn't shut the negro out, he'd never have anything. "the slaveholders were hard, but those people who come here from across the water, they bring our trouble. you can't squeeze as much out of the poor white as you can out of the darkey. the darkey is spending too much now--when he can get hold of it. everywhere you see a darkey with a home, he's got a government mortgage on it. some day the government will start foreclosing and then the darkeys won't have anything, and the biggest white man won't have much. "a hundred years from now, they won't be any such thing as negroes. there will be just americans. the white people are mixed up with greeks, germans, and italians and everything else now. there are mighty few pure americans now. there used to be plenty of them right after the war. "the country can't hold out under this relief system. "they're sending the young people to school and all like that but they don't seem to me to have their minds on any industry. they have got to have backing after they get educated. now, they'll bring these foreigners in and use them. in the majority of states now the colored man ain't no good unless he can get some kind of trade education and can go into some little business. "in slavery times, a poor white man was worse off than a nigger. general lee said that he was fighting for the benefit of the south, but not for slavery. he didn't believe in slavery." occupation and present support of hopkins "i came to arkansas in . i got married in in south carolina. i never had but the one wife. i have done a little railroading, worked in machinery. i have planted one crop. did that in but got sick and had to sell out my crop. for forty-six years, i worked as a plumber and piper. i worked in piping oil, gas, water, and i worked with mechanics who didn't mind a colored man learning. they would let me learn and they would send me out to do jobs. "nothing hurts me but my age. if i were younger, i could get along all right. but the work is too heavy for me now. "i get old age assistance from the state. they pay me eight dollars. i have to pay four dollars for the use of this shack. so that don't leave much for me to live on. i'm supposed to get commodities too, and i am waiting for my order now." footnotes: [ ] [hw: jeff davis captured may , , outside irwinsville, ga.] interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: nettie hopson helena (home--poplar grove), arkansas age: ? "i don't know how old i is. i am old. i been here so long. i feel my age now right smart. i want to do things and give out. i know i'm old. i look old. i was born in alabama. "mother was sold to bud walls at holly grove. papa bought her and brought us to this state. my father died seven months before i was born my mother told me. she married ag'in. she was the mother of ten children. we all lived and do better than we do now. mother was light. she worked in the field ever since i come to know 'bout things. her name was martha foster. i don't know my father's name but foster. the rest of the family was called walls. whether they wanted to be called that, they was called walls' niggers 'fore and after freedom both. "my husband is living. my daughter died first day of march. it sorter addled me." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: molly horn holly grove, arkansas age: "my ma and pa belong to the same white folks. i was born in north carolina. ma and pa had six children. i don't know how many owners they ever had in north carolina. ma and pa was named sarah and jad nelson. "when i was a baby rubin harriett bought me and mama. his wife was becky harriett. ma was too old to sell without me. they didn't want to sell me but they couldn't sell her widout me. i am the baby of our family. papa didn't get to come to arkansas. that parted them. after freedom her other children came. i heard ma say how they kept papa dodged round from the yankees. the white folks kept him dodged round. he was a field hand. ma was a cook and house girl. she never did work in the field till she come out here. she said white folks didn't whoop him; he wouldn't take it. i don't know why they thought he wouldn't be whooped. "i could walk when i first seed the yankees. i run out to see em good. then i run back and told miss becky. i said, 'what is they?' she told ma to put all us under the bed to hide us from the soldiers. one big yankee stepped inside and says to miss becky, 'you own any niggers?' she say, 'no.' here i come outen under the bed and ask her fer bread. then the yankee lieutenant cursed her. he made the other four come outen under the bed. they all commenced to cryin' and i commenced to cry. we never seed nobody lack him fore. we was scared to deaf of him. he talked so loud and bad. he loaded us in a wagon. mama too went wid him straight to helena. he put us in a camp and kept us. mama cooked fer the yankees six or seven months. she heard em--the white soldiers--whisperin' round bout freedom. she told em, 'you ain't goiner keep me here no longer.' she took us walkin' back to her old master and ax him for us a home. then she married man on the place. he was real old. i had five half brothers and sisters then. i was a good size girl then. "they had run him and some more men to texas. they went in a wagon and walked. they made one crop there. he said fifteen or sixteen families what belong to different owners went out there. they heard some people talking--overheard it was free times. they picked up and left there at night. they dodged round in the woods and traveled at night. when he got back he made terms to work as a share cropper. "master, he didn't give us nuthin'. i didn't hear they would give em anything. truth of it was they didn't have much to keep less givin' the niggers something. we all had little to eat and wear and a plenty wood to burn and a house to shelter us. the work didn't slack up none. the fences down, the outhouses had to have more boards tack on. no stock cept a scrub or so. we had no garden seed cept what be borrowed round and raised. times was hard. we had biscuits bout once a week, lucky if we got that. "the ku klux got after our papa. they fixin' to kill him. he hid in the gullies. they come to our house once or twice but i never seed em. papa come once or twice and took us all and hid us fore sundown. they quit huntin' him. "we farmed wid mr. hess. mr. herrin wouldn't let nobody bother his hands. "we had good times. i danced. we had candy pullings bout at the houses. we had something every week. i used to dance in the courthouse at clarendon--upstairs. paul wiley was head music man. all colored folks--colored fiddlers. "i was married over fifty years. bunt sutton's mother helped bout my weddin' supper. (bunt sutton's mother was a white woman.) she and her family all was there. she had then two boys and two girls. mama bought me a pure white veil. i was dressed all in white. we had a colored preacher to marry us. we married at night, borrowed lamps and had em settin' about. there was a large crowd. ann branch was the regular cake-cooker over the country. she cooked all my cakes. they had roast pork and goose and all sorter pies. then i went on to my new home on another man's place bout one-fourth mile from mama's house. bunt sutton's mama was a widow woman. "my husband voted some but i don't pay no tention to votin'. "i own a place but it don't do no good. my son is cripple and i can't work. i done passed hard work now. my husband bought this place before he died. i don't get help from nowhere. "this is hardest times in my life. well, education doin' a heap of good. the papers tell you how to do more things. it makes folks happier if they can read. "now i don't be bothered much wid young folks. you heard em say flies don't bother boilin' pots ain't you? i does nough to keep me going all the time and the young folks shuns work all they can cept jes' what it takes for em to live on right now. their new ways ain't no good to me." # interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: cora l. horton w. ninth street, little rock, arkansas age: between and ? "my grandfather on my mother's side was a slave. after my mother had been dead for years, i went to georgia where he was. i never had seen him before and i would always want to see him, because i had heard my mother speak of him being alive and he would write to her sometimes. i said if i ever got to be grown and my grandfather stayed alive, i was going to georgia to see him. so the first opportunity i got i went. that was a long time ago. if i'd waited till now he'd a been dead. he's been dead now for years. he lived a long time after i visited him. his name was john crocker. he lived in marshallville, georgia. "i couldn't tell how he and my mother got separated. i don't know. i don't believe i ever heard her say. in georgia when she was quite a girl, i think she said some of her people left georgia and went to covington, tennessee. some of the white people that was connected with them in slavery were named hollinsheds and my auntie went in that name. that is, her husband did. my mother's name was adelaide crocker. she was never a slave. her mother was. "my mother and father had children--twelve of them. i don't know how many children my grandparents had. i know three uncles--william, harmon, and matthew. they were all my grandmother's children and they were flewellens. she married a flewellen. those were my father's brothers. my auntie's husband was named dick hollinshed. they all come from georgia. "it comes to me now. i remember hearing my mother say once that her father was sold. i think she said that her father was sold from her mother. she didn't seem to know much about it--only what she heard her father say. "a man came through the country when i was a girl before my mother died. she died when i was young. he came to our house and he said he was a relative of my mother's and he went on to tell what he knew of her folks in slave times. by him telling so much about her folks, she thought he really was related to her. but after he left, she found out that he was just a fraud. he was going 'round throughout the country making it by claiming he was related to different people. i don't know how he found out so much about the different people he stopped with. i suppose there was a lot of people made it that way. "i don't know what my grandparents did in slavery time. when i did see my grandfather, he wasn't able to do anything. he didn't live so long after i seen him. my mother's mother was dead and he had married another woman. i never did see my grandmother. i do remember seeing one of my granduncles. but i was so small i don't remember how he looked. "i used to hear my grandma say that they weren't allowed to have a church service and that they used to go out way off and sing and pray and they'd have to turn a pot down to keep the noise from going out. i don't know just how they fixed the pot. "i had one auntie named jane hunter. when she died, she was one hundred and one years old. she married rev. k. hunter over here in north little rock. she had been married twice. she was married to dick hollinshed the first time. she's been dead ten years. she was thirty-eight years old when emancipation came. she baked the first sacrament bread for the c. m. e. church when it was organized in . "my grandmother lived a hundred years too. that was my father's mother. i knew both of them. my grandmother lived with us. that is, she lived with us a while when my mother died. she lived here a while before she died, and then she went back to georgia because she had a son there named william flewellen. he is a presiding elder in the c. m. e. church, in georgia. "my father was a railroad man and when my mother did anything at all, she worked in the field. my father farmed during the time when he was working on the railroad. "i have heard my grandmother talk about slaves being put on the block and sold and then meeting way years after and not knowing one another. she told me about a woman who was separated from her son. one day, years after slavery, when she had married again and had a family, she and her husband got to talking about old slave times. she told him about how she had been sold away from her baby son when he was a little thing. she told him how he had a certain scar on his arm. her husband had a similar scar and he got to talking about slave times, and they found out that they were mother and son. he left her and went on his way sad because he didn't want to stay on living as husband with his mother. i don't think those people were held accountable for that, do you?" [hw: omit] interviewer's comment cora horton is the first president of the woman's missionary society composed of the societies of the three arkansas c. m. e. conferences. she has been president of the annual conference division of the woman's home missionary society of the little rock conference for about seven years. she visits all meetings of the general conference and the general board of the c. m. e. church as well as all connectional meetings of the little rock conference, and such meetings of the arkansas and southwest conferences as relate to the discharge of her duties as president of the state woman's home missionary society organization. she has been president of the n. c. cleves club of bullock temple c. m. e. church of little rock for seven years and is a most active church worker as will be seen from this comment. in her worship she represents the traditional negro type, but she buys the current issue of the c. m. e. church discipline and is well acquainted with its provisions relating to her specific church work as well as to all ordinary phases of church work and administration. there is a lot of drama in her story of the mother who unwittingly married her son. there is an interesting sidelight on slavery separations in this interview. never had it occurred to me that imposters among negroes might seize upon the idea of missing relatives as the basis for a confidence scheme. there is also an interesting sidelight on c. m. e. church history in the naming of jane hunter as the woman who baked the first sacrament bread at the organization of that church in . name of interviewer: thomas elmore lucy person interviewed: laura house russellville, arkansas age: ? "no sir, i don't remember hearing my parents ever tell me just when i was born, the year or the month, but it was sometime during the war. my parents' master was named mentor--spelled m-e-n-t-o-r. we come to pope county several years after the war, and i have lived here in russellville forty years and raised our family here. father passed away about fifteen years ago. "mother used to tell me that the master wasn't overly kind to them. i remember she used to talk of some money being promised to them after they were freed, but i don't know how much. but i do know that none was ever paid to them. "no sir, i cannot read or write. "i have been a member of the a. m. e. church ever since i was a little girl." note: mrs. house is very neat in her dress and general deportment, is industrious, and keeps busy working here and there at odd jobs, but her memory is very uncertain as to many important details about her ancestry. nov mrs. mildred thompson mrs. carol graham el dorado district _ex-slave--hoodoo--haunted houses_ aunt _pinkey howard_, an old negress of slavery days, can't "comember" her age but she must be about or years old as she was about fourteen or fifteen when the war closed. in speaking of those days aunt pinkie said: "oooh, chile, you ought to been there when mr. linktum come down to free us. policemen aint in it. you ought ter seen them big black bucks. their suits was so fine trimmed with them eagle buttons and they wuz gold too. and their shoes shined so they hurt your eyes. i tell yo ah cant comember my age but it's been a long time ago. "my ole marsa holbrook lived at hillsboro and he wuz a good marsta. i never went hungry or wid out cloes in them days. slavery days was good old days. these days is hard days. po' ole neeger caint git enough to feed herself. them days weuns made our cloth and growed our food and never paid for it. never did want for nothin' and marster had heaps of slaves. use to bring them across moro bay and them neegers always fighting and running off. they'd run off and go across moro bay trying to get back home. marsta neva went after em. said: 'let 'em go. aint no count no ways.' "i wooden take $ for living in slavery days and i member when they all parted out. mr. linktum come down. yasum, mr. abe linktum and his partner horace greeley, comed down. lieutenants and 'sarges' all comed. and some big yaller buck niggers all dressed up fine. i served mr. linktum myself wid my own hands. yasum i did. i fetched cold water from the spring on a waiter and i stood straight an held it out just like dis in front of me. yasum and his partner, mr. horace greeley too. and them big yaller buck niggers went in the kitchen where my mammy was cookin and tole her: 'git out er here nigger. you don have to wait on dese white fokes no more.' yasum dey did. and they done said: 'you aint got no more marster and no more missus. yo don' have to work here no more.' but my mother said: 'i'se puttin old marster's victuals on to cook. wait till i gets em on.' an they tole her again that she didn't have no more marster and no more missus. i tole my mammy to kick him down the step but she said she was afeard he would shoot her. all i hates about them 'sarges' and lieutenants is they never did shave. them days all wore whiskers. i 'comember' when i was a little chap standin on the block with my mammy and being sold. but ah always had a good marster. "ah members standin on nuther block to cook. tables wuz high to keep nothin from draggin things off. grandma aiken learnt me to cook an i stood on a block and made out biscuits with a spoon. ah neber put my scratchers in the dough in my life. and i could cook good too. wuz knowed as the drummers cook. drummers would come through fum new orleens and et at ole marsters and bragged on my cookin and tried to git me ter go wif them to new orleans and cook fuh they wives. "mah fust name was pinkie dixon. i was married on ole mistesses front gallery and mah name wuz cook then. next time ah married mah name wuz howard. "ah can count but not to member hit. ah don' know the number of my chilluns but ah kin name em. there's alec, henry, winnie, ellen, mary, gola, seebucky, crawford, sarah and ruby. seebucky wuz named fer sears and roebuck. cause at that time weuns ordered things fum them and ordered seebuckys clo'es fore she cum fum thar. that why we named 'er that. "ah deednt git no book larnin. ah larnt enough to keep out of devilment and ah knowed how to cook. now these fools aroun here don' know nothin. they never did see linktum or horace greeley. ah wishes it wuz work time agin but ah caint hold out now." "ah never gits hot nor cold lak yo does. ah takes mah cold bath ever mornin and ah feels good." thus old aunt pinkey rambled on and on talking of this and that and especially the good days--slavery days. she evidently thought that some of the army officers were lincoln and greeley. she probably heard her master or mistress talk about these men and got them confused with the army officers who visited in the home. _old marion johnson_ was seven years old when the war closed. is now. "chillun let me tell you ah don want to go over what i done been over. not agin. in slavery days we had plenty to eat and plenty to wear but since then oh, lordy. my old mawster's name was alex anderson and he lived in jackson parrish, louisiana. yuh say youh wants me to tell you some tales about ole times, ghostes and the like. well ah sure can if ah gits started but somehow i jest don' seem wound up this mawnin. "one time there was a man what had a house full of daughters and his girl janie wanted to git married. her lover asked her father's permission to wed. he said: 'well mr. have you got any objection to me and your daughter janie maryin'?' the old man didn't want the young one to see how anxious he was to get rid of his daughter so he said: 'you wantin to marry my daughter, janie? janie don't want ter git married.' the girl was behind the door listening and when her father said that she spoke up and said: 'yes i do pappa, bad.' the young man said: 'see there now we both wants to git married.' the ole man spoke then and said: 'well, damn you, dash you take her.' "you know what the clocks says? the big old mantle clocks we used to have ticked along real slow and they said: 'take your time. take your time. take your time.' the little alarm clocks of today say: 'get together. get together. get together.' and that is jes like the young folks. when i was young the young folks them days young folks took their time and went together a long time and they married they stayed married. the young folks today rush around and get married in a week and fust thing you knows they is done duvoced and married agin. they is jest as diffunt as the clocks is diffunt. "you knows if you makes up yo mind to do somethin and asks the lord to help you he will. i was comin along that path in june years ago. i chewed brown mule tobacco and wanted a chaw. i had been plowing all day and when i pulled the tobacco outen my pocket it was wet where i had sweated on hit and the outer leaves wuz all curled up so i said 'lord help me' and throwed it out in the weeds and havn't taken a chew since. "youns notice how the younguns cuss this day. the womens too. in the olden days the women didn't cuss out loud but they did 'wooden cussin.' now i bet you girls is done wooden cussin lots o times. loose your temper and want to say things and don't dare so you slams chairs around on the floor when you is movin them to sweep. that is wooden cussin. "you says you is interested in buried treasure? well near strong where the ccc camp is was a place of buried treasure. madam hartline and three other white folks and myself went down there in a car. with a finding rod (divining rod) we located the treasure. then i took this here proving rod you sees here and drove it down in the groun till hit struck somethin hard. a voice from somewhere said: 'what you all doing here? what you after?' ever body lit a shuck to the car and nobody ever did go back to see about the treasure. you says why did i run? dese feets wuz made to take care of this body and i used em is all. "when ah was a young man and livin down in louisiana below farmerville ah went with a bunch of white fellows to dig fer buried gold. they didn't begin diggin until after dark. six men were on guard. we dug by a light made by a big pine torch. dug and dug and dug. finally we struck hit. got hit all uncovered and sure nuff there hit was. jest then the torch blew out and we heard the quarest noises and ever' body run to camp. hit jest poured down rain that night and the next mornin, we went back to get the money and hit was gone. "and you says you is interested in spooks and ghosties. down in louisiana dr. fred hodge (white) had me to hitch up his buggy and go with him on my horse to make a call many miles away from home one night. hit must have ben bout nineteen miles. i was ter go on some other place with him but the patient was so bad that he had ter stay and sent me on in the buggy an kept my horse to ride back. i was glad to git the buggy sos i could take my gal for a ride. the doctor stayed till bout four o'clock in the mornin. he had to go home by a graveyard. there was a big white oak tree growin by the side of the road and when the doctor passed there every limb fell off the tree and left the naked tree standin there. the doctor rode back to the house where he had been and he rode so fast that the horse was winded when he got there. the man went on back with him and there stood the tree just as hit was before ever a limb fell ofn it. "nother man i knew went to town on horseback and bought a bolt of domestic for his wife and tied it on the back of his saddle. he had to pass a cemetery. jest as he passed he noticed a flapping sound and looked back to see sumpin white wavin behind. he whipped his horse and made him run and the faster he ran the more the flapping sounded and it got longer and longer behind him. at last he got home and found that the domestic had got unwrapped and was flappin in the wind. the man was plumb weak and the horse died he had run him so hard. "an talk of hainted houses. this here one that ahm livin in is hainted. frank thompson a yaller nigger died here before me and mah wife moved here. before mah wife died, weuns would hear things and mah wife said hit was frank thompson come back. we would be in bed and would hear fokes walkin aroun and the door would come unlatched and come open. mah wife would say that hit wes frank thompson's sperit come back and as soon as he got through ramblin aroun she would git up and bolt the door agin. one satiday night me and her went to town. on our way back as we wuz comin acrost that little ditch out thar she said to me step aside marion and let frank thompson pass. don' you see him comin? and we stepped aside an she said he passed and we come on home. ah hears him now at times walkin aroun and goin in and out the doors but ah aint never done seen him like she has. "now ah'll tell you about a curious happenin'. one time down in louisiana a brown skin girl died. when they started to the graveyard with her the sun was shinin as purty as hit is right now they lowered the coffin in the grave and it 'come-inced' to rain hard and ever'body run in the church and stayed till it quit raining. the rain stood in holes and puddles and ever'body expected the grave to be full but when we went out there was not a bit of water in the grave. how come if it wasn't hoodooed? "ah jes aint wound up right this mawnin to tell youns what you wants to know but if you all will come back ahm sure ah can member some more ah knows." and uncle marion kept working with the chair in which he was weaving a new bottom of white-oak splits. before we left he showed us baskets that he had woven. old _della benton_ can neither read nor write and doesn't know her age she must be near seventy. della was my washwoman several years ago and i remembered hearing her tell something about hoodoes so we went to see della to get all we could about it. "honey don' you know that if you make a hole in a tree and put a hair from the head of the person you want to hoodoo in the tree and seal it up in there the person will go crazy. yas mam and ifn you puts pins and needles in with the hair before you seals the hole they will die. why my neighbor _angelina thompson_ was hoodood by a woman and ah'll jest take you all ovah and let her tell you for herself. "and ifn you all wants to drive somebody away fum home sos they'll nevah come back take one of their hairs and put hit in a steam of runnin water so hit'll run off and they will leave home and nevah come back. "an somebody can git your track and run you slam crazy. yasum they kin too. where you steps in the clay or mud they gits hit and takes hit up with sumpin and does things to you and you goes crazy. "now you chillun come with me ovah to sister thompson's and she kin tell you fer herself what was done done to her when she wuz hoodooed." we went to a nearby house and della called angelina out. she told us that she was truly hoodoed and what she said was as follows: "sister thompson tell these ladies about bein hoodooed. oh they is alright. this is some of my white folks i used to work fuh long time ago." then angelina told the following: "yasum, i sholey wuz hoodooed. how hit come about i loaned my clothes to a woman. a dress and shoes. she put something on them that looked like snuff. it was brown lookin and i jes though she had spilled snuff on em. that wuz years ago and she done hit outa jealousy. she wanted my ole man and she thought she would hoodoo me and ahd die and she'd get him. and she woulda too ifn hit hadn a been for mother dye. you all know she's a doodoo doctor who lived at newport. an i went to her fer bout two years and she cured me. mother dye is daid now but jess rogers, a man thar does the docterin now. "you all ask how hit fected me when ah was hoodooed. i tole you bout the brown stuff bein in my shoes and on mah dress. well ah put em on and in a little while mah feet itched lak an could claw the bones out. ah nevah was in such misery. then ah tuk somethin like the dry rot. the meat come off my fingers and toes. jest look at them scars. and look at these scars in mah hair. see how mah haid is all scarred up. at times ah had a mind that ah wanted to go and didn' know where. they had to watch me all the time. but ole mother dye cured me and that woman didn' git mah ole man aftah all." della and angelina talked among themselves for a moment and della said "ah believe ah will." then she said: "does you all know phil green? he lives about two miles and a half down the junction city highway and he is a hoodoo man. he can tell you all things efn you all cares to go ahll go with you. he can tell you what is gwianter happen and what has happened and he can hoodoo." of course we were in for going right then while we had a car so della crawled in the back seat and we were away to phil green's. went out the highway about two miles and turned off on a country road. up hill and down, around this field and that and through a big gate, winding around through a field and orchard. at last we arrived. _phil green_ looked to be a prosperous farmer. we drove up to the back of the house and around front. some negro had just killed a chicken for dinner. several cars were parked in the yard. one bore a louisiana license. the porch was full of negroes. della called and asked if phil was there. they replied that he was but that he was busy. della said, "we wants to see him" and a black negro woman came out to the car. my, but she was furious. we had never seen a negro so angry before. the first thing she did was to tell us that they didn't serve white people but the way she expressed it was a scream she said: "we don' use white people. no suh! we don' use em. hits too dangerous. ah don't care who tole you phil used white people. he don'. he is may husban and ah won't let him." we soon pacified her by telling her that we appreciated her point of view and that it was perfectly alright with us. della crawled out of the car right now and said: "you all knows the way back to town don' you? ah's going ter stay." the next morning we went back to della's. she told us that the people on phil's front porch were from marion louisiana and they had come to get him to tell them how to get one of the men of the family out of the penitentiary. she apologized for taking us out there and declared that she believed that he once served white people. aunt _dilcie raborn_ and all her family declared that she would be a hundred this august. she is an ex-slave and mr. john wright of louisiana was her master. "yas'm chillun i'se a hunnerd years ole. ah was one of the las' young niggers on marster's plantation. mah job was nusin the chillun. ole marster's father was livin in them days and he fought in the resolution war. yasum he did. he was rail old and my mother chawed fer him jes like she did fer her baby. i'se seen more hardness since i got old than ah ever did in mah life. slavery wuz the easiest time of all. mah muthas name was charity and she wuz the family cook, yasum an ah wuz the nuss girl. i tuk care of the chilluns. ole marster's wife lost her mind and they had to watch her all the time. did you ask they send her to the sylum? no man thar warn't no sylums in them days and anyway ole marster had plenty of niggers to wait on her and take care of her and watch her sos she wouldn't git out and git hurt. she did slip out one time and ah was totin the flour from mill from the gate to the kitchen and she grabbed hit away fum me and throwed hit all ovah me and rubbed hit in mah face good and then laughed at me. then she run and got in the creek and set down in the watah and the niggas had to git in thar and git her out. hit made her sick and old marster sho did git them niggers fer lettin her git out. "i sho wish all times could be slavery times. ah had everything nice then. "i had some chillun. ah cant count em but ah can name em. joe, habe, abram, billy, johnny, charity and caline. ah makes mah home here with charity, she is mah baby chile and she is fifty. "you asks is ah afeard of haints? ah'v never taken no frightment off'n em. ah'v lived in houses other folks couldn't live in but ah'v never lived that way that i had to run from haints. "ah lived jes like a millionaire when ah lived in slavery times, seed more hardness since i got old than i ever did in mah life." then we left aunt dilcie with her snuff and went to find _aunt jane carter_. after rambling around in rock island quarters we at last found jane carter. she was living with her grand daughter and was sitting out in the yard with a bunch of her great-grand-children. she was so deaf that we were not able to talk to her, much to our disappointment. the granddaughter told us that she was years old and that mrs. roscoe taunton's granfather was jane's old master. we later saw mrs. taunton and she told us that jane had belonged to her grandfather stephen manning and was her mother's nurse. jane was grown when mrs. taunton's mother was born. we were told about _old bill_ who lives in barton quarters and went to find her. she was sitting out on the porch of her cabin and we sat on the edge of the porch much to the dismay of bill who could not walk because of a sore foot which she told us was caused by the bite of a rattlesnake years ago in slavery time. "ah don' want mah white folks to sit on the floo'. honey go in dah and git dat sheet and spred hit on the floo'. ole bill would go herself efn she could walk. honey you all is gwianter git blistered out in de sun like you is widout no hats on. don you all know you had orter take keer of thet purty white skin of yourn? my ole missus never would git out in the sun widout somethin on her haid. ole mawster thought she was purty and she aimed to stay purty. "you all says you wants ter heah ole bill tell about slavery days, lawsy chillun ah pray ter god ah'll be with mah white chillun agin and play mah harp with em. we'll have plenty to eat and plenty to wear jes as we did when we had our good mawster in slavery days. marster's grown son used to say: 'bill she's ruint to death.' why i used ter git my young mistesses dresses and put em on and git out in the yard and flounce and flip. the young mistess would scole me but young marster would say 'leave bill erlone, ah lack to see her dance. dance some moah bill.' mah white folks use ter teach me. now when white folks taugh me ahm a nigger done taughted. "honey ah jes don' like ter see mah white folks sit on the floo' ah wishes ole bill cud foch some cheers fer yo all ter set on. "how ole is ah? ah jes don' member but ah's powerful ole. "yas'm ah' wuz nurse girl for marsters chillun. i nevah had ter wuk hard a tall, all ah had ter do was play wid the chillun and take keer of em. oncet a circus show comed thru and mawster bought a rattle snake fum em fer a pet. hit nevah did have hits teeth pulled (fangs). hit wuz a plum pet too, allus followin us about. we would have to knock hit back outn de way sometimes. one time ah wuz comin down de stairs wid a chile in each arm and de snake wuz crawlin erlong sides me. jest as we got ter the bottom hit crawled roun front of me and ah didn see hit cause of havin the chillun in mah arms and ah stepped slambang on that snake an hit turnt aroun and bit mah foot. ah nevah drapped them chillun though. my ole man said ifn hit had been him he'd a throwd them chillun down and run but not ole bill. marster and mistess trusted bill to take keer of them chillun and ole bill sho did take keer of em. but mah foot nigh bout kilt me and thet foot is whut is the mattah wid me terday. "you ask haint ah got no folks? no'm. ah nevah had but one youngun and hit died wid the croup. the man next doo' owns this heah house and lets ole bill live heah. the guvment lady send me a check ever' month (pension) and joe lyons gits hit and fetches hit out ter me. "you ask does ah know erbout any hainted houses? no'm when ah fin's a house is hainted ah aint gwian in. no'm not ole bill. but sumpin happened not long ergo that give me a big fright. hit waz long bout dusk ah seed two women, white as anybody gwian down de road and when they got along thar they quit the road and come aroun the path. ah said: 'howdy' and they never even speak jus kep' a goin'. ah say: 'whar is you all a goin' and they nevah say a word. then ah say to em: 'won't you all come by and set with ole bill a while.' an still they nevah say nothin. jus kep' on a goin' roun' that house and down the road. then ah got skeered and went in the house an ah doan set out late no moah. efn them ghost had uh come in th house ah would a gone undah the house. "you all chillun ain goin is you? come back ter see ole bill. ah sholey hates to have mah white folks sit on the floor but mebby ole bill's foot will be bettuh next time an she can git her white fokes some cheers." aunt _sally fields_ said to be years old lived in mack quarters about two and a half or three miles south of el dorado. she is blind and lives with hattie moseley. during slavery days she belonged to the patterson family and came with them from alabama to louisiana and later to caledonia where she was living at the close of the civil war. her mind was wandering to such an extent that we could not get very much from her and when asked about slavery times she said: "slavery time is gone. the stars are passed. the white folks that raised me said: 'i want you all to get up in the morning and tell me about the stars.' oh lordy! the stars fell. ole missus would come say: 'ah want to be standing up behind the door. ah don' want to be buried.' my ole missus was good to all the niggers. "there was a big spring on marsters plantation. when we would start to the spring mistress would say: 'don't go on the left hand side of the spring, go up the right hand side to the chinquapin tree.'" it took sally about twenty minutes to say that much so we didn't stay longer. interviewer: carol graham person interviewed: pinkie howard (add) el dorado, ark. age: ? "mornin', honey! here you is to see aunt pinkie again. what did you bring me? didn't you bring old aunt pinkie somethin' good to eat? "lawsy, honey, its been so long i can't member much bout plantation days. but i members the children on the plantation would ring up and play ring games. and we used to have the best things to eat back in them days. we used to take taters and grate them and make tater pudding. made it in ovens. made corn bread and light bread in ovens too and i used to bake the best biscuits anybody ever et and i didn't put my scratchers in them neither. old miss taught me how. and we had lasses pone corn bread and them good old tater biscuits. we used to eat parched corn, and cornmeal dumplings was all the go back there. "i worked all my life and hard, too, but i still is a pretty good old frame. "he! he! he! look at that black boy passing, will you? them brichie legs is half way his thighs. he needs to put sugar in his shoes to sweet talk his brichie legs down. and did you notice he didn't speak to old aunt pinkie. young folks ain't got no manners these days. now when i was young back there on that plantation at hillsboro old miss aiken taught all her niggers manners. she would say to us, 'now, you all don' clean your noses, or years, or fingernails before folks; it's ill manners. and don' make no 'marks bout folks. don' eat onions and go out in company, if you does, eat coffee to kill the taste. don't talk with yo' mouth full of sumpin' to eat; that ill manners too. don' eat too fast cause you is liable to git strangled. and don' wear yo' welcome out by staying too long.' "ain't it warm and nice today missy? jus like a spring day. an see that bee after my flower? wasn't it a bee? you know, bees used to swarm in the springtime back on the plantation. the way they would catch em was to ring a bell or beat on a old plow and keep beatin' and ringin' till they settled on a tree limb. then they made a bee gum and covered it and left a hole at the bottom of the gum for them to go in and out, then they sawed the limb off and put the bees in the gum and put some sweetened water made from molasses so they can start to makin' honey. sometimes the bees would sting some of us and we would put a little snuff on it and cure it right up." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: josephine howell brinkley, arkansas age: "my mother was rebecca jones. she was born in nashville, tennessee. grandma was a cook and a breeding woman. the jones thought she was very valuable. they prized her high. she was the mother of twenty-one children. mother was more than half indian. she was bright color. the jones wanted to keep her, thought she would be a fine cook and house woman and a fine breeder. she had such a terrible temper they sold her to mcalways, some of their relations close to augusta, arkansas. "mama said she was eight years old when gabe mcalway come to nashville, tennessee and got her. he bought her. he was a young man and a saloon-keeper at augusta, arkansas. he put her out on the farm at his father's. she was a field hand. she was part african and a whole lot indian. she was fractious and high tempered. the old man mcalway and the overseers would drop her clothes down in the field before all the hands and whoop her. gabe never even slapped her. his aunt mrs. jones didn't want them to put her in the field. she wanted to keep her but couldn't she was so fractious, and she didn't know how bad old man treated her. "when mother was sold she was brought from twenty brothers and her mother and never saw none of them no more. she left them at wolf river. they took the boat. wolf river is close to memphis. they must have brought them that far but i don't know. this is what all she told me minua and minua time. her own papa bought her when she was eight years old, gabe mcalway. when she got to be a young maid he forced motherhood up on her. i was born before freedom. how old i am i don't know. gabe mcalway was sort of a young bachelor. he got killed in the civil war. he was a scotch-irishman. i never seen my father. "mother married then and had five children. she lived in the back yard of mrs. will thompson. dr. goodridge stopped her from having children, she raved wild. she had such a bad fractious temper. she suckled both mrs. will thompson's children, old man nathan mcgreggor's grandchildren. she lived in mrs. thompson's back yard but she slept in their house to help with the babies. "judge milwee's wife and auntie, mrs. baxter, raised me from a baby (infant). judge milwee was in brinkley but he moved to little rock. them is my own dear white folks. honey, i can't help but love them, they part of me. they raised me. they learned me how to do everything. "my son live with me and i raising my little great-grandson. we can't throw him away. my baby's mother is way off in st. louis. he is three years old. "mother never talked much about slavery other than i have told you. she said during of the war women split and sawed rails and laid fences all winter like men. food got scarce. they sent milk to the soldiers. meat was scarce. after she was free she went on like she had been living at john mcalway's. she said she didn't know how to start doing for herself. "some of our young generation is all right and some of them is too thoughtless. times is too fast. folks is shortening their days by fast living. hurting their own bodies. forty years ago folks lived like we ought to be living now." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: pauline howell nickname pearl brinkley, arkansas age: or ? "i was born in paris, tennessee and come to arkansas when i was a child. i don't know how old i am but my mama knowed 'bout when i was born. it warnt long after the war. i past sixty-five and it is nearer seventy from what she said. she ain't been dead long. she was about a hundred years old. i. c. switch killed her. she was going cross there to fisher body and the switch engine struck her head. she dropped something and stooped to pick it up or the engine wouldn't touched her. she lived in memphis. "she was born at oaks, tennessee. she took me down to see the cabin locks where she was born. they had rotted down and somebody lived in the big house. it had gone to rack then pretty bad. my father's master was george harris. he was governor of tennessee. my mother's mistress at oaks was miss ann laguion (or maybe gwion). i never heard her husband's name. they had several farms and on each farm was the cabin locks (little houses all in a row or two rows). the houses was exactly alike. grandma cooked for the white folks and mama nursed. the baby was a big fat heavy sort, a boy, and it was so heavy she couldn't hardly pick it up. she had to carry it around all day long. when night come she was wore out. there was several of them. when she go to their houses in memphis they honor her. they take her down town and buy her shoes and dresses. buy her whatever she say she want. they say they was proud of her. she was a little black guinea woman (low and stocky). not long go mr. (_white man_) in brinkley asked me when my ma coming back here. said he ain't seed her for so long. i tole him she was dead. he said he have to go tell mrs. ____ (his wife). she come out here and stay and piece quilts. she sewed so nice. made pretty little stitches. she'd take the most time and pains fixing the pieces together to look pretty. she'd set there and sew and me over there and tell me bout how she was raised and i'd cry. cry cause she had so hard a time when she was a girl. "the old master sent my father to liverpool, england to bury his money. he was his own son anyhow. sent him with his money to keep the yankees from taking it. my aunt, my father and uncle jesse all his own children. course old mistress love them little children like her own. she couldn't help herself. "mariah steed went in governor harrises name after freedom. so did randall travis harris. "my mama said she was never sold but her sister and her children were. she was put upon the auction stile and all her little children. a man in mobile, alabama bought her. they never did see nor hear tell of her no more. the reason they sold her was she killed two men overseers. they couldn't manage her. the last one was whipping her with a black snake whip and she grabbed him. grabbed his privates and pulled 'em out by the roots. that the way she killed both the overseers. cause she knowed that was show death. my mama said that was the nicest little soft man--the last man she killed. she said he just clum the walls in so much misery that night. "she said they would whisper after they go to bed. they used pine torches for lights. they had to cover up the fire--cover up fire in the ashes so it be coals to kindle a fire in the morning--put out the light pretty early. old master come stand round outside see if they all gone to bed. "when freedom--my mama said old master called all of 'em to his house and he said: 'you all free, we ain't got nothing to do wid you no more. go on away. we don't whoop you no more, go on your way.' my mama said they go on off then they come back and stand around jess lookin' at him an' old mistress. they give 'em something to eat and he say: 'go on away, you don't belong to us no more you been freed.' "they go way and they kept coming back. they didn't have no place to go and nothing to eat. from what she said they had a terrible time. she said it was bad times. some took sick and had no 'tention and died. seemed like it was four or five years before they got to places they could live. they all got scattered. "she said they did expect something from freedom but the only thing old master give jesse was a horse and bridle and saddle. it was new. old master every time they go back say: 'you all go on away. you been set free. you have to look out for your selves now.' "the only way i know this is i remembers from hearin' my dear old mama tell me when she come here to see me. i was too little. i guess i wasn't born till two or three years, maybe longer than that, after freedom. "after my son died here i get $ . a month, just my house rent. i work out when i can get something to do. work is so scarce i hardly get a living. "if you could see my brother in little rock he could tell you a heap he remembers. he is white headed, keeps his hair cut close and goes dressed up all the time. they say he is a good old man. he does public work in little rock. henry travis is his son. his phone is - . his street is arch. my brother is really born a slave, i ain't. ask for e. k. travis, that is his name. he can tell you bout all you want to know." jan interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: molly hudgens devalls bluff, arkansas age: born in "i was born in clarendon in . my mother was sold to judge allen at bihalia, n. c. and brought to arkansas. the cunninghams brought father from tennessee when they moved to this state. his mother died when he was three months old and the white mistress had a baby three weeks older en him so she raised my father. she nursed him with gus cunningham. my father had us call them grandma, aunt indiana, and aunt imogene. "when i was seven or eight years old i went to see them at roe. when i first come to know how things was, father had bought a place--home and piece of land west of clarendon and across the river. i don't know if the cunninghams ever give him some land or a mule or cow or not. he never said. his owner was moster john henry cunningham. "my father was a medium light man but not as light as i am. my mother was lighter than i am. i heard her say her mother did the sewing for all on her owner's place in north carolina. my mother was a house girl. the reason she was put up to be sold she was hired out and they put her in the field to work. a dispute rose over her some way so her owner sold her when she was eighteen years old. her mother was crying and begging them not to sell her but it didn't do no good she said. after the war was over she got somebody to write back and ask about her people. she got word about her sister and aunt and uncle. she never seen none of them after she was sold. never did see a one of her people again. she was sold to judge allen for a house girl. his wife was dead. my mother sewed at judge allen's and raised two little colored children he bought somewhere cheap. he had a nephew that lived with him. "mr. felix allen and some other of his kin folks, one of them made me call him 'tuscumby bob.' i said it funny and they would laugh at me. judge allen went to memphis and come home and took smallpox and died. i heard my mother say she seen him crying, sitting out under a tree. he said he recken he would give smallpox to all the colored folks on his place. some of them took smallpox. "we have been good living colored folks, had a right smart. i farmed, cooked, sewed a little along. i washed. i been living in devalls bluff years. i got down and they put me on the relief. seems i can't get back to going agin. "don't get me started on this young generation. i don't want to start talking about how they do. times is right smartly changed somehow. everybody is in a hurry to do something and it turns out they don't do nuthin'. times is all in a stir it seem like to me. "i don't vote. i get $ and demodities and i make the rest of my keepin'." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: charlie huff brinkley, arkansas age: born "i was born close to charlotte, north carolina. alex huff owned my parents and me. my pa was a dark man. he was named alex huff too. ma was named sarah huff. she was ginger cake color they called it. both her parents was part creek indian. i seen the block at richmond, virginia where they sold pa. they kept him three weeks away from me before he was sold. they sold him at the last of slavery for $ , . ma never seen him no more. after freedom she brought me and immigrated to arkansas. my sister wouldn't come, she was fixing to marry. we come on the train, paid our own way. we heard it was a fine country and ma heard somebody out here bought pa. we kept inquiring till after she died. i heard where he was. i went to see him. he told me what i told you. he was sold and brought to louisiana. he was a cross-eyed man and named alex the best way i found him. my ma never was sold as she remembered. "master alex huff owned a turpentine factory and pa worked at it. ma washed and cooked. master alex huff raised palmer christy beans. i think he sold the seed to keep moles out of the land. moles was bad in new cleared land. when they found a mole hill they opened it and put in a few beans so the mole would eat them and die. he sold the beans. "the ku klux never bothered us. "we come to arkansas as soon as we could after freedom. we wanted to find pa. when we first come i worked on a steamboat, then i mined at pratt city, tennessee--coal mines--a year and a half. then for forty-five years i worked on the railroad section as a hand. i made two crops in all my life. the first year i did fine and not so bad the next. but since three years ago i had these two strokes. i am here and not able to work. my wife draws $ from the welfare order. "it has been a long time since i voted. i voted last time for president mckinley. i didn't like the strict franchise laws." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: louvenia huff brinkley, arkansas age: "i was born third year after the surrender. there was thirteen children in my family when i was a child. we was different sizes and the grown children helped look after the little ones. my parents was field hands. my parents belong to dr. hatch. he lived in aberdeen, mississippi. we lived in the country on his place. he had five or six children. ben and needham come out to the farm. he was an old man and we stayed on the son's place--same place--till i come to arkansas. we come in . we heard it was a better country and open stock range. dr. hatch was very good to my folks. "i don't think the ku klux bothered my folks but we was afraid of them. "my father voted a republican ticket. i never voted. "my grandmother was real light skin. mother was mixed with white. she told us she was sold away from her mother when she was a little bitter of a girl and never seen her no more till she was the mother of six children. they didn't know one another when they met. her mother knowed who bought her and after freedom she kept asking about her and finally heard where she was and come to her. there was no selling place at aberdeen so i don't know where she was bought. dr. hatch lived to be an old man. he owned a lot of slaves and lots of land. "father's old master was whitfield. he sold him to dr. hatch when he was a young man. father was a driver in the civil war. he hauled soldiers and dumped them in the river. the union soldiers wouldn't give them time to bury the other side. he took rations all but the times he hauled dead soldiers. he got shot in his arm above the wrist. he died before they give him a pension. he was a union soldier. he talked a lot but that is all i can tell straight. i don't know if he mustered out or not. "i worked in the field, wash, iron, and cooked. we get $ from the welfare. my husband had two strokes. he has been sick three years. "my parents' name simpson hatch and jacob hatch. they had thirteen children." interviewer: mary d. hudgins person interviewed: mrs. anna huggins home: pleasant at john street. "miss huggins? (pronounced hew--gins) yes, ma'am she lives here. oh miss huggins, miss huggins. they's somebody to see you." the interviewer had approached an open door of an "l" kitchen attached to a "shot gun house". thru the dining room and a bed room she was conducted to the front bedroom. this was furnished simply but with a good deal of elaboration. the bed was gay with brightly colored pillows. most of them had petal pillow tops made from brilliant crepe paper touched with silver and guilt. the room was evidently not occupied by mrs. huggins herself for late in the interview a colored girl entered the room. "do you want your room now?" mrs. huggins inquired. "no indeed, there's lots of time," the girl replied politely. but the interviewer managed to terminate the interview quickly. "so you knew fanny mccarty. well, well, so you knew fanny. i don't know when i've heard anybody speak about her. she's not so much on looks, but fanny is a good little woman, a mighty good little woman. she's up in michigan. you know she worked at one of the big hotels here--the eastman it was. when they closed in the summer they sent her up to the big hotel on mackinac. for a while she was here in the winter and up there for the summer season. then she stayed on up there. "you say she worked for you when you were a little girl? before the fire of ? now, i remember, you were just a little girl and you used to come over to my house sometimes with her. i remember." (a delighted smile.) "now i remember. "no, i don't remember very much about the war. it is mostly what i heard the older ones say. my grandmother used to tell me a lot about it. i was just a little thing in my mother's arms when the war was over. guess i was about four years old. we lived in st. francis county and as soon as we were free pappa sent for us. he sent for us to come by boat to where he was. we went to helena. i remember they were all lined up--the colored soldiers were. but i knew pappa. they all wondered how, hadn't seen him in a long time. but i picked him out of all the line of men and i said, 'there's my pappa.' yes, my pappa was a soldier in the war. he was gone from home most of the time. i only saw him once in a while. "my grandmother told me lots of things about slavery. she was born a free girl. but when she was just a little girl somebody stole her and brought her to arkansas and sold her. no, from the things they told me--especially grandmother--they weren't very good to them. lots of times i've gone down on my knees to my grandmother to hear her tell about how mean they were to them. "i'd say to her, 'grandmother, why didn't you fight back?' 'you couldn't fight back,' she said, 'you just had to take it.' 'i wouldn't,' i said, 'i wouldn't take it.' guess there's too much indian blood in me. a white person never struck me but once. i was a girl--not so very big and i was taking care of a white lady's little girl. she and a friend of hers were talking and i sneaked up to the door and tried to listen to what they were saying. she caught me and she scolded me--she struck at me with her fan--it was just a light tap, but it made me mad. i fought her and i ran off home, she came to get me too. i never would have gone back otherways. she said she never did see a girl better with children. "i remember my grandmother telling about once when she was cooking in the kitchen, her back was turned and an old hound dog got in and started to take the chicken which was on the table. he had even got part of it in his mouth. but she turned and saw him--she choked the dog--and choked him until she choked the chicken out of him. you can see she must have been pretty scared to be afraid to let them know the chicken had been tampered with. then we always thought my mother's death was caused by her being beat by an overseer--she caused that overseer's death, she got him while he was beating her. they had to hide her out to save her life--but a long time afterwards she died--we always laid it to that hard beating. "we lived in helena after the war. my father was the marrying kind. he was a wild marrying man. he had lots of wives. but mother and grandmother wouldn't let us call them mother--she made us call them aunt. it really was my grandmother who reared me. she was a good cook, had good jobs all the time. "when i grew up i married. mr. huggins was a bar tender in a saloon. he made good money. we had a good home and i took care of the home. i had it mighty easy. then one day he fell in the floor paralyzed. i brought him to hot springs. that was back in . we stayed on and he lived for years. "i got a house there and i kept roomers. that was where fanny stayed with me. it was at pleasant. you remember the place, tho. when i was young, i had it easy. but now i'm old and i don't have it so well. a few years ago i was out in california on a visit. there was a man shining up to me and i wrote my niece 'what would you think if your aunty married?' 'law,' she wrote back to me, 'you've lived by yourself so long now, you couldn't stand a man.' maybe she was right." (at this point the girl passed into the room.) "look maggie! three pretty handkerchiefs. miss hudgins brought them. and i was just writing to my sister--my half sister today, i didn't even expect to much as a handkerchief for christmas. and my initials embroidered on them two. one with a on it and two with h. i'm really proud of them. "i'm going to write to fanny to tell her about your coming to see me. she'll be so glad to know about you. i'll tell her about the handkerchiefs. you know, for a while fanny had it pretty hard while she was here. she stayed at my house and i kept her for a long time without pay. i knew fanny was a good girl and that when she got work she would pay me back. do you know what fanny has done? when she heard i was hard up she wrote me and told me to come up to michigan to her and she would take care of me just as i had taken care of her. but i didn't want to go. wasn't it nice of her, though? "yes, when i was young i had it easy. i had my home and took care of it. if i needed more money, i mortgaged my home and paid it back. then i'd mortgage it and pay it back. but i mortgaged it once too often. that time i couldn't pay it back. i lost it. "well, i'm so glad you came to see me. i remember the pretty little girl who used to come to my house with fanny. be sure to write to her, she'll appreciate it, and thank you for the handkerchiefs." interviewer: mrs. annie l. lacotts person interviewed: margret hulm, humphrey, arkansas age: (story of abraham lincoln as a spy) in the west edge of humphrey in a small house beneath huge old trees lives an aged negro woman with her boy ( years old) and his wife. this woman is margret hulm who says she was born march , in hardeman county, tennessee. when asked if she remembered anything about the war and slavery days she said: "oh yes mam. i was years old when the slaves were set free. my folks belonged to master jimmie pruitt, who owned lots of other slaves. when they told him his niggers were free, he let them go or let them stay on with him and he'd give them a place to live and some of the crops. i guess that's what folks call a share crop now. i was what folks called a house girl. i didn't work in the field like some of the other slaves. i waited on my mistress and her chillun, answered the door, waited on de table and done things like that. i remember mr. lincoln. he came one day to our house (i mean my white folks' house). they told me to answer the door and when i opened it there stood a big man with a gray blanket around him for a cape. he had a string tied around his neck to hold it on. a part of it was turned down over the string like a ghost cape. how was he dressed beneath the blanket? well, he had on jeans pants and big mud boots and a big black hat kinda like men wear now. he stayed all night. we treated him nice like we did everybody when they come to our house. we heard after he was gone that he was abraham lincoln and he was a spy. that was before the war. oh, yes, i remember lots about the war. i remember dark days what we called the black days. it would be so dark you couldn't see the sun even. that was from the smoke from the fighting. you could just hear the big guns going _b-o-o-m, boom_, all day. yes, i do remember seeing the yankees. i saw 'em running fast one day past our house going back away from the fighting place. and once they hung our master. they told him they wanted his money. he said he didn't have but one dollar. they said 'we know better than that.' then they took a big rope off of one de yankee's saddle and took de master down in de horse lot and hung him to a big tree. the rope must a been old, for it broke. our master was a big man though. then they hung him again. he told 'em he didn't have but one dollar and they let him down and said 'well, old man, maybe you haven't got any more money.' so they let him go when the mistress and her little chillun come down there. he didn't have but one dollar in his pockets but had lots buried about the place in two or three places." while margret was giving this information she was busily sewing together what looked like little square pads. when examined they proved to be tobacco sacks stuffed with cotton and then sewed together which would make a quilt already quilted when she got enough of them sewed together to cover a bed. interviewer: s. s. taylor person interviewed: john hunter w. th street, little rock, arkansas age: biographical john hunter claims to be only seventy-four years old, but when he is talking he has the manner of an eye-witness to the things he relates. in this connection, many of the ex-slaves seem to be sensitive concerning oldness. hunter is blind. he lives with mrs. alston, herself the widow of an old ex-slave. his relation to her is simply that of a renter, although where he gets the rent from i don't know. his father fought in the confederate army until disabled by disease. hunter was born in north carolina but has lived in this state something like fifty years. houses "slave houses were old log huts. some made log houses and some made tent harbors. just any sort of way on dirt. some of them didn't have any floors. "one with a floor was built with one room. cooked and et and everything in that one room. about  ×  . one window. no glass panes in it. shutter window. some niggers just built up a log house and dobbed it with dirt to keep the air from coming through. "food was kept in an old chest. there weren't no such things as trunks and cupboards. i brought one from north carolina with me--old-fashioned chest. bed was homemade and nailed to the side of the wall. some of them had railings on both sides when they were trying to make it look nice. mattress was made out of straw or shucks. you could hear it rattling like a hog getting in his bed at night. i have slept on 'em many a time. those with floors and those without were made alike. a box or anything was used for a table. if his master would give him anything he would make it out of a plank. make it at night. boxes and homemade stools were used for chairs. no chairs like there is now. people are blessed now. didn't go asking for no chairs then. they'd give you a chair--over your head. "they et anything--any way they could get it,--in pans, old wooden trays, pots, anything. fed you just like little pigs. poured it all out in something and give them an old wooden spoon and telled them to get down and eat. sometimes get down on your belly and eat. no dishes for niggers like now. no dishes till after freedom, and often none then." tent harbors "sometimes they'd have a great long place with walls in it with logs and planks and divided into stalls just like a man would have a great long place for mules and divide it into stalls. they were called stockades. you can see them in tensas parish in louisiana. now, each man would take his family and live in his stall. no doors between the rooms. each room had a door leading into the open. they called 'em 'tent harbors' because they were built more like a tent. some of them were covered with boards. people would go into the woods and rive out boards with a fro. a fro is a piece of iron about a foot and a half long with an eye in it and a wooden handle in the eye. you would drive it into the log and then work it along until you rived out the board. "slave quarters were built right straight on down so that the master could look right down the avenue when he would walk out. little houses one right after the other." food "the niggers had anything to eat that the master give 'em. he would give plenty such as it was. certain days they would go up and get it. give it to 'em just like they go draw rations now. but they'd give it to you not you say what you wanted. so much meal and so much meat, and so on. some of 'em raised flour. you had to take whatever you could get." father and mother "my father was a soldier (confederate). he got sick with the scrofula and they sent him back to his old master, dr. harris, in enfield, north carolina. [hw: he was a field hand at first, but after he come back with the scrofula, they just made him a carriage driver.] that's how i came to be born in . my father married betsy judge right after he came back. they didn't marry then as they do now. just jumped over the broom." patrollers "a slave couldn't go nowhere without a pass. if they caught you out without a pass, they'd whip you. jus' like if i wanted to go to a girl's house, my master would hand me a pass. if he didn't, they'd ketch me and whip me if i got out and wasn't able to run away from them." what the freedmen expected "when the slave was freed, he was looking to get a home. they were goin' to do this and goin' to do that but they didn't do nothin'. they let us stay on the place until we made the crop, told us we was free to go wherever we wanted to go. that is all they give us and all we got. some said, 'you promised to give us a home', and they said to them, 'well, you can stay here as long as you live.'" how freedom came "the old master called them together and told them they was free. 'peace declared. you all have to go for yourselves. won't whip no more now. you are all free.'" runaways and mean masters "my father's master was right smart mean to him. it was partly my father's fault. he wouldn't take no whipping much. if they would get after him he would run off. whenever there was anything they wanted him to do and he didn't go and do it just that minute, they wanted to whip him. jus' like a child, you know. he had to move when he was told. if he didn't do it then he got a whipping. he would run away in the woods and stay a week or two before he'd come back. sometimes some of the boys would see him and they would say to him, 'old master says for you to come back home; he ain't goin' to do nothin' to you.' nobody would go in the woods and hunt him. some of them would go in there and get hurt. "there was some masters that would go in the woods hunting their niggers. sometimes they'd carry bloodhounds with them. they never did run my father with the bloodhounds though. "my mother's master and mistress was good to her. they never drove her around. old man judge died and left her mistress and she lived a widow the balance of her life. but she never gave my mother no trouble." sales and separations "there was plenty of slaves being put up on the block and sold. my mother was sold. her father was a cooper and she was sold to judge. he bought my mother's mother and her both, so that made her a judge. he bought her and she had to go in his name. her husband was left with the coopers. she was put up on the block. 'who will give me a bid on this woman?' the old man was bid back. the coopers bid him back." school "my mother didn't get no schooling no more'n what i learned her after freedom. she never went to school in her life. still she saw she could read the bible, the hymn-book, and such things like that as she wanted to before she died." what the slaves got "they said that the president and the governor was going to give land to the niggers--going to take it off the owners that they worked for. but they never did get it." ku klux klan "i heered talk of the ku klux. i can remember once when they come through there (enfield). that was eight or ten years after the war. they would ketch some of the niggers and whip them. the young niggers got their guns and rigged up a plan to kill them and laid out in a place for them, but they got wind of it and stopped coming." mother's occupation "my mother was a great weaver. she would weave cloth for the hands on the place. some days she would work around the house and some other days she'd go out and weave. when they wasn't any weaving or spinning to be done, she'd go out in the field. the weaving and the spinning was right in the white folks' house." own occupation "i used to be a preacher. don't do much of nothin' now. ain't able. get a little help from the welfare--a little groceries sometimes. don't get any pension. you see, i can't do much on account of my blindness." opinions of young people "i can't tell you what i think of the young people. times have got to be so fast. it is just terrible to think how this life is. so much change from forty to fifty years ago. just as much difference on both sides, white and colored, as there is between chalk and cheese." praying under pots "when they'd go to have a church meeting, they turn up the pot so that the noise wouldn't come out. they could go to the white folks' church. but the spirit would come on them sometimes to have service themselves. then they'd go down to the house at night and turn up those big old iron pots and master never would hear. they wouldn't put the washpot flat on the ground. they'd put sticks under it and raise it up about a foot from the ground. if they'd put it flat on the ground the ground would carry the sound." voting "there weren't no voting at all in slavery times (in his locality--ed.) that is, far as the niggers were concerned. but after everybody was free you could vote up until they stopped the people from voting. they kept a republican ticket in then. there wasn't no democrat. none like they is now. i don't know how this thing got mixed up like it is now. "i remember once in north carolina a man named bryant got away with a lot of votes in the boxes. he was seen to go out with two boxes under his arms. and when they counted up the votes, the democrats was ahead. in them days, they counted up the votes before they left the polls. they wanted to kill him. they sent him to the penitentiary to stay five years. when he went in he was a young man, and when he came back he was gray. "there was some fighting down there that night. my father was a constable. it was the white folks got to fighting each other. they got to 'resting them and they filled the calaboose full that night. didn't have but one jail and that was in halifax. the penitentiary was in raleigh. raleigh was about miles from halifax, and halifax about from enfield. the jail was twelve miles from enfield." mulattoes "there were mixed bloods then just like there are now. them came by the old master, you know. they treated the mulatto a little better than they did the other slaves. you know you would have more respect for your own blood. my aunt rena was half-sister to my father. they had the same mother but different fathers and they always gave her a little better treatment than they give him. they didn't sell her. when slavery broke she was still with her master, old tom hollis. the old lady (her mother) was there too. they hadn't sold her neither. but they never give none of them nothin' when they was freed. "my father was a field hand at first. but after he went to war and come back with the scrofula, they just made him a carriage driver. but he wasn't no mulatto though." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: william hunter, brinkley, arkansas age: "john mcbride was my mother's last owner. his wife died in slavery. i never heard her name called. my mother come from abbeville, south carolina, a negro trading point. when she was put on the block my father went to mcbride and asked him to buy that woman for him a wife. he said she was a mighty pretty young woman. mcbride bought her. i don't know how they got to carroll county, mississippi but that is where i was born. my mother raised walter and johnny mcbride (white). she nursed one of them along with my brother may--may mcbride was his name. that was at asme, alabama before i was born. i heard my mother say she never worked in the field but two years in her whole life. it must have been just after the war, for i have seen a ditch she and another woman cut. when they cut it, it was  ft. ×   ft. i don't know the length. when i seed it, it was a creek ft. wide. i don't know how deep. i recollect hearing my father talk about clearing land before freedom but i don't know if he was in alabama or mississippi then. "my mother was mixed with the white race. she was a bright woman. my father was a real dark man. he was a south carolina gutchen--soft water folks, get mad and can't talk. he was crazy about yellow folks. "mcbride died fifty-one years ago. when i was a boy he carried me with him--right in the buggy or oxcart with him till i was up nineteen years old. he went to the saloon to get a dram. i got one too. when he went to a big hotel to eat something he sent out the kitchen door to me out to our buggy or wagon. we camped sometimes when we went to town. it took so long to go over the roads. "when freedom was declared mcbride called up all his slaves and told em they was free; they could go or stay on. my father moved off two years after freedom and then he moved back and we stayed till the old man died. then my father went to varden, mississippi and worked peoples gardens. he was old then too. "i never seen a 'white cap' (ku klux). i heard a heap of talk about em. the people in mississippi had respect for colored worship. "i farmed till we went to varden, mississippi. i started working on the section. i was brakeman on the train out from water valley. then i come to wheatley, arkansas. i worked on the section. all told, i worked forty years on the section. i worked on a log wagon, with a tire company, at the oil mill and in the cotton mill. i had a home till it went in the home loan. i have to pay $ . a month payments. i get commodities, no money, from the welfare. my wife is dead now." may interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: ida blackshear hutchinson orange street, north little rock, arkansas age: birth "i was born in in alabama in sumter county on sam scale's place near the little town called brushville (?)." [hw: bushville or brushville(?)] parents and grandparents "my father's name was isom blackshear. some people call it blackshire, but we call it blackshear. his master was named uriah blackshear. i have heard him say so many times the year he was born. he died (isom) in and was in his eighty-first year then. that would make him born in . his birth was on the fourth day of may. people back in them days lived longer than we do now. my grandfather, jordan martin, lived to be one hundred sixteen years old. grandpa died about nine years ago in sumter county, alabama. he was my grandfather on my mother's side. "my grandfather on my father's side was luke blackshear. he was born in alabama too, and i suppose in sumter county too. he died in sumter county. he died about five years before the civil war. "my mother was born in north carolina. her name was sylvia martin before she married my father. she was a blackshear when she died. she died in . the white people went out in north carolina and bought her, her mother, nancy, and her father, jordan, and brought them to sumter county, alabama. my mother's mother was an indian; her hair came down to her waist." luke blackshear (breeder) "my grandfather on my father's side, luke blackshear, was a 'stock' negro. "isom blackshear, his son, was a great talker. he said luke was six feet four inches tall and near two hundred fifty pounds in weight. he was what they called a double-jointed man. he was a mechanic,--built houses, made keys, and did all other blacksmith work and shoemaking. he did anything in iron, wood or leather. really he was an architect as well. he could take raw cowhide and make leather out of it and then make shoes out of the leather. "luke was the father of fifty-six children and was known as the giant breeder. he was bought and given to his young mistress in the same way you would give a mule or colt to a child. "although he was a stock negro, he was whipped and drove just like the other negroes. all of the other negroes were driven on the farm. he had to labor but he didn't have to work with the other slaves on the farm unless there was no mechanical work to do. he was given better work because he was a skilled mechanic. he taught isom blacksmithing, brickmaking and bricklaying, shoemaking, carpentry, and other things. the ordinary blacksmith has to order plow points and put than on, but luke made the points themselves, and he taught isom to do it. and he taught him to make mats, chairs, and other weaving work. he died sometime before the war." isom blackshear "isom blackshear, luke's son and my father, farmed until he was eighteen years old, and was a general mechanic as mentioned when i was telling about my grandfather luke, for sixty odd years. up to within seven months of his death, he was making chairs and baskets and other things. he never was in bed in his life until his last sickness. that was his first and his last. never did he have a doctor's bill to pay or for his master to pay,--until he died. he worked on the batteries at vicksburg during the war. "isom ran away three times. he was a field hand up to eighteen years. the overseer wanted to whip him. isom would help his wife in the field because she couldn't keep up with the others and he would help her to keep the overseer from whipping her. he'd take her beside him and row his row and hers too. he was the fastest worker on the place. the overseer told him to not do that. but isom just kept on doing it anyway. then the overseer asked isom for his shirt. when they whipped you them days they didn't whip you on your clothes because they didn't want to wear them out. isom said he was not going to take off his shirt because his mistress gave it to him and he wasn't going to give it to anybody else. then the overseer stepped 'round in front of him to stop him, because isom had just kept on hoeing. isom just caught the overseer's feet in his hoe and dumped him down on the ground and went on hoeing his own row and his wife's. he called his hoe 'one eyed aggie.' "the overseer said, 'you think you done something smart' and he went for his master. the overseer was named mack hainey. his master came out the next morning and caught isom. isom has often told us about it. "'first thing i knowed, he had his feet on my hoe and he said, "isom, they tell me you can't be whipped." "i'd be willing to be whipped if i'd done anything." "huh!" said my master, "right or wrong, if my overseer asked you for your shirt give it to him."' "he held a pistol on him. they made him pull off his shirt and tied him up to a gin post. the overseer hit him five times and kept him there till noon trying to get him to say that he would give his shirt to him the next time. finally isom promised and the overseer untied him. when the overseer untied him, isom took his shirt in one hand and the overseer's whip in the other and whipped him almost all the way to the big house. then he ran away and stayed in the woods for three or four days until his old master sent word for him to come on back and he wouldn't do nothing to him. "when he went back, his master took him off the farm because he and my father was nursed together and he didn't want isom killed. so from that time on, my father never worked as a field hand any more. and they put isom's wife as a cook. she couldn't chop cotton fast enough and they couldn't handle isom as long as she was in the field; so they put her to washing, and ironing, and cooking, and milking. "the second time father ran away was once when they missed some groceries out of the storeroom. master asked him if he took them because he made the keys to the place and not a person on the place but him could know anything about getting in there. he didn't own it, so they tied him up and whipped him two days. when night come they took him and tied him in his house and told his wife that if he got loose they would put the portion on her. he didn't try to get loose because he knowed if he did they would whip her, so he stayed. at noon time when they went to get the dinner they poured three buckets of water in his face and almost drowned him. then after dinner they came back and whipped him again. finally he said, 'i didn't do it but nothing will suit you but for me to say i did, so i will say i did it.' so he owned up to it. "a few days later mr. horn who owned the adjoining plantation came over and asked him if he had missed anything,--any rations he said. old master told him 'yes' and went on to explain what had been taken and what he had done about it. then mr. horn took mr. blackshear over to his house and showed him the rations and they were the one he had whipped my old father about. then blackshear came back and told my father that he was sorry, that he never had known him to steal anything. he turned him loose and apologized to him but he made him work with the bloody shirt that they whipped him in sticking to his back. "the third time he ran off he was in the army working on the batteries at vicksburg. he worked there till he got to thinking about his wife and children, and then he ran off. he got tired and hungry and he went to mopilis and give himself up. the jailer written to his master, that is to his mistress, about it, and she got her father to go and see about him and bring him home. they'd had a big storm. the houses were in bad shape. the fences was blown down. the plows was broken or dull and needed fixin'. and they were so glad to see isom that they didn't whip him nor nothin' for runnin' away. "isom's mother was named winnie blackshear. she was luke's wife. she was a light brownskin woman and weighed about one hundred fifty pounds. i have seen her, but luke was dead before i was born. grandmother winnie has been dead about twenty years now. she labored in the field. "my mother's mother was named nancy martin and her father was named jordan martin. we kept a jordan in the family all the way down. both of them farmed. they were slaves. "there were fourteen children of us,--eleven sisters and three brothers. the brothers were jordan, prince, and john. the sisters were margaret, eliza, nancy, tempy, bell, abbie, caroline, frances, dosia, mattie, lucy, louisa, ida." suicide "they say negroes won't commit suicide, but isom told us of a girl that committed suicide. there was a girl named lu who used to run off and go to the dances. the patrollers would try to catch her but they couldn't because she was too fast on her feet. one day they got after her in the daytime. she had always outran them at night. she ran to the cabin and got her quarter which she had hid. she put the quarter in her mouth. the white folks didn't allow the slaves to handle no money. the quarter got stuck in her throat, and she went on down to the slough and drowned herself rather than let them beat her, and mark her up. then patrollers sure would get you and beat you up. if they couldn't catch you when you were running away from them, they would come on your master's place and get you and beat you. the master would allow them to do it. they didn't let the patrollers come on the blackshear place, but this gal was so hard-headed 'bout goin' out that they made a 'ception to her. and they intended to make her an example to the rest of the slaves. but they didn't get lucy." death of sixty babies "once on the blackshear place, they took all the fine looking boys and girls that was thirteen years old or older and put them in a big barn after they had stripped them naked. they used to strip them naked and put them in a big barn every sunday and leave them there until monday morning. out of that came sixty babies. "they was too many babies to leave in the quarters for some one to take care of during the day. when the young mothers went to work blackshear had them take their babies with them to the field, and it was two or three miles from the house to the field. he didn't want them to lose time walking backward and forward nursing. they built a long old trough like a great long old cradle and put all these babies in it every morning when the mother come out to the field. it was set at the end of the rows under a big old cottonwood tree. "when they were at the other end of the row, all at once a cloud no bigger than a small spot came up, and it grew fast, and it thundered and lightened as if the world were coming to an end, and the rain just came down in great sheets. and when it got so they could go to the other end of the field, that trough was filled with water and every baby in it was floating 'round in the water drownded. they never got nary a lick of labor and nary a red penny for ary one of them babies." experiences just after the war "mother had been a cook and she just kept on cooking, for the same people. my father he went to farming." patrollers "my father said that the patrollers would run you and ketch you and whip you if you didn't have a pass, when you was away from the pass.[hw: place?] but they didn't bother you if you had a pass. the patrollers were mean white people who called themselves making the niggers stay home. i think they were hired. they called their selves making the niggers stay home. they went all through the community looking for people, and whipping them when they'd leave home without a pass. they said you wasn't submissive when you left home without a pass. they hounded lucy to death. she wouldn't let 'em get her, and she wouldn't let 'em get her quarter." ku klux klan "i have seen the ku klux. i have washed their regalia and ironed it for them. they wouldn't let just anybody wash and iron it because they couldn't do it right. my son's wife had a job washing and ironing for them and i used to go down and help her. i never did take a job of any kind myself because my husband didn't let me. the regalia was white. they were made near like these singing robes the church choirs have. but they were long--come way down to the shoe tops. that was along in the nineties,--about . it was when they revived the ku klux the last time before the world war. in the old days the patrollers used to whip them for being out without a pass but the ku klux used to whip them for disorderly living. "way back yonder when i was in alabama, too, i can remember the ku klux riding. i was a little child then. the republicans and democrats were at war with each other then and they was killing everybody. my brother was one of them they run. he could come out in the daytime, but in the night he would have to hide. they never got him. he dodged them. that was 'round in . in , him and my uncle left alabama and went to louisiana. they called him a stump speaker. they wanted to kill him. they killed tom ivory. he was the leader of the republicans--he was a colored man. his father was white but his mother was a negro. his father educated him in slavery time. he had been up north and was coming back. they knew he was coming back, so they went up the creek and waited for him--his train. they flagged it down, and some one on the train commenced hollering, 'look yonder.' ivory stepped out on the platform to see what they were hollering about, and all them guns started popping and ivory fell over the end of the platform and down on the ground. he was already leaning over the gate when they fired. then they come up and cut his tongue out before he died. they said if they got him that would stop all the rest of the niggers. you see, he was a leader. "niggers was voting the republican ticket 'long about that time. they just went in gangs riding every night--the ku klux did. ku kluxing and killing them they got hold of. "the police arrested all the men that had anything to do with tom ivory's killing. the leader of the killers was a white man they called captain hess. i never knowed how the trial came out because we left there while they was still in jail." how freedom came "i heard my mother say that when the refugees came through sumter county, alabama, she wasn't free but was 'sot' free later. the refugees came through along in february. then the papers was struck and it went out that the niggers all was free. mother's master and my oldest brother who had stayed in the war with his master four years came home. the refugees was in there when he got home. they went on through. they didn't tarry long there. then the papers came out and the next day, master called all the hands up to the big house and told them they was free. mother was set free in the latter part of february and i was born june , , so i was born free." leaving alabama "we left alabama in the same year tom ivory got killed. more than fifty colored people left on the train and come off when we did. people was leaving alabama something terrible. i never did know what happened to tom's killers. i heard afterwards that alabama got broke, they had to pay for so many men they killed." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: cornelia ishmon w. second avenue pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in mississippi and i can member seein' the yankees goin' by. i was a little bit of a girl and betsy hardy, that was old miss, she kep' the yankees from gettin' me. she told me many a time if it hadn't been for her i'd a had my brains beat out against a tree. when i didn't do to suit her, she'd tell me bout dat. i stayed right in the house. "i member when they was lookin' for johnson's brigade and when they saw it was the yankees they just flew. the yankees was goin' through there doin' what they wanted. "i never got no further than the third grade." folklore subjects el dorado district name of interviewer: mildred thompson & carol graham. subject: uncle jack island--ex-slave. story--information (if not enough space on this page add page) "yas'm ah membuhs a lil'l bit bout slavery days. ah wuz jes a chap den. ah'm now. ah wuz such a chap dat ah didn' do much work. day use tuh cook on de fiuh place an ah'd tote in bark an wood fuh em tuh cook wid an git up de aigs (eggs) an sich li'l things as dat. "mah ole marster was marse bullock an we lived in de lisbon community. "mistress' baby chile wuz a boy an he wuz jes six months olduh dan ah wuz. ah wuz de only boy chile in de whole business uv slaves. evah evenin bout a hour by de sun dey would feed us an by sundown we bettuh be in baid. dat wuz tuh git us outn de way when de grown fokes come in. dey wuz six uv us chillun an dey would feed us in a big wooden tray. dey'd po' hot pot liquor in de tray an crumble braid in hit. den dey'd give us each a spoon an we would all git roun an eat. dere wuz lizzie, nancy, sistuh julia, sistuh lu and martha. der wuz six uv us. aftuh dey fed us we would go tuh baid an tuh sleep. dey had ole fashion wheels. some nights de women would spin. we wouldn' heah dem when dey come in but when dat ole wheel started tuh goin hit'd wake me up an ah'd lie der a while an watch em spin den ah'd go tuh sleep ergin, an leave em spinnin'. sometimes we wouldn' see our mamas fum sunday night till next sunday mornin. mah mistress wove cloth. bout de biggest thing ah done wuz help huh wid huh weavin. ah would pick up de shickle (shuttle) an run hit through fuh huh. dat bout de biggest thing ah'd do sides feedin the chickens an bringin in bark. in dem days wuznt no buckets much. we used hand gourds dat would hold two or three gallons uv watuh. an ah'd carry one uv dem gourds uv watuh tuh de fiel' tuh em while day was pickin cotton. one yeah de cotton worms wuz so bad an ah hadn' nevah seen none. ah'd started tuh de fiel' wid de gourd uv watuh an saw dem worms an oh, ah jes bawled. mah mama had tuh come an git me. ah didn' know nothin bout dem worms. "de nearest battle in de wah was at vicksburg. ah membuh one day hit got so smoky an ah could heah de guns. ah thought hit wuz thunderin an said tuh ole missus dat hit wuz gointer rain soon but ole missus say: 'oh lawdy, dat aint thunder. ah wish hit wuz. dat's guns and dat, dat yo sees is smoke an not clouds.' aftuh de wah wuz ovah we stayed on wid ole marster. soon aftuh de wah wuz ovah marster died an missus mahried ed oakley, a spare built man. dey lives in arcadia, louisiana now. ah stayed on thar till ah wuz bout fo'teen an ah lef' dere. wuz gone bout a yeah an ah learnt sumpin too. when ah got off ah had tuh go to work. bout all ah had tuh do at home wuz tuh take keer uv de stock aftuh ah got big nough tuh but ah sho nuff worked den. ah stayed way bout a year den ah went back an stayed dere too till ah was bout twenty-one. ah been mahried three times. ah had five chillun by mah fust wife an dem is all de chillun ah evah had. one uv dem lives in town, one in texas, one dubach, la., one is daid an ah don' know de where-bouts uv de othuh one. de las' time ah heerd anything bout him he wuz in hot springs. mah present wife's name is talitha. we has one gran'chile livin wid us. he bout fifteen an is at school ovah dar crost de road wha yo sees dat house. oh missy dem times we been tawkin bout wuz de good times. dese times are hard." # form a _circumstances of interview_ state--arkansas name of worker--mrs. carol graham address--el dorado, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave . name and address of informant--jack and talitha island, route , el dorado, arkansas. . date and time of interview--december, . place of interview--route , el dorado, arkansas. . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant-- . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you-- . description of room, house, surroundings, etc.-- # form b _personal history of informant_ state--arkansas name of worker--mrs. carol graham address--el dorado, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave name and address of informants--jack and talitha island, route , el dorado. . ancestry-- . place and date of birth--talitha was born april , in arcadia, louisiana. jack was born in . . family--talitha had three children and jack had three children. . places lived in, with dates--talitha lived in arcadia, louisiana until freedom. jack and talitha now live in el dorado. . education, with dates-- . occupations and accomplishments, with dates-- . special skills and interests-- . community and religious activities--goes to church in schoolhouse across the road. . description of informant-- . other points gained in interview--they tell some of their childhood days. # form c _text of interview (unedited)_ _talitha_: "howdy, chillun, come in. naw suh, jack ain't heah right now. he down tuh the thicket back uv de house gittin' some wood. naw suh, he won't be gone long. he soon be back. you all come in and set on the gallery. here's a cheer, missy. he be back in no time tall. "you wants to know how old i am? i was born april , before the niggers was freed in ' . "my mother was a field woman (worked in the field) and had seven chillun when set free. her mistress raised her from three weeks old. her mother burned to death in a house on the plantation. our home was 'bout four miles east of arcadia, louisiana, or rather miss sarah given's house was, and we stayed on wid her until i was a big girl, plowin' and hoeing. "no ma'am, i never did go to no parties. i was never 'lowed to go. i been a member of the church since i was ten and now i'm seventy-three. "i first married a man by the name of williams and had three chillun by him, two boys and one girl. then i was a widow fifteen years before i married jack. we ain't never had no chillun, but jack had three chillun and i helped to raise them and i've helped raise a bunch of his gran'chillun. "i believes i hear jack back there now." _jack_: "howdy, howdy! so you is back for more tales 'bout long ago. i'se seventy-three and i been in this world a long time i tell you." _talitha_: "now, jack, you knows you is heap older 'n me and i'm seventy-three and i was born jes 'bout a year befo the war closed and you say you was a big chap then." _jack_: "well, i guess i was around six years old when the war started. i was a good big chap. i 'member one evening 'bout three o'clock i was settin' out in the yard playin' with a mate of mine--johnnie cook. i guess you would call him my mate; he was my mistress's boy and 'bout my age and we played together all the time even if i was black. i was the only black boy on the place, all the other cullud chillun was gals. us chaps was out in the yard making frog nesties with our bare feet in the sand. they was fightin' in vicksburg then. they was doing a whole lot of shooting. you could hear it one right after the other and it got so smoky. i thought it was thunder and said something 'bout hit. mistress was setting on the gallery sewing and when i said that she said, 'aw lawd, that ain't no thunder,' but she didn' tell us what hit wuz." _talitha_: "course i wasn't old enough to know anything 'bout hit but i heard my mother say it got so smoky the chickens didn't get off the roost while they was bustin' all them big cannons." _jack_: "all us chillun was just as fat and healthy as hogs. warn't never sick. they'd feed 'bout this time every evening ( p.m.) and by sundown i was in bed. my mother worked in the field and i've heard her say that sometime she didn't see her chillun from sunday to sunday. old lady hannah banks done the cooking for everybody and she cooked on a big fireplace. they didn't have no stove. _why, i got here before the stoves did._ ma and pa and all the grown ones would get up at four o'clock and eat breakfast and be in the field workin' by sunup. they had a box with shelves drove up on the side of the wall to the cabin where we slept and old lady hannah banks would put our breakfast in that and when we woke up we would get it and eat. one morning i woke up before the other chillun did and 'cided i'd git my breakfast first 'fore they did. i clem up, rech up and got holt of that box and i was so heavy i pulled it down and broke all the old blue edge plates. that woke the other chillun up all right, and i can jes see them old blue edge plates now. for dinner they would give us boiled greens or beans wid bread and for supper they would save the slop (liquor), cram it full of bread, pour it in a tray and give it to all the chilluns and me, sister julia, nancy, lizzie, marthy, and all the little nigger chillun." _talitha_: "huh! old man givens had so many little nigger chillun couldn' feed 'em in no tray. had to have troughs. they'd take a log and hollow it out and make three tubs in a row and put peg legs on it and a hole in the bottom of each one with a pin in it. they would use these tubs to wash the clothes in and pull the stem up to let all the water run out, clean 'em out real good, fill with bread and pot-licker or bread and milk, and feed the nigger chillun." _jack_: "you say our nephew wants to come out and bring a bunch of young folks and wants me to take them 'possum hunting some moonlight night? sho, sho, i'll go." _talitha_: "i don't know how he'd go lessen we totes him. why, he got the rheumatism so bad he can't hardly git 'round in the daytime much less at night. why, the other day he was out in the field follerin' the boy that was plowin' up the potatoes and we was goin' on pickin' them up. first thing i know i hear somethin' behind me go 'plop' and i looked roun and there lay jack jes stretched out. fell down over his own feet. so what would he do out nights? and you sees that knot on his ankle. hit was broke when he was a boy an' hit still gives him trouble when his rheumatism starts up." _jack_: "you say how did i do it? i was jumpin'. a bunch of us boys was jumpin' 'cross a ditch jes to see how far we could jump. i was a young chap 'bout seventeen or eighteen then. i was doin' purty well with my jumpin' when i made a misjump an' jumped crooked and hit my ankle on a big old iron rock. my but hit hurt bad. i didn' do no more jumpin' that day. the next day i was down in the woods getting a load of lider. had put on a few pieces on the wagon when i started to turn aroun and down i went. i jes lay there and hollered till someone come an' got me. that was in the winter just before christmas and i didn't get out no more till in the spring. the woods looked right purty to me when i got out. the leaves was great big. and that ain't all, i ain't jumped no more since. 'sides that i ain't never been sick to 'mount to anything. had the whooping cough at the same time that joe and tom snyder had hit. still got my natchel teeth, lost four up here and got one that bothers me some, 'sides that i have 'em all. yas suh, that the schoolhouse 'cross the road there. we has preachin' there sometimes too. does ab preach there? he, he, he! sometime he do. did i ever tell you 'bout the time ab was preaching out here at ____ and got to stampin' roun wid that peg-leg of his'n an' hit went through the rotten floor and we had to pull him out? he, he, he!" _talitha_: "now, jack island, you knows that is jes 'nother one uv yo tales. i is been to hear ab preach lots of times and he does storm roun mighty bad and i ain't got no faith in his religion tall but i warn't there when he fell through the floo'." interviewer: pernella m. anderson person interviewed: mary island nelson street, el dorado, arkansas age: "i was born in union parish, louisiana in the year of , so the white folks told me, and i am eighty years old. my mama died when i was two years old and my aunty raised me. she started me out washing dishes when i was four years old and when i was six she was learning me how to cook. while the other hands was working in the field i carried water. we had to cook out in the yard on an old skillet and lid, so you see i had to tote brush and bark and roll up little logs such as i could to keep the fire from one time of cooking to the other. i was not but six years old either. when i got to be seven years old i was cutting sprouts almost like a man and when i was eight i could pick one hundred pounds of cotton. when it rained and we could not go to the field my aunty had me spinning thread to make socks and cloth, then i had to card the bats and make the rolls to spin. "my auntie was a slave and she lived in the edge of the field. of course i was born a slave but didn't know much about it because my aunty did the bossing of me but i had a pretty hard time. our wash tubs, water buckets, bread trays and such were made out of tupelo gum logs dug out with some kind of an axe and when aunty would wash i had to use the battling stick. i would carry the wet clothes to a stump and beat them with that battling stick and we hung the clothes out on bushes and on the fence. we used water from a spring. "in my young days all we wore was homespun and lowel.[hw: ?] we lived in a log house with a dirt floor and the cracks was chinked with mud and our bed was some poles nailed against the wall with two legs out on the dirt floor, and we pulled grass and put in a lowel[hw: ?] bed tick. my aunty would get old dresses, old coats, and old pants and make quilts. "i never went to school a day in my life. no, the back of my head has never rubbed against the walls of a schoolhouse and i never did go to sunday school and i never did like it. and i didn't go to church until i was grown and the church that i did attend was called the iron jacket church. now they call it the hard shell church. i believe in foot washing. i don't go to church now because there is no hard shell church close around here." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: henrietta isom, biscoe, arkansas age: "i was born in mississippi. it wasn't far from memphis, tennessee. i heard em talking bout it then. when i first knowed anything we lived way down in mississippi. it was on a big farm not close to no place much. my ma's and pa's master was named thornton. seems lack it was jack and her name was miss lucretia. they show did have a big family, little ones on up. i have three sisters and a brother all dead--ma was a farm hand. she left us wid a real old woman--all the little children stayed right wid her. we minded her lack our ma's. she switch our legs if we didn't. she carded and sewed about all the time. "i don't know much about master and mistress; their house was way over the field. they lived on a hill and had the finest well of water. it was so cold. they had two buckets on a chain to pull it up by. the cabins down closer to the creek. there was two springs one used mostly for washing and the other for house use. "i don't know how many cabins they was scattered. he had a lot of hands about all i remembers--on saturdays we get to go up to the house to fetch back something; some provisions. they tell us if we be good we could go. they done their own cooking. when they work their dinners was sent to the shade trees from white folks house and the childrens was sent too. we would all stand around miss rachel (white) when she bring it then we go sit on the steps and eat. we show did have plenty to eat. we wear the dresses new in cold weather then they wear thin for summer. they be lighter in color too when they fade. "i remember when the white folks left an went to war. they worked on. they had a white man and a colored man boss. when freedom was declared nearly all of them walked off so glad they was free. i don't know where they all went. my folks went to another big place. we had a hard time. we all farmed. i don't know what they expected from freedom. nobody didn't ask for nuthin. i remembers when some new hands was bought and put on the place. i think they sold em off in town. "after de war at the church they talked bout if they didn't get freedom they would clang together for der rights but they never did do nuthin. times was so hard they had to work harder than before. "the yankees nor none of the soldiers ever come to our cabins--i seen them along the roads. they show did clean up miss leucretia's calves and hogs. took em all off at one time. rations show did get mighty scarce. "they sing, i recken they did sing, go off to work singin and the men whistlin. mostly sung religious songs. master thornton had a white man preach sometimes. down in front of the cabins in the shade. sometimes somebody get to go to white church with the family. they held the baby. they didn't have no school. "i seed the ku klux klans in the road light nights--when they pass we all peep out the cracks. they didn't bother nobody i knowed. we was scared they would turn in an come to the house. "i farmed all my life, hoed cotton and corn. no maam i aint never voted--i jess lives wid my children here and my son in memphis and my other daughter at helena. my daughter do farm work and my son railroads. he works in the yards. "i don't know what to say bout the generations comin on. they is smarter in their books and sees more than older folks, but they ain't no better. you kaint depend on what they says. i don't know what to say would make the country better lessen the folks all be better. "i never heard of no rebellions. i jess lived in mississippi till i comes here and memphis and stay around wid the children and grandchildren. they all do fairly well for the fast times i guess." none arkansas governors and united states senators by john l. ferguson state historian arkansas history commission little rock introductory this list of arkansas governors and united states senators, with brief biographies of each person who has served in these offices, is intended to benefit students and others who have expressed interest in a published summary of such information. we have omitted the dozens of "acting governors," including some who served for substantial periods of time, as well as senators who held office only briefly. copies of this publication are free, and the material is not copyrighted or restricted. governors of the territory of arkansas on march , , arkansas was legally separated from missouri and became the territory of arkansas. the act became effective on july following. during the territorial period the governors were appointed by the president of the united states, with the approval of the united states senate, for terms of three years. . james miller, - lawyer, soldier. born in new hampshire, . educated at amherst academy and williams college, massachusetts. admitted to bar, . married martha ferguson, ; two children. married ruth flint, ; five children. commissioned major of infantry in regular army, . lieutenant colonel, ; colonel, ; brigadier general, . hero of battle of lundy's lane, canada, . received congressional gold medal for gallantry, . resigned from army, . governor of arkansas, - . united states collector of customs, salem, massachusetts, - . died . . george izard, - soldier. born in england, . attended military schools in england, germany, and france. commissioned lieutenant in artillerists and engineers, united states army, . captain, . resigned from army, . married elizabeth carter shippen, ; three children. accepted new commission as colonel of artillery, . brigadier general, ; major general, . honorably discharged, . governor of arkansas from until his death in . . john pope, - lawyer. born in virginia, . married ann henry christian, c. . married elizabeth johnson, ; two children. married frances watkins walton, . state senator, kentucky, - , - . member, kentucky house of representatives, , - , - . united states senator from kentucky, - . professor of law, transylvania university, - . secretary of state of kentucky, - . governor of arkansas, - . congressman from kentucky, - . died . . william s. fulton, - lawyer. born in maryland, . graduated from baltimore college, . moved to tennessee after serving in war of . admitted to bar, . military secretary to general andrew jackson in florida campaign of . moved to alabama, . married matilda nowland, ; four children. elected judge of county court, florence, alabama, . secretary of territory of arkansas, - . last governor of territory of arkansas, - . united states senator from arkansas, - . died . governors of the state of arkansas arkansas was admitted to the union as the twenty-fifth state on june , . from until , governors were elected for four-year terms. during the remainder of our history the term of office has been two years. . james s. conway, - planter, surveyor, democrat. born in tennessee, . came to arkansas from missouri, . married mary jane bradley, ; six children. first surveyor-general of arkansas territory. inaugurated as first governor of the state of arkansas, september , . in retired to "walnut hill," his plantation in lafayette county. died . . archibald yell, - lawyer, democrat. born in tennessee, or . served in war of , and in seminole war of . married mary scott, ; two children. married ann jordan moore, ; four children. married maria ficklin, . member, tennessee house of representatives, . came to arkansas . receiver at federal land office in little rock, - . moved to fayetteville, . territorial judge, - . congressman, - , - . governor, - . left congress in to become colonel of first arkansas volunteer cavalry, mexican war. killed at battle of buena vista, mexico, . . thomas s. drew, - planter, peddler, lawyer, democrat. born in tennessee, . came to arkansas . clerk of clark county, - . moved to what is now randolph county, . married cinderella bettis, , five children. judge of lawrence county, - . delegate to arkansas constitutional convention, . governor, - . resigned as governor, , and returned to pocahontas. moved to hood county, texas, after death of his wife in . died in texas, . . john s. roane, - planter, lawyer, democrat. born in tennessee, . attended cumberland college, princeton, kentucky. came to arkansas , settled at pine bluff. moved to van buren . speaker, arkansas house of representatives, - . served in mexican war. returned to pine bluff, . governor, - . married mary k. smith, ; five children. brigadier general, confederate army. died . . elias n. conway, - surveyor, public official, democrat. born in tennessee, ; younger brother of governor james s. conway. came to arkansas from missouri . territorial auditor, - . state auditor, - . governor, - . never married. died . . henry m. rector, - planter, lawyer, independent democrat. born in kentucky, . came to arkansas from missouri, ; settled in hot springs. married ernestine flora linde, ; one child. appointed federal marshal, . state senator, - . moved to little rock, . member, house of representatives, - . associate justice, supreme court, - . governor, - . delegate, constitutional convention of . died . . harris flanagin, - lawyer, confederate. born in new jersey, . moved to clark county, arkansas, from illinois, . married martha e. nash, ; five children. member, house of representatives, - . delegate, secession convention, . colonel, confederate army. governor, - . delegate, constitutional convention of . died . . isaac murphy, - teacher, lawyer, unionist democrat. born in pennsylvania, . settled in tennessee, ; came to arkansas . married angelina a. lockhart, ; eight children. member, house of representatives, washington county, - . went to california , returned . moved to huntsville, madison county, . state senator, - . delegate, secession convention of ; only member who refused to vote for secession of arkansas from the union. served with union army, - . organized unionist state government in little rock, ; served as governor until displaced by radical republicans, . died in huntsville, . . powell clayton, - civil engineer, soldier, republican. born in pennsylvania, . educated in the common schools, the partridge military academy in bristol, pennsylvania, and in an engineering school at wilmington, delaware. moved to kansas, ; became city engineer of leavenworth, kansas, . brigadier general, union army; came to arkansas with army during civil war. at close of war, settled on a cotton plantation near pine bluff. married adeline mcgraw, ; five children. governor, - ; resigned in to become united states senator for term ending . moved from little rock to eureka springs, . united states ambassador to mexico, - . lived in washington, d.c. from until his death in . note: the unexpired portion of powell clayton's term as governor, - , was completed by ozra a. hadley, president of the state senate. . elisha baxter, - lawyer, republican. born in north carolina, . married harriet patton, ; six children. came to arkansas , settled in batesville. member, house of representatives, - , - . prosecuting attorney, - . raised and commanded fourth arkansas mounted infantry regiment (union) during civil war. elected to state supreme court, , and then to united states senate, but not allowed to take his seat. circuit judge, - . governor, - ; his term of office was cut short by the brooks-baxter war and the adoption of a new state constitution. died . . augustus h. garland, - lawyer, democrat. born in tennessee, . his parents came to what is now miller county, arkansas, ; later the family located in washington, hempstead county. educated in a private school at washington; at st. mary's college, lebanon, kentucky; and at st. joseph's college, bardstown, kentucky, where he graduated . married virginia saunders, ; eight children. moved to little rock, . delegate, secession convention, . delegate to provisional congress of confederate states, ; confederate congressman, - ; confederate states senator, - . governor, - . united states senator, - . attorney general of the united states under president grover cleveland, - ; first arkansan to hold a cabinet post. died . . william r. miller, - lawyer, democrat. born at batesville, arkansas, . clerk of independence county, - . married susan elizabeth bevens, ; seven children. state auditor, - , - , - , - , - , . accountant of real estate bank of arkansas, - . governor, - ; first native arkansan to hold office. died . . thomas j. churchill, - planter, soldier, lawyer, democrat. born in kentucky, . educated at st. mary's college and transylvania university. served in mexican war. moved to arkansas , acquired a plantation near little rock. married anne maria sevier, ; six children. postmaster at little rock, - . major general, confederate army; commanded at the battle of arkansas post, . state treasurer, - . governor, - . died . . james h. berry, - lawyer, democrat. born in alabama, . when he was seven, his father moved to carrollton, carroll county, arkansas. attended berryville academy. served in confederate army; lost a leg at battle of corinth. married elizabeth quaile, ; six children. moved to bentonville, . served in house of representatives from carroll county, - ; from washington and benton counties, - . speaker of the house, . circuit judge, - . governor, - . united states senator, - . died . . simon p. hughes, - lawyer, democrat. born in tennessee, . moved to pulaski county, arkansas, with his parents, . educated in tennessee, - . returned to arkansas and became a farmer. sheriff, monroe county, - . began practice of law at clarendon, . married ann e. blakemore, ; nine children. lieutenant colonel, confederate army. member, house of representatives from monroe county, - . delegate, constitutional convention of . attorney general, - . governor, - . associate justice, supreme court, - . died . . james p. eagle, - planter, minister, democrat. born in tennessee, . came with parents to pulaski county, arkansas, . moved to what is now lonoke county, . lieutenant colonel, confederate army. ordained to baptist ministry, . member, house of representatives, - , ; speaker of the house, . delegate, constitutional convention of . married mary kavanaugh oldham, . governor, - . president, arkansas baptist state convention, - . president, southern baptist convention, - . died . . william m. fishback, - lawyer, democrat. born in virginia, . graduated from university of virginia; studied law in richmond. came to arkansas from illinois ; settled at fort smith. delegate, secession convention, . went to missouri and took oath of allegiance to union. elected to united states senate from arkansas , but not allowed to take his seat. married adelaide miller, ; six children. delegate, constitutional convention of . member, house of representatives, sebastian county, , . governor, - . died . . james p. clarke, - lawyer, democrat. born in mississippi, . graduated from law school, university of virginia. came to arkansas ; opened law office in helena. married sallie moore wooten, ; three children. member, house of representatives, phillips county, . state senator, , . attorney general, - . governor, - . united states senator, - . died . . dan w. jones, - lawyer, democrat. born in texas, . moved with parents to washington, arkansas, . colonel, confederate army. married margaret p. hadley, ; seven children. prosecuting attorney, - . attorney general, - . member, house of representatives, pulaski county, , . governor, - . died . . jeff davis, - lawyer, democrat. born in what is now little river county, arkansas, . educated in common schools; preparatory department, arkansas industrial university; law school, vanderbilt university. received law degree, cumberland university. married ina mckenzie, ; twelve children. married leila carter, . practiced law at russellville, arkansas. prosecuting attorney, - . attorney general, - . governor, - ; first governor to be elected to more than two terms. united states senator, - . died . . john s. little, - lawyer, democrat. born at jenny lind, sebastian county, arkansas, . attended cane hill college, cane hill, arkansas. married elizabeth j. irwin, ; five children. prosecuting attorney, - . member, house of representatives, sebastian county, . circuit judge, - . congressman, - . governor, - . soon after his inauguration, he suffered a nervous collapse and was unable to perform his duties for the remainder of his term. died . . george w. donaghey, - building contractor, banker, democrat. born in louisiana, . came to union county, arkansas with his parents when a child. worked as a farmer and cowboy in texas. moved to conway, ; became a carpenter and contractor. attended arkansas industrial university (now the university of arkansas). married louvinia wallace, . governor, - . philanthropist, business and civic leader for many years. died . . joseph t. robinson, lawyer, democrat. born near lonoke, arkansas, . educated in the common schools; arkansas industrial university; and the law department of the university of virginia. admitted to bar ; commenced practice in lonoke. married ewilda gertrude miller, . member, house of representatives, lonoke county, . congressman, - . governor, ; resigned to become united states senator, - . democratic leader in senate, - . democratic nominee for vice-president of the united states, . died . . george w. hays, - lawyer, democrat. born near camden, arkansas, . graduated from washington and lee university. married ida virginia yarborough, ; two children. county judge, ouachita county, - . circuit judge, - . governor, - . died . . charles h. brough, - educator, democrat. born in mississippi, . b.a., mississippi college, ; ph.d., johns hopkins university, ; ll.b., university of mississippi, . married anne wade roark, . professor of economics and sociology, university of arkansas, - . governor - . chautauqua lecturer. president, central baptist college, conway, - . died . . thomas c. mcrae, - lawyer, banker, democrat. born at mount holly, union county, arkansas, . graduated from soule business college, new orleans, ; ll.b., washington and lee university, . married amelia ann white, ; nine children. member, house of representatives, nevada county, . congressman, - . delegate, constitutional convention of - . governor, - . died . . tom j. terral, - lawyer, democrat. born in louisiana, . attended university of kentucky; ll.b., university of arkansas, . married eula terrell, . secretary, arkansas senate, , . secretary of state, - . governor, - . died . . john e. martineau, - lawyer, democrat. born in missouri, . a.b., arkansas industrial university, ; graduated, university law school, . married mrs. anne holcomb mitchell, . married mrs. mabel erwin thomas, . member, house of representatives, pulaski county, , . chancellor, - . governor, - ; resigned to become united states district judge, - . died . . harvey parnell, - planter, businessman, democrat. born in dorsey (now cleveland) county, arkansas, . married mabel winston, ; two children. member, house of representatives, chicot county, , . state senator, , . lieutenant governor, - . succeeded to governorship when john e. martineau resigned, ; elected to full terms , . died . . j.m. futrell, - lawyer, democrat. born in greene county, arkansas, . attended arkansas industrial university. married tera a. smith, ; six children. member, house of representatives, greene county, , , . circuit clerk, greene county, - . state senator, , . acting governor, march-july . circuit judge, . chancellor, - . governor, - . died . . carl e. bailey, - lawyer, democrat. born in missouri, . attended business college in chillicothe, missouri. married margaret bristol, ; six children. married marjorie compton, . prosecuting attorney, - . attorney general, - . governor, - . died . . homer m. adkins, - pharmacist, businessman, democrat. born near jacksonville, arkansas, . attended draughon's business college of pharmacy. captain, united states army, first world war. married estelle smith, . sheriff, pulaski county, - . united states collector of internal revenue for arkansas, - . governor, - . administrator, employment security division, - . died . . ben t. laney, - businessman, democrat. born in ouachita county, near smackover, arkansas, . served in united states navy, first world war. a.b., state normal school (now state college), conway, . graduate study, university of utah. married lucille kirtley, ; three children. mayor of camden, - . governor, - . . sid mcmath, - lawyer, democrat. born near magnolia, arkansas, . ll.b., university of arkansas, . married elaine braughton, ; one child. married anne phillips, ; two children. lieutenant colonel, united states marine corps, second world war. prosecuting attorney, - . governor, - . . francis cherry, - lawyer, democrat. born in fort worth, texas, . graduated oklahoma a.& m. college, . ll.b., university of arkansas, . married margaret frierson; three children. lieutenant (j.g.), united states navy, second world war. chancellor, - , - . governor, - . member, united states subversive activities control board, - ; chairman, - . died . . orval e. faubus, - newspaperman, democrat. born near combs, arkansas, . attended madison county schools. married alta haskins, ; one son. major, united states army, second world war. circuit clerk, madison county, - . administrative assistant to governor sid mcmath, highway commissioner, highway director, - . postmaster, huntsville, - . governor, - . . winthrop rockefeller, - financier, farmer, republican. born in new york, . attended yale university. lieutenant colonel, united states army, second world war. married barbara sears, ; one son. married jeannette edris, . moved to arkansas, . chairman, arkansas industrial development commission, - . first republican elected governor since . united states senators from arkansas each state is entitled to two united states senators. until , senators were elected by state legislatures; since that time, by popular vote. our first senators, chosen in , were ambrose h. sevier and william s. fulton. in the following pages, biographies of sevier and his successors are given first. . ambrose h. sevier - lawyer, democrat. born in tennessee, . came to arkansas from missouri, . clerk, territorial house of representatives, . member, territorial house of representatives, pulaski county, , ; speaker, . territorial delegate to congress, - . united states senator, - . united states minister to mexico, march-june . died . . solon borland, - physician, democrat. born in virginia, . attended schools in north carolina; studied medicine; located in little rock, arkansas. major, first arkansas volunteer cavalry, mexican war. united states senator, - . united states minister to central american republics, - . brigadier general, confederate army. died . . robert w. johnson, - lawyer, democrat. born in kentucky, . moved with his father to arkansas, . graduated from st. joseph's college, bardstown, kentucky, , and from yale law school, . practiced law in little rock, arkansas, - . prosecuting attorney, - . congressman, - . united states senator, - . delegate to provisional confederate congress, - . confederate states senator, - . practiced law in washington, d.c. after the war. died . . charles b. mitchel, physician, democrat. born in tennessee, . graduated from university of nashville, tennessee, , and from jefferson medical college, philadelphia, pennsylvania, . moved to washington, arkansas, where he practiced medicine for twenty-five years. member, house of representatives, hempstead county, - . receiver of public moneys, - . united states senator, . confederate states senator, - . died . note: arkansas was not represented in the united states senate from its secession in until the state was readmitted to the union in . . benjamin f. rice, - lawyer, republican. born in new york, . member, kentucky house of representatives, - . moved to minnesota, . captain, union army. settled in little rock, arkansas, . active in organizing republican party in arkansas. united states senator, - . moved to colorado , and to washington, d.c. . died . . stephen w. dorsey, - businessman, republican. born in vermont, . moved to ohio and settled in oberlin. served in union army. after civil war, returned to ohio; became president of sandusky tool company. elected president, arkansas railway company. moved to arkansas, settled in helena. united states senator, - . after his service in senate, devoted himself to cattle raising and mining in new mexico and colorado. resided in colfax county, new mexico; denver, colorado; and los angeles, california. died . . james d. walker, - lawyer, democrat. born in kentucky, . attended private schools in kentucky, and ozark institute and arkansas college, fayetteville, arkansas. moved to arkansas . admitted to bar ; practiced law in fayetteville. colonel, confederate army; captured at oak hills, missouri in and spent two years in military prison. resumed practice of law in fayetteville, . united states senator, - . died . . james k. jones, - lawyer, democrat. born in mississippi, . moved with his parents to dallas county, arkansas, . served in confederate army. admitted to bar and commenced practice in washington, arkansas. state senator, - ; president of senate, . congressman, - . united states senator, - . chairman, democratic national committee, , . died . . james p. clarke, - (see "governors of the state of arkansas," number ). . william f. kirby, - lawyer, democrat. born in what is now miller county, arkansas, . studied law at cumberland university, lebanon, tennessee; graduated . admitted to bar , commenced practice in texarkana, arkansas. member, house of representatives, miller county, , . state senator , . author of "kirby's digest of the statutes of arkansas," . moved to little rock, . attorney general, - . associate justice, supreme court, - , - . united states senator, - . died . . thaddeus h. caraway, - lawyer, democrat. born in missouri, . moved with his parents to clay county, arkansas, . graduated in from dickson (tennessee) college. admitted to bar , commenced practice in osceola, arkansas. moved to lake city, craighead county, , and to jonesboro, . prosecuting attorney, - . congressman, - . united states senator, - . died . . hattie w. caraway, - democrat, wife of senator thaddeus h. caraway. born in tennessee, . graduated from dickson (tennessee) normal college, . married and thereafter located in jonesboro, arkansas. appointed united states senator to succeed her husband ; elected and ; served - . member, united states employees' compensation commission, - . member, united states employees' compensation appeals board, - . died . . james william fulbright, - lawyer, democrat. born in missouri, . moved with his parents to fayetteville, arkansas . was graduated from university of arkansas, ; as a rhodes scholar from oxford university, england, ; and from law department of george washington university, washington, d.c., . admitted to district of columbia bar, . attorney, united states department of justice, antitrust division, - . instructor in law, george washington university, ; lecturer in law, university of arkansas, - . president of the university of arkansas, - . congressman, - . united states senator since . . william s. fulton, - (see "governors of the territory of arkansas," number ). . chester ashley, - lawyer, democrat. born in massachusetts, . moved with his parents to hudson, new york, during infancy. was graduated from williams college, williamstown, massachusetts, and the litchfield (connecticut) law school. admitted to bar and commenced practice of law in hudson, new york. moved to edwardsville, illinois, ; to st. louis, missouri, ; and to little rock, arkansas, . united states senator - . died . . william k. sebastian, - lawyer, planter, democrat. born in tennessee, . was graduated from columbia college, tennessee, about . commenced practice of law in helena, arkansas, . prosecuting attorney, - . circuit judge, - . associate justice, supreme court, - . member and president of state senate, - . united states senator, - . expelled from senate, ; returned to helena and practiced law; took no part in confederate war effort. moved to memphis, . died . in , the united states senate revoked his expulsion and paid the full amount of his compensation to his children. note: arkansas was not represented in the united states senate from its secession in until the state was readmitted to the union in . . alexander mcdonald, - businessman, banker, republican. born in pennsylvania, . attended dickinson seminary, williamsport, pennsylvania; and lewisburg university, lewisburg, pennsylvania. moved to kansas, . served in union army. came to arkansas , settled in little rock. united states senator, - . engaged in development of railroads. moved to new york city, . died . . powell clayton, - (see "governors of the state of arkansas," number ) . augustus h. garland, - (see "governors of the state of arkansas," number ) . james h. berry, - (see "governors of the state of arkansas," number ) . joseph t. robinson, - (see "governors of the state of arkansas," number ) . john e. miller, - lawyer, banker, democrat. born in missouri, . attended southeast missouri state teachers college, cape girardeau; and valparaiso (indiana) university. graduated from law department, university of kentucky, . admitted to bar , commenced practice in searcy, arkansas. delegate, constitutional convention of - . prosecuting attorney, - . congressman, - . united states senator from until he resigned in to become united states district judge for the western district of arkansas. . lloyd spencer, - banker, democrat. born in missouri, . moved to okolona, arkansas, . attended henderson college, arkadelphia. served in united states navy, first world war, . moved to hope, arkansas, . appointed to united states senate ; term expired . served in united states navy, second world war, . . john l. mcclellan, - lawyer, democrat. born in sheridan, arkansas, . attended public schools. admitted to bar , commenced practice in sheridan. first lieutenant, united states army, first world war, - . moved to malvern, arkansas, . prosecuting attorney, - . congressman, - . resumed practice of law in camden, arkansas. united states senator since . from images provided by the library of congress, manuscript division. [tr: ***] = transcriber note [hw: ***] = handwritten note slave narratives a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress washington volume ii arkansas narratives part prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of arkansas informants quinn, doc ralls, henrietta rankins, diana rassberry, senia reaves, clay reece, jane reed, frank reeves, james rhone, shepherd richard, dora ricks, jim rigger, charlie rigley, ida ritchie, milton rivers, alice roberts, rev. j. robertson (robinson?), george robinson, augustus robinson, malindy robinson, tom rogers, isom rogers, oscar james rogers, will ann rooks, william henry ross, amanda ross, cat ross, mattie rowland, laura rucker, landy ruffin, martha ruffin, thomas rumple, casper russell, henry rye, katie samuels, bob sanderson, emma scott, mary scott, mollie hardy scott, sam scroggins, cora sexton, sarah shaver, roberta shaw, mary shaw, violet shelton, frederick shelton, laura shores, mahalia simmons, rosa sims, fannie sims, jerry sims, victoria sims, virginia singfield, senya sloan, peggy smallwood, arzella smiley, sarah smith, andrew smith, caroline smith, caroline smith, edmond smith, emma hulett smith, ervin e. smith, frances smith, henrietta evelina smith, henry smith, j.l. smith, john h. snow, charlie and maggie solomon, robert spikes, james stanford, kittie stanhouse, tom starnes, isom steel, hezekiah (ky) stenhouse, maggie stephens, charlotte e. stevens, william j. stewart, minnie johnson stiggers, liza stith, james henry stout, caroline street, felix tabon, mary tanner, liza moore tatum, fannie taylor, anthony taylor, lula taylor, millie taylor, sarah taylor, warren teague, sneed teel, mary thermon, wade thomas, dicey thomas, mandy thomas, omelia thomas, omelia thomas, tanner thomas, wester thompson, annie [tr: corrected from "thomas"] thompson, ellen briggs thompson, hattie thompson, mamie thompson, mike thornton, laura tidwell, emma (bama?) tillman, joe tims, j.t. travis, hannah trotter, mark c. tubbs, james tucker, mandy turner, emma turner, henry tuttle, seabe texarkana district folklore subjects name of interviewer: cecil copeland subject: social customs--reminiscences of an ex-slave subject: foods this information given by: doc quinn place of residence: ash street, texarkana, arkansas occupation: none [tr: also reported as ex-slave.] age: [tr: also reported as .] [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] several months ago, i called at ash street, texarkana, arkansas where i had been informed a voluble old negro lived. an aged, gray-haired, negro woman came to the door and informed me her father was in the wood shed at the back of the house. going around to the wood shed i found him busily engaged in storing his winter supply of wood. when i made known my mission he readily agreed to answer all my questions as best he could. seating himself on a block of wood, he told this almost incredible story, along with lengthy discourses on politics, religion and other current events: "i wuz born march , , in monroe county, mississippi, near aberdeen, mah mahster wuz colonel ogburn, one ob de bigges' planters in de state of mississippi. manys de time he raised so much cotton dat dem big steamers just couldnt carry it all down to n'awlins in one year. but den along came de civil war an' we didn't raise nothin' fo' several years. why? becase most uf us jined the confederate army in colonel ogburn's regiment as servants and bodyguards. an' let me tell yo' somethin', whitefolks. dere never wuz a war like dis war. why i 'member dat after de battle of corinth, miss., a five acre field was so thickly covered wid de dead and wounded dat yo' couldn't touch de ground in walkin' across it. and de onliest way to bury dem wuz to cut a deep furrow wid a plow, lay de soldiers head to head, an' plow de dirt back on dem." "about a year after de war started de mahster got one ob dese a.w.o.l.'s frum de army so we could come to miller county, where he bought de place on red river now known as de adams farm. "when we fust came here dis place, as well as de rest ob de valley, wuz just a big canebrake--nothin' lived in dere but bears, wolves, and varmints. why de mahster would habe to round up de livestock each afternoon, put dem in pens, and den put out guards all night to keep de wolves and bears frum gettin' em. de folks didn't go gallivatin' round nights like dey do now or de varmints would get them. but den we didn't stay here but a few months until de mahster's a.w.o.l. wuz up, so we had to go back and jine de army. we fought in mississippi alabama, georgia, and south carolina." "when de war ended de mahster moved us to miller county, but not on de adams farm. for de man whut used to own de farm said uncle sam hadn't made any such money as wuz paid him for de farm, so he wanted his farm back. dat confederate money wuzn't worth de paper it wuz printed on, so de mahster had to gib him back de farm. poor massa ogburn--he didn't live long after dat. he and his wife are buried side by side in rondo cemetery." "not long after de negroes wuz freed, i took ob dem to de votin' place at homan and voted 'em all straight democratic. on my way back home dat evenin' five negroes jumped frum de bushes and stopped me. dey 'splained dat i wuz too 'fluential wid de negroes and proceeded to string me up by de neck. i hollers as loud as i could, and roy nash and hugh burton, de election officers, just happen to be comin' down de road and hear me yell. dey ran off de niggers and cut me down, but by dat time i had passed out. it wuz several weeks befo' i got well, and i can still feel dat rope 'round my neck. iffen dey had known how to tie a hangmans knot i wouldn't be here to tell you about it." "it wuzn't long after dis dat i jined colonel' baker's gang for 'tection. 'colonel' baker wuz a great and brave man and did mo' fo de white folks of dis country den any other man. why iffen it hadn't been fo' him de white folks couldn't hab lived in dis country, de negroes wuz so mean. dey wuz so mean dat dey tied heavy plow shoes aroun' de necks ob two little white boys and threw dem in de lake. yes suh. i wuz dere." "and another time i wuz wid a bunch of niggers when dey wuz plannin' on killin a white man who wuz a friend ob mine. as soon as i could i slips away and tips him off. when i got back one ob dem niggers looks at me suspicious like and asks, "where yo been, nigger?" i wuz shakin' like a leaf in a storm, but i says: "i ain't been nowhere--just went home to get some cartridges to help kill dis white man." "not long after i jined colonel baker's gang, we wuz comin' frum fulton to clipper through de red river bottoms. de river wuz overflowin' an' as we wuz crossin' a deep, swift slough, colonel baker and his horse got tangled up in some grape vines. colonel baker yelled, and i turned my mule around and cut all de grape vine loose wid my bowie knife. dere ain't nothin' like a mule for swimmin'. dey can swim circles aroun' any horse. as long as he lived, colonel baker was always grateful to me fo' savin' his life." "de colonel hated de sight ob mean niggers. we would ride up to a negro settlement, and tell de niggers we wuz organizing a colored militia to catch cullen baker and his gang. most ob de negroes would join, but some ob dem had to be encouraged by colonel baker's big gun. de recruits would be lined up in an open field fo' drilling. and dey sho wuz drilled. colonel baker and his men would shoot them by the score. dey killed at homan, arkansas, at rocky comfort, (foreman) arkansas, near ogden, arkansas, on de temple place, at jefferson, texas, in north louisiana, at marshall, texas, and several others." "all of de big planters wuz friendly to cullen baker. i have carried supplies many times frum de big plantations--hervey, glass, and others--to cullen baker. de colonel always carried a big double-barrel shotgun. it must have been de biggest shotgun in de world, not less den a number eight size. he whipped soldiers at old boston wid dis gun one time." "i saw colonel baker killed. we had just arrived at his father-in-law's house and i wuz in the horse lot, about yards from de house, when joe davis. thomas orr and some more men rode up." "de colonel wuz standin' by de chimney an did not see dem come aroun' de house. dey killed him befo' he knew dey wuz aroun'. one ob de men asked mr. foster, "where at dat d--n nigger?" i ducked down and crawled in under de rail fence and ran--i didn't stop 'til i wuz deep in the sulphur river bottoms. every minute my heart seemed like it wuz goin' to jump right out uv my mouth. i wuz the worst scared nigger that ever lived." "i have lived many years since dat time. de times and ways of livin' have changed. i 'member killing deer where the texarkana national bank stands, way befo' texarkana wuz even thought of. this place wuz one of my favorite deer stands. nix creek used to be just full ob fish. what used to be the best fishing hole aroun' here is now covered by the methodist church (negro), in east texarkana. dr. weetten had a big fine home out where springlake park is. he wuz killed when thrown by a buckin' horse. all of de young people i knew den have been dead many years." foods the question of eating special food on a particular day immediately brings in mind thanksgiving day, when turkey becomes the universal dish. perhaps no other day in the year can be so designated, except among a few religious orders when the eating of meat is strictly prohibited on certain days. the belief that negroes are particularly addicted to eating pork is well founded, as witness the sales of pork to colored people in most any meat market. but who could imagine that cotton-seed was once the universal food eaten in this vicinity by the colored people? that, according to doc quinn, a former slave, and self-styled exmember of cullen baker's gang, was the custom before and shortly after the civil war. the cotton-seed would be dumped into a hugh pot, and boiled for several hours, the seed gradually rising to the top. the seed would then be dipped off with a ladle. the next and final step would be to pour corn-meal into the thick liquid, after which it was ready to be eaten. cotton-seed, it must be remembered, had little value at that time, except as livestock feed. "yes suh, cap'n," the old negro went on to explain. "i has never eaten anything whut tasted any better, or whut would stick to your ribs like cotton-seed, and corn-meal cake. rich? why dey's nuthin dat is more nutritious. you never saw a healthier or finer lookin' bunch of negroes dan wuz on colonel harvey's place. "i 'member one time tho' when he changed us off cotton-seed, but we didn't stay changed fo' long. no suh. of all de grumblin' dem niggers did, becase dey insides had got so used to dat cotton-seed and corn-meal dey wouldn't be satisfied wid nothing else." "one mornin' when about forty of us niggers had reported sick, de mahster came down to de qua'ters. 'whut ailin' ye' lazy neggers?' he asked. dem niggers los' about fifty pounds of weight apiece, and didn' feel like doin' anything. 'mahster,' i say. 'iffen you'll have de wimmen folks make us a pot full of dat cotton-seed and corn-meal, we'll be ready to go to work.' and as long as i work fo' colonel harvey, one uv de bes' men whut ever lived, we always had cotton-seed and corn-meal to eat." texarkana district folklore subjects name of interviewer: mrs. w.m. ball subject: anecdotes of an aged ex-slave. subject: superstitious beliefs among negroes. (negro lore) story:--information: information given by: doc quinn place of residence: th & ash sts., texarkana, ark. occupation: none (ex-slave) age: [tr: information moved from bottom of second page.] [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] "mah young marster wuz joe ogburn. me and him growed up togedder an' i wuz his body guard durin' de wahr. many's de day i'ze watched de smoke ob battle clear away an' wait fo' de return ob mah marster. all de time i felt we wuz born to win dat wahr, but god knowed bes' an' you know de result. "three years ago i went to little rook wid mr. fisher. lac' all folks whut goes to dis city, we wend our way to de capitol to see de governor. gov. futtrell sittin' bac' in his great fine office, saw me and jined me in conversation. de fus' question he axed me wuz 'whut party does yo' 'filiate wif?' i sez, 'de democrat--de party whut's a frien' to de nigger.' de governor axed me how does i lac' dis life? i sez 'very well, tho' things has changed since slavery days. those wuz good ole days for de black man; didn't hafter worry about nuthin'. now, i sho' does mah share ob worryin'. i worries from one meal to de odder, i worries about whure i'ze gwine get some mo' clothes when dese wears out?' "i tole de governor mah 'sperience wif de republican party durin' de wahr. i been hung fo' times in mah life an' one ob de times by de republicans. long time ago, mr. roy nash an' mr. hugh sutton wuz a settin' ovah de ballot box on 'lection day, when i voted democrats. yas, suh; i jus' marches 'em in an' tells 'em how to cas' dey vote. dat night, on mah way home frum de votin', goin' down de lonely road, i wuz stopped an' strung up to a tree by de neck. dey 'splained dat i wuz too 'fluential wid de niggers. when i wuz hangin' dere i did some manful howlin'. dat howlin' sho brought de white folks. when dey see mah distres' dey 'leased de rope an' i wuz saved. dat is when i 'pealed to col. baker for 'tection. he wuz mah frien' as long as he lib, and he wuz a good frien' ob de south 'cause he saved lots ob white folks frum de wrath ob de mean niggers." (note: the col. baker referred to was cullen baker, the leader of a ruthless gang of bushwhackers that operated in this section shortly after the civil war.) doc quinn tells a "ghost story" connected with the old church at rondo, built in . "de masonic hall wuz built up ovah dis buildin' an' ever month dey had dey meetin'. one night, when dey was 'sembled, two men wuz kilt. dat sho' did scatter dat lot ob masons and frum dat time on de spirits ob dese men roamed dis chu'ch. sometime in de dead ob night, dat bell wud ring loud an' clear, wakin' all de folks. down dey wud come, clos' like, to de chu'ch,--but scared to go closer. mr. bill crabtree, a rich man an' a man whut wuz scared too, offered anybody $ . to go inside dat chu'ch an' stay one hour. didn't nobody need dat $ . dat bad!" the old negro tells the following grave yard story: "one dark, drizzly night, de niggers wuz out in de woods shootin' craps. i didn't hab no money to jine in de game. one nigger say, "doc, effen you go down to de cemetey' an' bring bac' one ob dem 'foot boa'ds' frum one ob dem graves, we'll gib yo' a dollar." i ambles off to de cemete'y, 'cause i really needed dat money. i goes inside, walks careful like, not wantin' to distu'b nuthin', an' finally de grave stone leapt up in front ob me. i retches down to pick up de foot boa'd, an' lo! de black cats wuz habin' a meetin' ovah dat grave an' dey objected to mah intrudin', but i didn't pay 'em no mind; jus' fetched dat boa'd bac' to dem niggers, an'--bless de lawd,--dey gib me two dollars!" superstitious beliefs among negroes some aged negroes believe that many of the superstitious ideas that are practiced by their race today had their origin in africa. a practice that was quite common in ante bellum days was for each member of the family to extract all of their teeth, in the belief that in doing so the family would never disagree. fortunately, this and similar practices of self mutilation have about become extinct. an old custom practiced to prevent the separation of a husband and wife was to wrap a rabbit's forefoot, a piece of loadstone, and hairs from the top of the head in red flannel, and bury it under the front door steps. as a preventitive against being tricked or hoo-dooed, punch a hole through a dime, insert a string through the hole, and tie it around the left ankle. to carry an axe or hoe into the house means bad luck. an itching nose indicates some one is coming to see you, while an itching eye indicates you will cry. interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: henrietta ralls fluker st. pine bluff, ark. age: "yes ma'am, i was here in slavery times. i was born in mississippi, lee county, march , . come to arkansas when i was ten years old. had to walk. my old master was henry ralls. sometimes we jump up in the wagon and he'd whip us out. "my old mistes name was drunetta. she was good to us. we called her miss netta. old master was mean. he'd whip us. one day he come along and picked up sand and throwed it in my eyes. he was a mean old devil. he thought i was scared of him. cose i was. that was before the war. "i recollect when the yankees come. i knowed they was a'ridin'. white folks made me hide things. i hid a barrel of wool once--put meal on top. they'd a'took it ever bit if they could have found it. they wanted chickens and milk. they'd take things they wanted--they would that. would a'taken ever bit of our wool if they could have found it. "they wouldn't talk to old mistes--just talk to me and ask where things was. she didn't notice them and they didn't notice her. "i reckon the lord intended for the yankees to free the people. they was fightin' to free the people. "i hear em say war is still goin' on in the world. "the owners was tryin' to hide the colored people. our white folks took some of us clear out in texas to keep the yankees from gettin' em. miss liza was miss netta's daughter and she was mean as her old daddy. she said, 'oh, yes, you little devils, you thought you was goin' to be free! she had a good brother though. he wanted to swap a girl for me so i could be back here with my mammy, but miss liza wouldn't turn me loose. no sir, she wouldn't. "after freedom i hired out--cooked, milked cows and washed and ironed. "i went back to mississippi and stayed with my father. old henry ralls sold my father fore we come to arkansas. "i never been married. i could have married, but i didn't. i don't know hardly why. "i been makin' my own livin' pretty much since i left my father. "biggest majority of younger generation looks like they tryin' to get a education and tryin' to make a livin' with their brain without usin' their hands. but i'd rather use my hands--cose i would. "i went to school some after the war, but i had to pay for it. "i been disabled bout five or six years. got to have somethin' to take us away, i guess." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: diana rankins, brinkley, arkansas age: "i was born at arlington, tennessee but when i was a chile the depot was called with. my parents' name sarah and solomon green. there was seven girls and one boy of us. my sister died last year had two children old as i was. i was the youngest chile. folks mated younger than they do now and seem like they had better times when there was a big family. "adam turnover in charleston, south carolina owned my papa. when he died they sold him. he was one year and six months old when he was sold. "i think s.c. bachelor, around brownsville, tennessee, owned mama first. she said they put her upon the block and sold her and her mother was crying. the man after he sold her ask her if she didn't want him to sell her. she said she didn't care but said she knowed she was afraid to say she cared cause she was crying. she never seen her mama no more. she was carried off on a horse. she was a little girl then. general hayes bought her and he bought papa too. they played together. general hayes made the little boys run races so he could see who could run the fastest. "papa said they picked him up and carried him off. he said they pressed him into the breastworks of the war. he didn't want to go to war. mr. hayes kept him hid out but they stole him and took him to fight. he come home. he belong to jack hayes, general hayes' son. they called him mr. jack or mr. hayes when freedom come. mr. jack sent him to como, mississippi to work and to duncan, arkansas to work his land. i was fifteen years old when we come to arkansas. mr. walker hayes that was president of the commercial appeal over at memphis lost his land. we been from place to place over arkansas since then. mr. walker was general hayes' grandson. we worked field hands till then, we do anything since. i nursed some for mr. charles williams in memphis. i have done house work. i got two children. my son got one leg off. i live with him. this little gran'boy is the most pleasure to us all. "the ku klux never did interfere with us. they never come to our house. i have seen them. "when papa come from war it was all over. we knowed it was freedom. everybody was in a stir and talking and going somewhere. he had got his fill of freedom in the war. he said turn us all out to freeze and starve. he stayed with the hayes till he died and mama died and all of us scattered out when mr. walker hayes lost his land. "ladies used to be too fine to be voting. i'm too old now. my men-folks said they voted. they come home and say how they voted all i know about voting. "walker avenue in memphis is named for mr. walker hayes and macremore was named for him or by him one. "we never was give a thing at freedom but papa was buying a place from his master and got in debt and sold it. i don't own a home. "i have high blood pressure and the welfare gives me $ a month. i'm not able to work. when you been used to a good plenty it is mighty bad to get mighty near helpless." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: senia rassberry catalpa street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm, i know what i hear em say. well, in slavery times i helped make the soldiers' clothes. "i was born on the old jack hall place on the arkansas river in jefferson county. "i know i was 'leven years old when peace declared. i reckon i can member fore the war started. i know i was bastin' them coats and pants. "my old master's name was jack hall and old mistress' name was priscilla. oh, yes'm, they was good to me--just as good to me as they could be. but ever' once in awhile they'd call me and say, 'senia.' i'd say, 'what you want?' they say, 'wasn't you out there doin' so and so?' i'd say, 'no.' they say, 'now, you're tellin' a lie' and they'd whip me. "i was the house girl, me and my sister. my mammy was the cook. "old master had two plantations. sometimes he had a overseer and sometimes he didn't. "oh, they had plenty to eat, hog meat and cracklin' bread. yes ma'am. i loved that, i reckon. i et so much of it then i don't hardly ever want it now. they had so much to eat. blackberry cobbler? oh lawd. "how many brothers and sisters? me? my dear, i don't know how many i had but i heard my mother say that all the chillun she did have, that she had 'leven chillun. "our white folks took us to texas durin' of the war. i think my old master said we stayed there three years. my mother died there with a congestive chill. "we come back here to arkansas after freedom and i think my father worked for jack hall three or four years. he wouldn't let him leave. he raised my father and thought so much of him. he worked on the shares. "after freedom i went to school. i learnt to read and write but i just wouldn't _do_ it. i learnt the other chillun though. i did _that_. i was into ever'thing. i learnt them that what i could do. blue back? them's the very ones i studied. "in slavery times i had to rise as early as i could. old master would give me any little thing around the house that i wanted. they said he was too old to go to war. some of the hands run off but i didn't know where they went to. "some of the people was better off slaves than they was free. i don't study bout things now but sometimes seems like all them things comes before me. "i used to hear em talkin' bout old jeff davis. i didn't know what they was talkin' bout but i heered em. "i was sixteen when i married and i had eleven chillun. all dead but four. "yes'm, i been treated good all my life by white and black. all of em loved me seemed like. "i been livin' in arkansas all my life. i never have worked in the field. i always worked in the house. i always was a seamstress--made pants for the men on the place. "after i come here to pine bluff i worked for the white folks. used to cook and wash and iron. done a lot of work. i _did_ that. "i been blind 'leven years but i thank the lord i been here that long. glory to jesus! oh, lord have mercy! glory, glory, glory to jesus!" interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: clay reaves, (light mulatto, large man) palestine, arkansas age: "i will be eighty years old my next birthday. it will be july th. father was bought from kentucky. i couldn't tell you about him. he stayed on the reaves place that year, the year of the surrender, and left. he didn't live with mother ever again. i never did hear no reason. he went on joe night's farm. he left me and a sister older but there was one dead between us. mother raised us. she stayed on with the reaves two years after he left. the last year she was there she hired to them. the only thing she ever done before freedom was cook and weave. she had her loom in the kitchen. it was a great big kitchen built off from the house and a portico joined it to the house. i used to lay up under her loom. it was warm there in winter time. i was the baby. i heard mother say some things i remember well. "she said she was never sold. she said the reaves said her children need never worry, they would never be sold. we was reaves from back yonder. mother's grandfather was a white man. she was a reaves and her children are mostly reaves. she was light. father was about, might be a little darker than i am (mulatto). at times she worked in the field, but in rush time. she wove all the clothes on the place. she worked at the loom and i lay up under there all day long. mother had three girls and five boys. "mr. reaves, we called him master, had two boys in the army. he was a real old man. he may have had more than two but i know there was two gone off. the white folks lived in sight of the quarters. their house was a big house and painted white. i've been in there. i never seen no grand parents of mine that i was allowed to claim kin with. "when i got up some size i was allowed to go see father. i went over to see him sometimes. after freedom he went to where his brothers lived. they wanted him to change his name from reaves to cox and he did. he changed it from james reaves to james cox. but i couldn't tell you if at one time they belong to cox in kentucky or if they belong to cox in tennessee or if they took on a name they liked. "i kept my name reaves. i am a reaves from start to finish. i was raised by mother and she was a reaves. her name was olive reaves. her old mistress' name was charlotte reaves, old master was edmond reaves. now the boys i come to know was john, bob; girls, mary and jane. there was older children. mother was a sensible, obedient woman. nobody ever treated her very wrong. she was the only one ever chastised me. they spoiled me. we got plenty plain rations. i never seen nobody married till after the surrender. i seen one woman chastised. i wasn't close. i never learned what it was about. old master reaves was laying it on. "mother moved to new castle, tennessee from mr. reaves' place. we farmed--three of us. we had been living southeast of boliver, tennessee, in hardeman county. i think my kin folks are all dead. father's other children may be over in tennessee now. yes, i know them. mother died over at palestine with me. she always lived with me. i married twice, had one child by each wife. both wives are dead and my children are dead. "mother said i had three older brothers went to the civil war and never come back home. she never heard from them after they went off. i don't know but it was my understanding that they was to be soldiers. i don't recollect them. "mother got so she wasn't able to work in the field several years before she died. she worked in the field long as she was able. she lived with me all my whole life till she died. but i farmed. some years we done well and some years we jess could live. i farmed all my life but a few years. i love farm life. it is independent living. i mean you are about your own man out there. i work my garden out at my shop now. i make baskets and bottom chairs at palestine. a few years i kept mrs. wilkerson's yard and garden. her husband died and she moved off to memphis. they did live at palestine. "i heard it said that reaves said he could keep his own farm. the ku klux never bothered us. i have heard a lot of things but i am telling you what i know. i don't know nothing about the civil war nor the ku klux. i was most too small a boy at that time to know much. "i used to vote. can't write my name. don't fool with it. "i went to school on rainy days. i went a few other days. people used to have to work. i always wanted to work. i piddle around all the time working now. i went to colored teachers all together. i can read a little. "i had a brother-in-law in arkansas. i heard a lot of talk. i come on a visit and stayed three months. i went back and moved here. i come to this state--over at palestine--march , on sunday. i have a good recollection, or i think i have for my age. i've lived a pretty sensible life, worked hard but had good health. if i had another life to live now i would go to the farm. i love farm life. "i chop wood, garden, go in the woods get my splints for baskets, chairs. i live by myself. i eat out some with i call them kin. they are my sister's children. i get some help, $ and commodities. "when i did vote i voted republican or i thought i did. but now if i did vote, i might change up. times have changed. "i don't know much about the young generation. i do talk with them--some. they are coming up in a changed time. i wouldn't talk against the colored race of people. some of them work--are good. some don't. i think some will not work. maybe they would. i come to know mighty little about them--no more than i know about the white girls and boys. i see them on the streets about as much as i ever see colored folks anywhere." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: jane reece w. ninth street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i know this--i'm . i was born in north carolina. "oh, yes'm, i 'member the war. "i'm three thousand miles from my home. "old john blue (belew?) was my white folks. "i did have good white folks. yes ma'am, i'll say that. stayed there a long time after we was sot free. they was good to us. "my mother was the mother of twelve chillun--she was a fast breeder. "i was the onliest girl and old missis was just wild about me. i had good owners. i don't remember no hard treatment among 'em. "i 'member she used to have me runnin' from house to house totin' a little note. that's the reason i had such a good time. heap of times i slept up at the big house with old missis. "i got a good memory. we was allowed to sing and pray. i know our white folks was good that way. i'll say that for 'em. i won't go back on 'em. "our folks stayed right on there a long time. "my father died three years after ever'thing had done got quiet and peaceful. "i left my husband back there and come here to arkansas with my mother. "the bigges' work i done--i used to be terrible 'bout cookin', washin' and ironin', and field work. ever'thing a man ever done i've done--cut wood, cut down sprouts, barn brush--i've done ever'thing. "oh yes, i went to school a whole lot. got so i could read. used to write too, but all that done left me. "i'm gwine tell you the truth, lady. i don't know whether the folks is better off free or not. they is better off in one way--they is free--but this young race is the devil." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: frank reed, missouri street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was a little boy pickin' up chips and helpin' feed the hog in slavery times for old master. name was george houston. that was in alabama. "i reckon i do remember george houston. as far as i know he was good to us. i remember when he died. "our people stayed right there after freedom. my mother was a houston till she married. "i reckon i do remember the paddyrollers. i remember the hounds runnin' too. i never thought i would remember that no more. "they didn't get after me 'cause i was too little. it didn't last long enough for 'em to get after me. "i'm sick and not able to help myself. i got run over by a wagon. "i'm livin' here with my daughter. her husband is a preacher and they got eight children, so you can imagine how much they can do for me. "one word of the white folks is worth a thousand of ours." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: james reeves w. twentieth street, little rock, arkansas age: occupation: preacher "i was born in down in ouachita county about fourteen miles south of camden going on toward el dorado. they didn't have no railroad then. i was a young man when they put the branch through. you see, i was born five years after slavery, but i remember my mother, my grandmother, and my great-grandmother. they taken me and talked to me freely and i know everything they knew. great-grandmother on mother's side "my great-grandmother belonged to the goodmans. her master was named bob goodman. she lived to get one hundred thirteen years old. from the children of the old master, i got the information concerning her age. i looked it up after emancipation. one of old master's sons was named frank goodman, and another was named norphleet goodman, and there was another whose name i don't recall. "my grandmother, great-grandmother, was named frankie goodman. i wasn't here in slavery time, but i knew her after emancipation. grandmother on mother's side "my grandmother was named hannah goodman. these were different goodmans but they were kin to these others. there was a large family of them. i don't know the correct age of my grandmother but she was up in the eighties when she died. mother "my mother was born a goodman, but she married reeves, my father. the record of their marriage i ain't got. back there, they didn't keep up like you and i do, and we don't keep up like these younger folks do. near as i could get it, she lived to be about seventy-one years old. father "my father was named adam reeves. his master was named rick reeves. my father was born in union county about ten miles from el dorado. you might say north of el dorado because he lived south of camden. he lived there all his life. i have known him to move out of ouachita county into union, and from union back to ouachita. grandfather on mother's side "my grandfather on my mother's aide was henry goodman. his mistress was a woman by the name of lucy goodman. she was the same woman who owned my mother. there was a big family of them goodmans. "his age--he lived to be about eighty years old. he died in hot spring county. grandmother on father's side "my grandmother on my father's side was named hetty. her master was named sam abbott. she lived right close to seventy-four or seventy-five years. she been gone quite a while now. she used to live with papa. other ancestors "i don't know so much about another of my ancestors. wife "my wife didn't have many people. she knows her mother, her mother's mistress, and all. her ma was named martha henson. that was her married name. her mistress' last name was stribling. martha henson was a well-treated slave. the striblings lived in rockport, arkansas, but their native home was georgia. i don't know where the striblings are now. the old man died before the civil war broke out. i guess they are all dead and in torment. my wife's grandmother and grandfather on her mother's side were gone so far back that neither she nor i know anything about them. whippings "my great-grandmother on my mother's side was in union county when i knew anything of her--close to el dorado. i was about twenty-two years old when she died. she was tall and spare built, dark ginger cake color. coarse straight black hair that had begun to mingle with gray. she never did get real gray, and her hair was never white. even when she died, at a hundred and thirteen years, her hair was mostly black mingled with gray. "the overseer knocked her in the head in slavery times, and they had to put a silver half-dollar in her head to hold her brains in. i have seen the place myself. when i was a little fellow she used to let me feel the place and she would say, 'that's where the overseer knocked granny in the head, son. i got a half-dollar in there.' i would put her hair aside--my but she had beautiful hair!--and look at the place. "my wife could tell you what my mother told her. she has seen the marks on my mother's back and has asked, 'mama, what's all these marks on your back?' and mama would say, 'that's where i was whipped in slavery times, daughter.' she never did like to tell the details. but the scars were awful. "my grandmother was roughly treated and she had pretty near lost her eyesight from the ill treatment. she got so before she died that she could hardly see to go nowhere. i don't know what it was they done to her that made her eyesight bad, but she insisted that it was due to bad treatment in slavery time. patrollers "i have heard that the pateroles used to run the slaves if they didn't have a pass from their mistress and master. the pateroles would run them and catch them and whip them. how freedom came "all my mother knew was that it got out that the negroes were free. the day before the old woman told them that they were free, my grandfather, henry goodman who was a teamster, old mis' called him and told him to tell all the darkies to come up to the house the next day. "next morning, she said, 'henry, you forgot what i told you. i want you to call all the darkies up here this morning.' henry had a voice like a fog-horn. he started hollering. i wish i could holler the way he did, but i got to consider the neighbors. he hollered. 'tention, 'tention, hey; miss lucy says she wants you all up to the big house this morning. she's got somepin to tell you.' "they all come up to the yard before the house. when they got there, she says to him--not to them; she wouldn't talk to them that morning; maybe she was too full--'henry, you all just as free now as i am. you can stay here with miss lucy or you can go to work with whomsoever you will. you don't belong to miss lucy no more.' "she had been sick for quite a bit, and she was just able to come to the door and deliver that message. three weeks after that time, they brought her out of the house feet foremost and took her to the cemetery. the news killed her dead. that's been seventy years ago, and they just now picking up on it! slave time amusements "the old people say they used to have breakdowns in slave time--breakdown dances with fiddle and banjo music. far after slavery, they had them. the only other amusement worth speaking about was the churches. far as the churches was concerned, they had to steal out and go to them. old man balm whitlow can tell you all about the way they held church. they would slip off in the woods and carry a gang of darkies down, and the next morning old master would whip them for it. next sunday they would do the same thing again and get another whipping. and it went on like that every week. when old man whitlow came out from slavery, he continued to preach. but the darkies didn't have to steal out then. he's dead now, him and the old lady both. houses "the slaves lived in old log houses. some of them would be hewed and put up well. i have seen lots of them. sometimes they would dob the cracks with mud and would have box planks floors, one by eight or one by ten, rough lumber, not dressed. set 'em as close together as they could but then there would be cracks in them. i can carry you to some old log houses down in union county now if they haven't been torn down recently. "one old log house there used to be old lady lucy goodman's home. it has four rooms. it has a hall running through it. it was built in slave times. there is a spring about two hundred yards from it. that is about ten or twelve feet deep. there is a big cypress tree trunk hollowed out and sunk down in it to make a curbing. that cypress is about two or three feet across. the old man, henry goodman, sunk that cypress down in there in slavery time. he drove an ox team all the time. that is all the work he done. she would tell all the overseers, 'now, don't you fool with henry because we ain't never whipped him ourselves.' "i don't know who it is that is living now. it's been fifty years ago since i was there. right after freedom "right after freedom, when the surrender came, my mother was just a girl 'bout fifteen or sixteen. she married after freedom. her and her husband farmed for a living--you know, sharecropped. ku klux klan "the ku klux and the pateroles were the same thing, only the klan was more up to date. it's all set up with a hellish principle. it's old pharaoh exactly. "the ku klux klan didn't have no particular effect on the negro except to scare him. "when the emancipation came about, the people of the south went to work to see what they could do about it. the whole south was under martial law. some of the people formed the ku klux klan to keep the negro down. i never remember that they bothered any of our family or the people in our house. but they scared some and whipped more, and killed some. political trouble about "the darkies and the white folks in union county had an insurrection over the polls about the year . in them days, when you wanted to put a republican man in, you didn't have to do much campaigning. they just went to the polls and put him in. everybody that could vote was republican. in the fall of they had a great trouble down there, and some of them got killed. they went around and commanded the negroes not to go to the polls the next day. some of the negroes would tell them, 'well, i am going to the polls tomorrow if i have to crawl.' and then some of them would say, 'i'd like to know how you goin' to vote.' the nigger would ask right back, 'how you goin' to vote?' the white man would say, 'i'm goin' to vote as i damn please.' then the nigger would say, 'i'm going to do the same thing.' that started the trouble. "on sunday before the election on monday, they went around through that county in gangs. they shot some few of the negroes. as the negroes didn't have no weapons to protect theirselves, they didn't have no chance. in that way, quite a few of the negroes disbanded their homes and went into different counties and different portions of the state and different states. henry goodman, my grandfather, came into hot spring county in this way. opinions "roosevelt has got himself in a predicament. they are drunk and don't know what to do. the whole world is stirred up over why one-fourth of the world should rule the other three-fourths. one-fourth of the world is white. the bible says a house divided can't stand. the people don't know what to do. look how they fight the wage hour bill. look at the excitement they raised when it was first suggested that the union and confederate veterans meet together. "we were savages when we came over here. everything we got and everything we know, good and bad, we got from the white folks. don't know how they can get impatient with us when everything we do they learnt us. "roosevelt has done more than any democrat that has ever been in the chair. he had to do something to keep down a rebellion. then we like to had one as it is through the labor question. "the poor white man always has been in a tight [hw: place]. he was almost as much oppressed as the negro. "the young people of today ain't got no sense. they don't give no thought to nothing. they don't know how to think at all. all the schools and education they give don't make them think. if i had as much education as they have, i would be able to accomplish something. the teachers don't press down on them and make them know what they go over. there is a whole lot of things happening now. old people in pulaski county "out in pulaski county, going west out the nineteenth street pike till you strike the saline county line, there are quite a few old colored people. i guess you would find no leas than twenty-five or thirty out that way. there is one old man named junius peterson out that way who used to run a mill. if you find him, he is very old and has a good memory. he is a mulatto. you could get out to him by going down till you come to a place that is called the henderson lane. you turn to the right and go off the pike less than a mile and you come to a big one-story house settin' on a hill where peterson lives. right on beyond that about three-fourths of a mile on the right side of the road, you come to george gregory's. the mother of my church is about eighty-one years old but she is over in saline county. her name is jane joyner. "there are quite a few old persons around woodson that can give you information. but that is in saline county, i think. sweet home, wrightsville, toltec--all of them have a few old colored persons on the farm that was here in slavery times." interviewer's comment reeves' story was taken because of his clear memories of his parents and grandparents. he described to me an old log house still standing in union county. i got all agog with excitement. i asked him for the exact location. he gave it. then i suggested that maybe he would go down with me sometime to visit it. he agreed. then at the last moment caution began to assert itself, and i said, "when was the last time you saw the cabin?" he reflected a moment; then he said, "waal, i guess it was a little more 'an fifty years ago." i lost my enthusiasm. reeves told the phill-la-me-york story which was told by austin pen parnell. you will find it in his story. the only difference between his story and parnell's is that reeves had the conclusion. he claimed that the old master got in a fight with one of the slaves present and yelled out his identity when he was getting badly beaten. the story sounds like it came from the arkansas folklore collection or from someone who contributed it to that collection. an aftermath of reeves' story is finding out that most people consider henry banner, whose story has been previously given and whose age was given as eighty-nine, is considered by many persons to be ninety-four. neely, one of the adult school-teachers, says that he has gone over banner's life carefully with him, and that he must have been twenty-one or twenty-two at the close of the war because during slavery, he had experience at logging, or rather at logrolling, a work so difficult that only full-grown men were used at it. since banner is slightly built, there is scarcely a possibility that he did such work before the normal time. [hw: cf. for interview with parnell.] interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: shepherd rhone th and kentucky pine bluff, ark. age: "yes ma'am, i was bred and born in 'sixty-three in phillips county, arkansas, close to helena, on old judge jones' plantation. judge jones, he was a lawyer. remember him? i ought to, he whiped me enough. his wife's name was caroline jones. she used to smack my jaws and pull my ears but she was a pretty good woman. the old judge was a raw one though. you had to step around or he'd step around for you. "i stayed right there till i was grown. my mother was named katie rhone and my father was named daniel rhone. my mother was born in richmond, virginia and my father in petersburg, virginia. "judge jones brought em here to arkansas. my father was a bodyguard for old judge jones' son tom in the war. my father stuck with him till peace declared--had to do it. "they was thirteen of us chillun and they is all gone but me, and i'll soon be gone. "i know when the yankees come i run from em. when peace declared, the yankees come all through our house and took everything they could get hold of to eat. "the only reason the yankees whipped the south was they starved em. "i know one time when peace declared i caught afire and i run and jumped in a tub of water and i had sense enough not to tell my mother. a girl i was raised up with went and told her though. "after freedom i worked for old judge jones on the half system. he give me everthing that was due me. when he was eighty years old, he called all his old tenants up and give em a mule and twenty-five dollars. he was pretty good to em after all. "i went to free school in the summertime after the crops was laid by, i can read and write pretty good. "i came here to jefferson county in 'eighty-six and i put in thirty-six years at the cotton belt shops. when that strike come on they told us colored folks to quit and i never went back. i worked for em when she was a narrow gauge. "i worked in the north three years. i nightwatched all over st. louis and madison, illinois. i liked it fine up there--white folks is more familiar up there and seems like you can get favors. if i don't get somethin' here, i'm goin' back up there. "when i got big enough i voted the republican ticket and after they got this primary. i think the colored people ought to vote now cause they make em pay taxes. "i'll tell you right now, the younger generation is goin' to the dogs. we'll never make a nation of em as long as they go out to these places at night. they ought to be a law passed. when nine o'clock comes they ought to be home in bed, but they is just gettin' started then. "i belong to the catholic church. i think it's a pretty good church. we have a white priest and i'll tell you one thing thing--you can't get a divorce and marry again and stay in the catholic church." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: dora richard w. th avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in south carolina and i was my mother's baby chile. "jacob foster was our old master and he sold my mother over in east tennessee. now of cose she wasn't put upon the block and sold. she was the house woman and spin and wove. after they sold her my father run off. oh sure, they caught him and i know old mistress said, 'now, jacob, if you want to go where lydia is, you can go.' so they sold him near her. "i stayed with the fosters till peace was declared and ever'thing was declared free. then my father come after me. "i can just sketch things. i try to forget it. my mother and father was pretty agreeable when they was set free. "in tennessee we stayed at the foot of lookout mountain and i can remember seein' the cannon balls. "here's the way i want to tell you. some of the white people are as good to the colored people as they could be and some of em are mean. my own folks do so bad i'm ashamed of em. "so many of the colored of the south have emigrated to the north. i have lived there and i don't know why i'm here now. "some of my color don't like that about the jim crow law, but i say if they furnish us a nice comfortable coach i would rather be with my own people. and i don't care to go to the white folks' church. "my mother used to tell me how they used to hide behind trees so the boss man couldn't see em when they was prayin' and at night put out the light and turn the pot down. "i went to school in tennessee. i never will forget it. i had a white teacher. he was in the war and he had a leg shot off. i went through the sixth grade and was ready for the seventh ray's arithmetic. i walked four miles there and four miles back--eight miles a day. "i can remember too when my mother and father was baptized. i know mama come out of the water a shoutin'. oh, that was good times then. i felt better when i was under my mother cause when i married my life was over. i raised about ten children. "i remember when the ku klux come to my sister's house lookin' for her husband. i know i was in the bed and i raised up. i was scared you know. "when i hear some colored folks say they wish the old slavery times was back, i just knows they is lazy. they don't want any responsibility." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: jim ricks e. nd avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in slavery times. i 'member runnin' from the yankees when they wanted to carry me off. just devilin' me, you know. you know how little chillun was 'bout white folks in them days. "i went to school three weeks and my daddy stopped me and put me to work. "old master was named jimmie ricks. they named me after him, i think. "my mother said he was a mighty good master. didn't 'low his niggers whipped. "yes'm, i was born and raised in arkansas, down here in calhoun county. "i had a chance to learn but i was a rowdy. i wanted to hunt. i was a mighty huntsman. "i was a good worker too. white folks was all stuck on me 'cause i was a good worker. "i did farm work and then did public work after the crops was laid by. but now i got too old to work. "i seen the ku klux once or twice when they was ku klukin' around. some of 'em would holler 'kluk, kluk, kluk.' i was quite small, but i could remember 'am 'cause i was scared of 'em. "i farmed all my life till year before last. i was a good farmer too. "i used to vote years ago. i voted republican. yes ma'am. "younger generation ain't near like they was when i was young. i was well thought of. couldn't be out after sundown or they'd bump my head. my stepfather would give me a flailin'. i thought he was mean to me but i see now he done right by whippin' me. "i know in slavery times they got plenty of somethin' to eat. old master fed us well." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: charlie rigger r.f.d., three miles, palestine, arkansas age: plus, doesn't know age "i was born six miles from mounticellar close to the line of morgan and jasper county. mother belong to the smiths. her father was part creek (indian). they all was sold to floyd malone. his wife was betsy malone. they had five children. "when i was a child i lay under the loom day after day picking up the sickle. ma was a cook and a weaver too. "malone was a good man but his wife was one of 'em. she was a terrible piece of humanity. father was a farm hand. they had a gin, a shoe shop, and a blacksmith shop all on floyd malone's place. i picked a little cotton before 'mancipation. floyd malone had to buy my mother to git her where my father was. "some of the boys wore dresses till they was twelve or fifteen years old. one fellar rode a mule or cow one the other to preaching. while he sit talking to his gal at the window a steer cone up and et off his dress tail. boys got to courting before they got to take off their long shirts. "they wasn't so good to mother. she run off several times. she went 'bout one and one-half miles to her mother on the compton place. they didn't whoop her. they promised her a whooping. they whooped her and me too but i never knowed 'em to whoop my father. when they whoop my mother i'd run off to place we lived and crawl under the house. "we chillun had nothing to do wid coffee. we drunk milk out little bowls. we'd turn it up or lap it out which one could do the best. they fed us. we'd ask for more till we got filled up. "i recollect the soldiers come by in july or and back in december. i heard talk so long 'fore they got there i knowed who they was. they took my oldest brother. he didn't want to go. we never heard from him. he never come back. my white master hid out. he didn't go to war. one son went and come back. it was the yankees made my oldest brother go. the first crowd in july swapped their wore-out scrub stock for our good stock. that second crowd cleaned them out, took our hogs. miss betty had died 'fore they come in july. that second crowd come in december. they cleaned out everything to eat and wear. they set the house 'fire several times with paper and coal oil (kerosene). it went out every time. one told the captain. he come up behind. it went out every time. he said, 'let's move on.' they left it clean and bare. we didn't like them. we had meat hid in the cellar. we got hungry that spring sure as you born. "the old man married pretty soon after freedom. he married young to what he was. "i didn't find much fault to slavery 'cepting the abuse. we et three times a day and now if i get one piece i do well. mother cooked, washed, ironed and spun four cuts a day. we all et at the master's kitchen three times a day. we had thirty-two families. i've heard that ag'in time and ag'in so as i recollect it till now. we didn't have to work no harder 'en we do now if you have a living. "master waited till all there. he had a horn made sorter like a bugle for that business. called us to our meals. we stayed a year. went to his brother's one year, then to major lane's big farm. we had to work about the same as b'fore freedom. not much change. "the ku klux come 'round right smart. some had on skin coverings, cow heads and horns. some wore white sheets and black dresses on white horses. they was scary looking. they would whoop and kill too. i was too scared to get caught off at night. "mother died. i was traveling about. i spent thirteen months in mississippi. three winters right in memphis. i married in mississippi. i left two daughters in georgia. my wife died. i come to arkansas in . i live all alone. "this present generation is traveling too fast. it-is-to-be. fast traveling and education. times not good as it always have been b'fore that last war (world war). when the white folks start jowing we black folks suffers. it ain't a bit our fault. education causes the black man to see he is bit (cheated) but he better not say a word. it very good thing if it is used right. fast traveling is all right in its place. but too many is traveling and they all want to be going. we got into pretty fast time of it now. it-is-to-be and it's getting shoved on faster." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: ida rigley, forrest city, arkansas age: "i was born in richmond, virginia. colonel radford and emma radford owned my mother. they had a older girl, emma and betty and three boys. i called her miss betty. "my mother was sylvia jones and she had five children. bill jones was my father. he was a born free man and a blacksmith at lynchburg, virginia in slavery times. "he asked colonel radford could he come to see my mama and marry her. they had a wedding in colonel radford's dining room and a preacher on the place married them. they told me. my father was a presbyterian preacher. i heard papa preach at lynchburg. he had a white principle but no white blood. i never knew him very much till long after freedom. "miss betty radford was raising me for a house girl. i was younger than her children. mother was a weaver for all on the place. old aunt caroline was the regular cook but my mother helped to cook for hands he hired at busy seasons of the year. my sisters lived in the quarters and mama slept with them. she helped them. they worked in the field some. they was careful not to overwork young hands. they cooked down at the quarters. they had a real old man and woman to set about and see after the children and feed them. the older children looked after the babies. when miss betty went off visiting she would send me down there. i did love it. "emma and betty went to school at richmond in a buggy. they had a colored boy driver. he was the carriage driver. emma and betty would play with me too. miss betty fed me all the time. she made me a bonnet and i can't get shed of my bonnet yet. i got four bonnets now. "when the white folks had a wedding it lasted a week. they had a second day dress and a third day dress and had suppers and dinner receptions about among the kin folks. they had big chests full of quilts and coverlets and counterpanes they been packing back. some of them would have big dances. a wedding would last a week, night and day. "they had a farm right. we had peacocks, white guinea and big black turkeys, cows, sheep, goats, hogs; he had deer. he kept their horns cut off and some of the cow's horns were off. we had a acre in a garden and had roses and all kinds of flowers. i like flowers now. tries to have 'em. they had a gin on the place. he raised corn, rye, cotton, and tobacco. the hands got their supplies on saturday. on rainy days all the women would knit, white and colored both. miss betty knitted some at night in winter. they had a shop to sharpen and keep all the tools in. a particular old man made the brooms and rakes. "it seem like there wasn't so many flies. miss betty mixed up molasses and flour and poison and killed flies sometimes. she spread it on brown paper. we had fly weed tea to set about too sometimes. we didn't have to use anything regular. we didn't have no screens. we had mighty few mosquitoes. we had peafowl fly brushes. they was mighty pretty. "one thing we had was a deep walled well and an ice-house. they cut ice in blocks and put it up for winter[hw:?]. we had one spring on the place i know. "they kept hounds. colonel radford's boys and the colored boys all went hunting. we had 'possum and potatoes all along in winter; 'possum grease won't make you sick. eat all you want. i'd hear their horn and the dogs. they would come in hungry every time. i never seen no whiskey. he had his cider and vinegar press and made wine. we had cider and wine all along. colonel radford was his own overseer and charlie his oldest boy. they whooped mighty little. they would stand up and be whooped. some of the young ones was hard-headed and rude. he advised them and they minded him pretty well. "our yards was large and beautiful; some had grass and some clean spots about in the shade. friday was wash day. saturday was iron day. miss betty would go about in the quarters to see if the houses was scrubbed every week after washing. they had to wear clean clothes and have clean beds about her place. she'd shame them to death. "colonel radford had a colored church for us all. it was a log house and he had a office for his boys to read and write and smoke cob pipes in. the white folks' church was at the corner of his place. i went there most. they shouted and pat their hands. colonel radford was a baptist. "nearly every farm had a fiddler. ever so often he had a big dance in their parlor. i'd try to dance by myself. he had his own music by the hands on his place. he let them have dances at the quarters every now and then. dancing was a piece of his religion. "i don't think our everyday frocks was stiffened but our dress up clothes was. it was made out of flour--boiled flour starch. we had striped dresses and stockings too. we had checked dresses. we had goobers and a chestnut grove. we had a huckleberry patch. we had maple sugar to eat. it was good. we had popcorn and chinquapins in the fall of the year, i used to pick up chips to use at the pot. i had a little basket. i picked up corn cobs. they burnt them and made corn cob soda to use in the bread and cakes. we parched peeled sweet potatoes slice thin and made coffee. "the civil war was terrible. one morning before we was all out of bed the yankees come. it was about daylight. he and the three boys were there. they didn't burn any houses and they didn't hesitate but they took everything. they took all miss betty's nice silverware. they took fine quilts and feather beds. that was in the fall of the year. they drove off a line of our slaves (a block long) fer as from me to that railroad. made them go. they walked fast in front of the cavalrymen. they took mama and my sisters. she got away from them with her girls and found her way back to papa at lynchburg. "colonel radford went and took some of the slave men and his boys. they brought home plenty beds and a barrel of salt. he brought back plenty. he sent his slave man to town any time. they had no notion leaving. "one time some yankees come. i run hid around miss betty's long dress. she was crying. they was pulling her rings off her fingers. i told them to quit that. one of the mean things said, 'little nigger, i shoot your head off.' they took all her nice clothes. they said they took all niggers. i sassed them. they went in another room. i shot under miss betty's big skirt. they looked about for me but they thought i run off to my mama. she was gone but they didn't know it. i seen my best times then. we had a good time there. miss betty was good and kind to me. good as i wanted. i wish i had that good now. freedom "the soldiers come and i knowed it was the yankees i hated. they took all they could find and wasted a lot of it. i was scared. i kept hid about. the slaves put their beds and clothes up on the wagons and went off behind them and some clumb up in the wagons. i heard miss betty say, 'they need not follow them off, they are already free.' the way she said it, like she was heart broken, made me nearly cry and i remember her very words till this day. she was a good woman. "mama come and got me long time after that and i didn't want to go nor stay neither. it was like taking me off from my own home. papa was freeborn and freedom i couldn't understand till i was long grown. i never got a whooping in my life. i was taught politeness. "during slavery we bought mighty little. flour in barrels, salt. we had maple sugar and sorghum molasses in bounty. we was happy and had plenty to eat and wear. "i learned to make the fine cakes from a jew woman (jewess), mrs. isaac. i've been called a cook here in forrest city. i was taught by mrs. isaac to make angel food, coffee cake, white bread and white cakes. from that i made the other kinds my own self." interviewer's comment people in forrest city send for ida and keep her a week or two baking christmas and wedding cakes. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: milton ritchie r.f.d., brinkley, arkansas age: "i was born in marietta hotel at marietta, georgia. the hotel belong to milton stevens. he had two sons. one died fo i was born and pink was in the war. mistress thursday was old moster's wife. we all had to refugee. my sister was down in the bottoms with all the slaves and cattle when she died. she took sick and died suddenly. they heard the soldiers was coming to atlanta and knowed they would come by marietta. moster stevens sold the hotel just at the beginning of the war. he moved to the country. mama cooked at the hotel and in the country both. the hotel was a brick house on the railroad where they fed a lot of people every day. moster milton used to take me bout where he went, rode me on his foot when i was a baby. after they went to the farm every evening mistress thursday come get me, take me to the house. she got bread and butter, sugar, give it to me and i slept on a pallet in her room. i never did know why she done that. mama had a little house she slept in. she cooked. they never whooped me. they never whooped mama. "one time the federal army camped not a great ways from us. one time i was playing in a gully--big red ditch. i spied the federals coming. i flew out the ditch up the hill and across the field. they was calvary men camped back of our field. we all left that place and refugeed to another place. they didn't burn the house but they sent two bullets through the walls or that house. 'old granny' was too old to refugee. she kept living by herself in a house on the place. they never bothered her. she wasn't kin to us but moster milton owned her and kept her fed. we raised sugar-cane, hogs, corn, and goobers. the sugar-cane had no top. i got a whooping every monday. mama whoop me. we go drink sugar-cane juice in the trough at the mill. we got up in there with our feet. they had to wash out the troughs. it was a wood house. it was a big mill. he sold that good syrup in atlanta. it wasn't sorghum. the men at the mill would scare us but we hid around. they come up to the house and tell on us. "we had moved from the farm when they burned atlanta. from the place where moster milton refugeed i could hear a roaring all the time nearly, sometimes clearer, and the roaring was broke sometimes. "moster milton ran the farm when he run the hotel cept i was born at the hotel and mistress thursday lived there then too. he had all negro overseers. each overseer had a certain lot of hands to do what he told them. he didn't have no trouble. he told them if they made something for them and him too it would be fine, if they didn't work they would have to do without. they had plenty they said. "my mama was sold on the block in virginia when she was twelve years old. she and her little brother sold the same day. moster milton stevens bought her. the same man couldn't buy them both, didn't have money enough. they had a little blanket and she and her brother cut it into and put it around their shoulders. they been sleeping together and moster milton brought her home on his horse up behind him. her mama was crying when she left her. she never heard nor seen none of her folks no more she told me. (the old negro cried.) "my mama and papa was dark but both was mixed. they never told me if it was white or indian. papa was a tall, big bony man. mama wasn't so big and stouter. he never tried to get away from his owners. he belong to sam ritchie five or six miles away. i never beard much about them. they had negro overseers. papa was a foreman. he tanned the cow hides and made shoes for all the hands on ritchie's place. he made our shoes over there too. they said stevens and ritchies didn't keep bad dogs. mistress eliza ritchie was a stevens before she married. papa never was sold. he said they was good to them. mama was named eliza too and papa george ritchie. "when freedom was on papa went to atlanta and got transportation to chattanooga. i don't know why. he met me and mama. she picked me up and run away and met him. we went in a freight box. it had been a soldier's home--great big house. we et on the first story out of tin pans. we had white beans or peas, crackers and coffee. meat and wheat and cornbread we never smelt at that place. somebody ask him how we got there and he showed them a ticket from the freedmans bureau in atlanta. he showed that on the train every now and then. upstairs they brought out a stack of wool blankets and started the rows of beds. each man took his three as he was numbered. every night the same one got his own blankets. the room was full of beds and white guards with a gun over his shoulder guarded them all night long. we stayed there a long time--nearly a year. they tried to get jobs fast as they could and push em out but it was slow work. mama got a place to cook at--mrs. crutchfield's. she run a hotel in town but lived in the country. we stayed there about a year. papa was hired somewhere else there. "papa got us on a farm in middle tennessee after that. we come to mr. hooper's place and share cropped one year, then we went to share crop for wells brothers close to murfreesboro. i been on the farm all my life since then. "the ku klux never pestered us. i heard about them. "the welfare helps me and i would do work if i could get work i can do. i could do light work. times is hard. hard to get a living. i don't mind work. i couldn't do a day's work now. "the young generation is beyond me. i don't be about them much." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: alice rivers w. th, highland addition, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm, i remember when the yankees come. i ricollect when they throwed out all the meat from old master's smokehouse. the colored folks was tryin' to ketch it and i know i tried to ketch it too. "don't i look like i been here in reb. time? i was born in mississippi on colonel reed's place in . "i just know the yankees come through. had on blue coats with gold lookin' buttons. i never will forget it 'cause it was so frightening. "i can ricollect way back there. "i don't know whether the white folks was good or not, we hardly ever saw 'em. had a old woman that cooked for the chillun at the quarters. i ricollect they had a big old kittle and she'd cook that full of somethin'. i know the old lady give us plenty of somethin' to eat. "all the white folks didn't treat their hands mean. some of 'em was a fool 'bout them little niggers. "old woman what cooked for the chillun was old aunt henie and she walked half bent with a stick. "i went to school some after freedom. learned how to spell and read but not much writin'. "i can't tell you 'bout no whippin's 'cause if they whipped the folks they didn't do it at the quarters where the chillun was. "i been farmin' all my life till i come to arkansas in . since then i first cooked and washed. i ain't worked out in three years now. "i gets a little pension from the welfare and i make out on that. my granddaughter lives with me. she will finish high school in may and then she can take care of herself. "i used to own this place but it was sold for taxes. don't make any difference if you is as old as methuselah you got to pay them taxes. old caeser started 'em and we've had to pay 'em ever since. "younger generation ain't mannerly now like they was when i was young. chillun used to be obedient but they got to have their way now. old folks done put the chillun where they is now and they ought to take care of 'em. "i don't know where the world gwine come to in the next five years. i reckon they'll all be dead way they're gwine now. storms takin' 'em away here and war in them other countries." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: j. roberts, brinkley, arkansas age: or occupation: methodist preacher "my father was a federal soldier in the civil war. he was from winston, virginia. he went to war and soon after the end he came to holly grove. he was in company "k". he signed up six or seven papers for men in his company he knew and they all got their pensions. oh yes! he knew them. he was an awful exact honest man. he was a very young man when he went into the war and never married till he come to arkansas. he married a slave woman. she was a field woman. they farmed. father sat by the hour and told how he endured the war. he never expected to come out alive after a few months in the war. "john roberts collins was his owner in slavery. i never heard why he cut off the collins. i call my own self j. roberts." "the present times are hard times. sin hath caused it all. machinery has taken so much of the work." "the present generation are fair folks but wild. yes, the young folks today are wilder than my set was. i can't tell you how but i see it every way i go." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: george robertson? or george robinson? brinkley, arkansas age: "my papa named abe robertson. his owner named tom robertson. i was born in middle tennessee. my mama named isabela brooks. her master named billy brooks. his wife name mary brooks. my master boys come through here six years ago wid a tent show. my papa went off wid the yankees. last i seed of him he was in memphis. they took my mama off when i was a baby to texas to keep the yankees from gettin' her. my grandma raised me. we stayed on the big plantation till . "i don't want no sociable welfare help till i ain't able to work. i don't want none now." (to be continued) [tr: no continuation found.] interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: augustus robinson w. tenth street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in calhoun county, arkansas in , january th. i am going according to what my daddy told me and nothing else. that is all i could do. how the children were fed "my grandmother on my mother's side said when i was a little fellow that she was a cook and that she would bring stuff up to the cabin where the little niggers were locked up and feed them through the crack. she would hide it underneath her apron. she wasn't supposed to do it. all the little niggers were kept in one house when the old folks were working in the field. there were six or seven of us. sold "my daddy was a white man, my master. his wife was so mean to me that my master sold me to keep her from beating me and kicking me and knocking me 'round. she would have killed me if she could have got the chance. he [hw: my daddy] sold me to a preacher who raised me as though i were his own son. whenever he sat down to the table to eat, i sat down. he made no difference at all. he raised me in el dorado, arkansas. his name was james goodwin. he sent me to school too. visited by father "when harrison and cleveland ran for president, my [hw: white] father came to little rock. some colored people had been killed in the campaign fights, and he had been summoned to little rock to make some statements in connection with the trouble. he stopped at a prominent hotel and had me to come to see him. when i went up to the hotel to meet him, there were a dozen or more white men at that place. when i shook hands with him, he said, 'gentlemen, he's a little shady but he's my son.' his name was captain i.t. robinson. he lived in lisbon, arkansas. mother "my mother's name was frances goodwin. she belonged to captain robinson. i don't know but i think that when they came to arkansas, they came from georgia. they were refugees. when the war started, people that owned niggers ran from state to state to try to hold their niggers. house "i lived right in the yard. we had four houses in the yard and three of them was made of logs and one was made out of one-by-twelve planks. i lived in the one made out of planks. it had one big room. i reckon it was about twenty by fifteen, more than that, i reckon. it was a big room. there [hw: were] two doors and no windows. we had old candlesticks for lights. we had old homemade tables. all food was kept in the smokehouse and the pantry. the food house and the smokehouse were two of the log cabins in the yard. schooling "goodwin schooled me. [tr: first sentence lined out.] he had a teacher to come right on the place and stay there teaching. he raised me and brought me up just as though i was his own child. "i remember getting one whipping. i didn't get it from mr. goodwin though. his brother gave it to me. his brother sent me to get a horse. an old hound was laying in the way on the saddle and the bridle. he wouldn't move so i picked up the bridle and hit him with it. he hollered and master's brother heard him and gave me a whipping. that is the only whipping i ever got when i was small. ku klux "i heard of the ku klux klan but i don't know that i ever seen them. i never noticed what effect they had on the colored people. i just heard people talking about them. occupational experiences "the first work i did was farming--after the war. i farmed,--down close to el dorado, about six miles away from there. i kept that up till i was about seventeen or eighteen years old or somewheres about there. that was on james goodwin's place--my last master, the man who raised me. then i left him and came to little rock. i don't remember in what year. i went to school here in little rock. i had already had some schooling. my grandmother sent me. the school i went to was called the union school. it was down on sixth street. after i left there, i went to capitol hill school. i was going to school during the brooks-baxter war. the statehouse was on markham street and center. my grandmother's name was celie robinson. she went by the name of her owner. "after i had gone to school several years--i don't remember just how many--i worked down town about ten or eleven years. then i went to railroading. first i was with the iron mountain and southern. later, it changed its name to the missouri pacific. i worked for them from to . on august th i received my last pay check. i have tried ever since to get my railroad pension to which my years of service entitle me but have been unable to get it. the law concerning the pension seems to have passed on the same day i received my last check, and although i worked for forty-four years and gave entire satisfaction, there has been a disposition to keep me from the pension. while in service i had my jaw broken in two pieces and four front teeth knocked out by a piece of flying steel. "another man was handling the steam hammer. i was standing at my regular place doing my regular work. when that happened, i was cut down like a weed. there wasn't a man ever thought they would see me in that job again after that piece of steel cut me down. "also, i lost my right eye in the service when a hot cinder from the furnace flew in it while i was doing my regular work. then i was ruptured because of the handling of heavy pieces of iron at my work. i still wear the truss. you can see the places where my jaw was broke and you can see where my teeth were knocked out. "out of all the ups and downs, i stuck to the company just the same until they retired me in because of old age. the retirement board wanted to know when i asked for a pension, why did i think i was entitled to a pension? i told them because i had been injured through service with the company and had honorably finished so long a period of service. it is now admitted that i am eligible to a railroad pension but there seems to still be a delay in paying it for some reason or other. support now "i get a little assistance from the welfare, and i get some commodities. if it wasn't for that, i would be broke up." [hw: brooks-baxter war was about - .] interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: malindy robinson th street, west memphis, arkansas age: "i was born in wilkerson county, mississippi. my ma never was sold, she said she was eleven years old when peace was declared. master sims was grandma's owner. grandpa was never sold. he was born in mississippi. he was a mulatto man. he was a man worked about the house and grandma was a field woman. she said she never was whooped but worked mighty hard. they was good to grandma. she lived in the quarters. my parents b'long to the same owner. but far as i ever knowed they married long after freedom. they was raised close to woodville, mississippi." interviewer: mary d. hudgins person interviewed: tom robinson aged: home: lives with his son on outskirts of hot springs as i entered goldstein grade school for colored i passed an old fellow sitting on the sidewalk. there was somthing of that venerable, dignified, i've-been-a-slave look about him, so much of it that i almost stopped to question him. inside i entered a classroom, where a young woman was in conference with a couple of sheepish youngsters who had been kept in after school. did she know the whereabouts of any ex-slaves? she beamed. only the other day an old man had appeared on the school grounds. she appealed to her charges. didn't they remember that she had told them about him and about what slavery had meant. sheepish looks were gone. they were agog with interest. yes 'um, they remembered. but none of the three knew his name or where to find him. another teacher entered the room. no, she couldn't remember the name. but the old man often came up to watch the children at play. he said it made him happy to see them getting opportunities he never could have had. wait a minute--he might be outside at this very moment. a clatter of heels and calls of triumph. "yes! yes! here he is!" outside i dashed to _drop flat on the sidewalk_[hw:?] beside the aged man i had passed a few minutes before. out came my smile and a notebook. with only a few preliminaries and amenities the interview was in full swing. it neither startled nor confused him, to have an excited young woman plant herself on a public sidewalk at his side and demand his life's story. a man who had belonged to three different masters before the age of was inured to minor surprises. tom robinson long since learned to take life as it came. he is quite deaf in one ear and hears poorly with the other. nobody within a quarter of a block could have been in doubt of what was going on. a youth moved closer. the kept-after-school pair emerged from the building and stood near us, goggle-eyed thruout the interview. when we were finished, robinson turned to the children and gave them, a grandfatherly lecture about taking advantage of their opportunities, a lecture in which the white woman sitting beside him joined heartily--drawing liberally on comments of ex-slaves in recent interviews concerning the helplessness felt in not being able to write and read letters from well loved friends. "where was i born, ma'am? why it's my understanding that it was catawba county, north carolina. as far as i remember, newton was the nearest town. i was born on a place belonging to jacob sigmens. i can just barely remember my mother. i was not when they sold me away from her. i can just barely remember her. "but i do remember how she used to take us children and kneel down in front of the fireplace and pray. she'd pray that the time would come when everybody could worship the lord under their own vine and fig tree--all of them free. it's come to me lots of times since. there she was a'praying, and on other plantations women was a'praying. all over the country the same prayer was being prayed. guess the lord done heard the prayer and answered it. "old man sigmens wasn't a bad master. don't remember so much about him. i couldn't have been when he sold me to pickney setzer. he kept me for a little while and then he sold me to david robinson. all three of them lived not so far apart in north carolina. but pretty soon after he bought me old men dave robinson moved to texas. we was there when the war started. we stayed there all during the war. i was set free there. "we lived in cass county. it was pretty close to the arkansas border, and 'twasn't far from oklahoma--as is now. i remember well when they was first gathering them up for the war. we used to hear the cannon often. was i afraid? to be sure i was scared, right at first. pretty soon we got used to it. somebody even made up a song, 'listen to the home-made thunder'. they'd sing it every time the cannon started roaring. "no, ma'am, there never was any fighting right around us. i never really saw any fighting. old man dave robinson was good to me. he didn't have a big farm--just owned me. treated me almost like i was one of his own children. course, i had to work. sometimes he whipped me--but no more than he had to. i was just a child and any child has got to be made to mind. he was good to me, and old miss was good to me. all my masters was pretty good to me--lots better than the usual run. which one i like the best. well, you might know. i kept the name robinson, and i named my son dave. you might know which one i think the most of. "one day i was out milking the cows. mr. dave come down into the field, and he had a paper in his hand. 'listen to me, tom,' he said, 'listen to what i reads you.' and he read from a paper all about how i was free. you can't tell how i felt. 'you're jokin' me.' i says. 'no, i ain't,' says he. 'you're free.' 'no,' says i, 'it's a joke.' 'no,' says he, 'it's a law that i got to read this paper to you. now listen while i read it again.' "but still i wouldn't believe him. 'just go up to the house,' says he, 'and ask mrs. robinson. she'll tell you.' so i went. 'it's a joke,' i says to her. 'did you ever know your master to tell you a lie?' she says. 'no,' says i, 'i ain't.' 'well,' she says, 'the war's over and you're free.' "by that time i thought maybe she was telling me what was right. 'miss robinson,' says i, 'can i go over to see the smiths?'--they was a colored family that lived nearby. 'don't you understand,' says she, 'you're free. you don't have to ask me what you can do. run along child.' "and so i went. and do you know why i was a'going? i wanted to find out if they was free too." (a chuckle and toothy smile) "i just couldn't take it all in. i couldn't believe we was all free alike. "was i happy? law miss. you can take anything. no matter how good you treat it--it wants to be free. you can treat it good and feed it good and give it everything it seems to want--but if you open the cage--it's happy. "what did i do after the war was over? i farmed. i farmed all my life, 'til i got too old. i stopped three--four years ago. i lives with my son--dave robinson--the one i named for my master. "how did i farm? did i share crop? no, ma'am!" (sharply as tho repramanding the inquirer for an undeserved insult.) "i didn't share crop, except just at first to get a start. i rented. i paid thirds and fourths. i always rented. i wasn't a share-cropper.[a] [a: socially and economically sharp distinctions are drawn between the different classes of renters, both by owners and tenants themselves. families whom ambition and circumstances have allowed to accumulate enough surplus to buy farm implements and have food for a year ahead look with scorn on fellow farmers who thru inertia or bad luck must be furnished food and the wherewithall to farm. in turn, families that have forged ahead sufficiently to be able to pay cash rent on farms they cultivate look down on both of the other groups.] "it was awful hard going after the war. but i got me a place--had to share-crop for a year or two. but i worked hard and saved all i could. pretty soon i had me enough that i could rent. i always raised the usual things--cotton and corn and potatoes and a little truck and that sort of thing--always raised enough to eat for us and the stock--and then some cotton for a cash crop. "my first wife, well it was kind of funny; i wasn't more than . she had children. some of them was older than i was. no ma'am it wasn't so hard on me. they was all old enough to take care of themselves. i lived with that woman for years. then she died. "i been married five times. three of my children are living. one's here--that's dave. then there's one in texarkana and there's one in kansas city. two of my children's dead. the youngest died just about last year. all my wives are dead. "almost every day i comes up to sit here and watch the children. it does me good to see 'em. makes me feel good all over to think about all the fine chance they has to get a good education. sonny, you hear me? you pay attention too, sonny. i'm watching you--you and all the other little boys. you mind me. you learn all you can. you ought to be so thankful you allowed to learn that you work hard. you mind me, sonny. when you're grown up, you'll know what i'm talking about--and know i'm right. run along, sonny. no use hanging around the school yard too long." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: isom rogers, edmondson, arkansas age: "i was born in tunica county, austin, mississippi. i been in edmondson, arkansas ten years. i come to do better. said farming was good here. my folks' owners was master palmer and george rogers. my parents was never sold. they was young folks in slavery time and at time of freedom. they was farm hands. their names was pat and ely rogers. "i heard him say he made palings and went 'round mending the fences when the ground was froze. he made boards to cover the houses with too--i heard him say. he was strong and worked all the time at some jobs. never heard mother say very much. "i been farming and i have worked on quarter-boat and back farming. i been here ten years." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: oscar james rogers, wheatley, arkansas age: up in 's "i come to dis state in . i run off from my parents back in north carolina. they was working in a turpentine forest there. "when freedom was declared my folks heard 'bout a place where money was easy to make. so they walked from down close to charleston up there and carried the children. i was 'bout nine or ten years old. i liked the farm so i left the turpentine farm. i got to rambling round and finally got to arkansas. i run off from my folks cause they kept staying there. i was a child and don't recollect much 'bout slavery. i was at the quarters wid all the children. my mother b'longed to bob plat and my father to a man named rogers. my father could get a pass and come to see us every sunday providin' he didn't go nowhere else or stop long the road. he came early and stay till bedtime. we all run to meet him. he kiss us all in bed when he be leavin'. "i heard them say they 'spected a home and freedom but when the time come they master forgot 'bout home cause they just took the few clothes in bundles and left. then they had a hard time 'cause they never thought how freedom would be. they never axed for nothin' and they never got nothin'. they didn't understand how to hustle lest somebody tell them what to do next. they did have a hard time and it was cold and rocky up in north carolina to what they had been used to down close to charleston. "when i got out to arkansas i like it better than any country i seed and i say 'i'm stayin' here.' i meant to go back but i married and didn't get no money ahead for a long time. then i had a family of children. jes' 'fore i married i got to go to school four months' close to cotton plant, where i married. "when i was young i sho could knock off de work. i cummulated acres land in lee county. i paid $ for it, got in debt and had let it fur 'bout ($ . ) two hundred forty-seven and a half dollars. all i got outen it. i had a bad crop and had a little provision bill. i made on time, man agreed to run me on then took it 'bout all. "then i still was a strong man an' we bought acres miles from cotton plant and i had it years. then lost it. "my second wife owned a house and garden at wheatley half a mile or so from town. we live over there. our children all gone. she say she cooked and washed and farmed for it. it cost $ . . "i could do heap work if i could get it. old man can't get 'nuff regular work to cover my house or buy me a suit closes. the government gives me $ . a month. that's a help out but it don't go fir high as provisions is. me an' the old woman both too feeble to do much hard work. i gets all the odd jobs the white folks give me. misses, i ain't lazy, i jess gettin' old and not able to hold out to do much. whut i could do they give it to the young fellows cause they do it in a hurry. "i used to vote right smart when they needed me to help out. i voted for hoover. don't think it right the way the men settin' round and deir wives workin' fer livin' and votin'. the women can vote if they want to but i don't think it right. seems lack the cart in front ob de horse now. "it wouldn't do no more good to vote in the primary than it do in the general election. it don't do much good nohow. "fur as i ever knowed the slaves had no uprisin's. they thought well enough of their masters. everybody worked then hard as they could. the master he worked all time in the shop making things jess like he needed, boards and handles, plows and things. missus, everybody worked hard dem days, both black and white, and that is the reason folks had plenty. the old grandmas done work whut suited them and helped out. now lack me, i can't get the right work whut i able to do 'nuff to keep me livin'. it is bad. "if times was bad as they was few years ago all old folks done been rotten, starved to death. times is better but they sho ain't all right yet. "this young generation livin' so fast they stop thinkin'. they do well to keep livin' their selves. they wastes a heap they outer save fur rainy days. they ain't takin' no advice from old folks. i don't know whut goiner become of them." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: will ann rogers r.f.d., brinkley, arkansas age: "i was born three years after the surrender. i was born at fryers point, mississippi. the reason i ain't got the exact date when i was born, my ma put it down in the bible and the house burned up and everything in it burned to ashes. no mam she got somebody what could write real nice to write all the names and ages for her. "when ma was a young woman, she said they put her on a block and sold her. they auctioned her off at richmond, virginia. when they sold her, her mother fainted or drapped dead, she never knowed which. she wanted to go see her mother lying over there on the ground and the man what bought her wouldn't let her. he just took her on. drove her off like cattle, i recken. the man what bought her was ephram hester. that the last she ever knowed of any of her folks. she say he mated 'em like stock so she had one boy. he livin' down here at helena now. he is mose kent. he was born around richmond, virginia jes' lack dat she say. "when it nearly 'bout time for freedom a whole army of yankees come by and seed mose working. they told him if he come go wid them they give him that spotted horse and pair red boots. he crawled up on the horse an' was gone wid 'em for a fact she said. she started right after them, following him. she followed them night and day. she nearly starved, jess begged 'long the road all she could. i heard her say how fast she have to walk to keep on trail of 'em and how many nights. she say some nights when they camped she would beg 'round and try to fill up. but she couldn't get to mose without them seein' her. when they got to fryers point she went an' got him. they jess laughed and never give him nuthin'. they left that army fast as they could she say. "she married at fryers point. she had jes' one boy and i had four or five sisters. they all dead but me and mose. he think he 'bout ninety years old. he come here to see me last year. he sho is feeble. "how come i here? when i was fourteen years old my family heard how fine this state was and moved to helena. i lived at moro and cotton plant. then, the way i come here was funny. a man come up there and say a free train was comin' to go back to africa. all who wanted to go could go. my pa sold out 'bout all we had an' we come here lack they say. no train come yet goin' to africa as i seed. my pa give the white man $ . to pay fer the train. tom watson was one of 'em too. he was a sorter leader 'mong 'em wantin' to go back. well when the day come that the train due to start everybody come to the depot whar the train going to stop. there was a big crowd. yes mam, dressed up, and a little provisions and clothes fixed up. jes' could take along a little. they say it would be crowded so. we stayed around here a week or two waitin' to hear somethin' or be ready to go. most everybody stayed prutty close to the depot for two or three days. yes mam there sho was a crowd--a whole big train full from here 'sides the other places. i jes' stayed here an' been here ever since. the depot agent, he told 'em he didn't know 'bout no train going to africa. the tickets was no good on his trains. "how i owns this place, i'll tell you. a man here had all dis land 'round here (negro town) laid off. he couldn't sell none of his lots. they wouldn't buy his lots. so he got after me. we had made a good crop, so i got up the money and bought this place. one hundred dollars is what i give him. others then started to settlin' in and about close to my place. "i guess it was spotsells in virginia what raised her. she say her name was lizzie spotsell johnson. then when ephram hester bought her they learned her to do about in their house. she cooked and swept and knocked flies and tended to the children. she stayed with 'em a pretty long time till she run off and went to fryers point. "she may have told us about the nat turner rebellion but i don't remember it. they sung a lot in my mother's time. seemed lack they was happier than we are somehow. she sung religious songs and one or two field songs. i don't recollect 'em now. "i never did vote. i never cared nuthin' about it. some of 'em 'round here wouldn't miss votin' for nothin'. "lawd me, chile, the times is done run ahead of me now. i'm so fur behind i never expect to catch up. i don't pay no more attention to the young folks, the way they act now, 'an i do my little dog there. they don't want no advice and i would be afraid i would 'vise 'em wrong. when my children come i tell 'em you are grown and you knows right from wrong. do right. that's all i know to say. "the way i am supported is my husband gets all the jobs he able to do and can and the governmint give me an' him $ a month. we has a little garden." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: william henry rooks baptist preacher; brinkley, arkansas age: the slaves didn't spect nothing but freedom. jes freedom! in africa they was free as wild animals and then they was so restricted. jes put in bondage for no reason at all. no plantations was divided. i was born a slave and i remembers right smart how it was. my master was john freeman and his wife's name was fannie. i went to como, mississippi twice a week to get the mail all durin the war. it was eight miles. i rode a pony. if you go to church you have to have a pass from the master. the pattyrollers see you and you have to show it to them. it was just a note. if you didn't have it they take or send you home. if they catch you any more without a pass they whip you. they come to the church and in all public places like the police stands around now. they rode around mostly. sometimes they went in droves. they would let you go visiting sometimes and exchange work. some masters was good and some was mean jess like they are now and some slaves good and some bad. that is the way they are now. some of the white men had a hundred slaves and had plenty money. the war broke nearly all of them. the very worse thing i ever knowed about it was some white men raised hands to sell like they raise stock now. it was hard to have your child took off and never see or hear tell of it. mean man buy it and beat it up. some of them was drove off to be sold at auction at new orleans. that was where some took them cause they could get big money for them. i never knowed of a master to give the slaves a dime when they become free. they never promissed them nothing. the yankees might have to toll them off. the hands all stayed on john freeman's place and when it was over he give them the privilege of staying right on in their houses. some left after awhile and went somewhere they thought they could do better. they didn't have the ku klux but it was bout like it what they had. they wore caps shine de coons eye and red caps and red garments. red symbolize blood reason they wore red. they broke up our preaching. some folks got killed. some was old, some young--old devlish ones. they was like a drove of varments. i guess you be scared. they run the colored folks away from church a lot of times. that was about equalization after the freedom. that was the cause of that. there was uprisings like i'm telling you but the colored folks didn't have nothing to go in a gun if he had one. white folks make them give up a gun. the first votin i done i was workin for young henry larson back in mississippi. he give my mother $ a year to cook for his young wife and give her what she eat and i worked on his farm. he told me to go vote, it was election day. i ask him how was i going to know how to vote. i could read a little. i couldn't write. the ballot box was at pleasant mount. ozan set over the box. he was a yankee. he was the only one kept the box. it was a wooden box nailed up and a slit in the top. a.r. howe and captain howe was two more yankee white men there watching round all day. ozan was the sheriff at sardis, mississippi soon after the war. some more colored folks come up to vote. we stood around and watched. we saw d. sledge vote; he owned half of the county. we knowed he voted democrat so we voted the other ticket so it would be republican. i voted for president grant. i don't believe in women voting. they used to have the australian ballot system. it's a heap more the man that's elected than it is the party. we all voted for hoover; he was a republican and foe he got one term served out we was about on starvation. i ain't voted since. that president claim to be a democrat. he ain't no democrat. i don't know what he be. i been farming and preaching. i started preaching in mississippi. i joined the conference in arkansas in and started preaching at surrounded hill (biscoe). i come here in from pinola county. mississippi. i had some stock and they was fencing up everything over there. i had no land so i come to an open country. it wasn't long before they fenced it in. i come to brinkley and worked for gun and black sawmill and i been here forty or fifty years. i don't know jess how long. i couldn't starve to death in a whole year here. the people wouldn't let me. i got lot of friends, both black and white, here. i married december , in the baptist church. glasco wilson was the preacher married me. my wife died here in dis house nine years ago. we had ten children but jes two livin now. my girl married a preacher and live at hope. arkansas. my son preaches in parson, kansas. i supports my own self. i works and i preaches a little yet. i saved up some money but it nearly give out. the young generation, some of them, do mighty bad. some of them is all right. some of them don't do much and don't save nothing. i owns this house and did own another one what burned down. a lamp exploded and caught it while i was going off up the road but i never looked back or i would have seen it. it seem lack now it takes more money to do than it ever did in times before. seems like money is the only thing to have and get. folks gone scottch crazy over money, money! both is changing. the white folks, i'm speaking bout, the white folks has changed and course the colored folks keeping up wid them. the old white and colored neither can't keep up wid the fast times. i say it's the folks that made this depression and it's the folks keeping the depression. the little fellow is squeezed clear out. it out to be stopped. folks ain't happy like they used to be. course they sung songs all the time. religious choruses mostly. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: amanda rosa schiller street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was nine years old in the time of the surrender. i know i was here in that time. i don't know nothin' 'bout their carryin'-on. i know they whipped them with hobble rods. you don't know what hobble rods is!!! ain't you seen these here long thin hick'ry shoots? they called hobble rods. i don't know why they called 'em hobble rods. i know they made you hobble. they'd put 'em in the fire and roast 'em and twist 'em. i have seen 'em whip them till the blood run down their backs. i've seen 'em tie the women up, strip 'em naked to their waist and whip 'am till the blood run down their backs. they had a nigger whipper, too. "i was born in salem, alabama. i came up here about twenty-five years ago. "isaac adair was the name of the old man who owned me. he owned my mother and father too, hester and scip. their last name was adair, the same as their master's. "i don't remember the names of my grandfather and grandmother, 'cause we was crossed up, you see, one of my grandmothers was named crecie and the other was named lydia. i don't remember my grandfather's name. i spect i used to call 'im master. i used to remember them but i don't no more. nobody can't worry me 'bout them old folks now. they ast me all them questions at the welfare. they want to know your gran'pa and your gran'ma. who were they, what did they do, where did they live, where are they now? i don't know what they did. that's too far back for me. "my mother and father had nine children. i have only one sister living. all the others done gone to heaven but me and her. "my mother and father lived in a log cabin. they had one-legged beds nailed to the wall. they had benches and boxes and blocks and all sich as that for chairs. my daddy made the table we used. he made them one-legged beds too. they kept the food in boxes and gourds. they had these big gourds. they could cut holes in the top of them and put things in them. my mammy had a lot of 'em and they were nice and clean too. wisht i had one of them now. "some folks didn't have that good. we had trundle beds for the children that would run under the big bed when they wasn't sleeping in it. we made a straw mattress. you know the white folks weren't goin' to let 'em use cotton, and they didn't have no chickens to git feathers from; so they had to use straw. oh, they had a hard time i'm tellin' you. my mother pulled greens out of the garden and field, and cured it up for the mattress. "for rations, we'd eat onions and vegetables. we et what was raised. you know they didn't have nothin' then 'cept what they raised. all the cookin' was done at one house, but there was two cooks, one for the colored folks and one for the white folks. my grandma cooked for the white people. they cooked in those big old washpots for the colored people. we all thought we had a pretty good master. "we didn't know nothin' about a master. "i ain't positive what time the hands ate breakfast. i know they et it and i know they et at the same time and place. i think they et after sunrise. they didn't have to eat before sunrise. "when they fed the children, they cook the food and put it in a great big old tray concern and called up the children, 'piggee-e-e-e-e, piggee-e-e-e-e.' my cousin was the one had to go out and call the children; and you could see them runnin' up from every which way, little shirt tails flyin' and hair sticking out. then they would pour the food out in different vessels till the children could git around them with those muscle-shell spoons. many of them as could get 'round a vessel would eat out of it and when they finished that one, they'd go to another one, and then to another one till they all got fed. "my master worked seventy hands they said. he had two colored overseers and one white one. he didn't allow them overseers to whip and slash them niggers. they had to whip them right. didn't allow no pateroles to bother them neither. that's a lot of help too. 'cause them pateroles would eat you up. it was awful. niggers used to run away to keep from bein' beat up. "i knowed one gal that ran away in the winter time and she went up into the hollow of a tree for protection. when she came in, she was in sich a bad condition they had to cut off both her legs. they had froze out there. they taken care of her. they wanted her to work. she was jus' as nice a seamstress as you ever saw. and she could do lots of things. she could get about some. she could go on her knees. she had some pads for them and was just about as high as your waist when she was goin' along on her hands and knees, swinging her body between her arms. ate in the big house "the cooks and my mother stayed in the white folks' yard. they weren't in the quarters. my mother was seamstress and she was right in the house all the day long sewing. the children like me and my sister, they used us 'round the house and yard for whatever we could do. they didn't never whip none of my father's children. if we done something they thought we ought to been whipped for, they would tell father to whip us, and if he wanted to, he would; and if he didn't want to, he wouldn't. they made a big difference for some reason. marriage "they married in that time by standing up and letting someone read the ceremony to them. my master was a christian. there wasn't no jumpin' over a broomstick on my master's place. the white folks didn't have no nigger preacher for their churches. but the colored folks had 'em. they preached out of these little old blue back spellers--leastways they was little blue back books anyhow. freedom "my folks was on the road refugeeing from magnolia, arkansas to pittsburg, texas when the news came that the colored folks was free. and my master came 'round and told the niggers they was free as he was. i didn't hear him. i don't know where i was. i'm sure i was out playin somewheres. slave wages and experiences after the war "my father worked in a blacksmith shop right after the war. before the war, he went far and near to work for the white folks. they'd risk him with their money and everything. they would give him part of it; i don't know how much. he brought money to them, and they sure give him money. "we didn't have to wear the things the other slave children had to wear. he would order things for his family and my father would do the same for us. when old master made his order, my father would put his in with it. family "i am the mother of fifteen children--ten girls and five boys. that was enough for me. i am willing to quit off. my husband is dead. he's been dead for thirty-five years. opinions "i don't know what to say about these young people. mine are pretty good. so, i'm 'fraid to say much about the others. "lord, i don't know what we'll do if we don't get some rain. vocational experiences when i was able i washed and ironed. i didn't have to do nothin' till after my father and husband died. then i washed and ironed and cooked till the white folks set me out. they said i was too old. that is one thing i hates to think of. they had the privilege to say i couldn't work; they ought to a seen that i got somethin' to live on when i wasn't able to work no more." interviewer's comment you can't get the whole story by reading the words in this interview. you have to hear the tones and the accents, and see the facial expressions and bodily movements, and sense the sometimes almost occult influence; you have to feel the utter lack of resentment that lies behind the words that sound vehement when read. you marvel at the quick, smooth cover-up when something is to be withheld, at the unexpected vigor of the mind when the bait is attractive enough to draw it out, and at the sweetness of the disposition. some old people merely get mellowed and sweetened by the hardships through which they have passed. sometimes, you wonder if some of the old folk don't have dispositions that they can turn off or on at will. it is not hard to realize the reason why amanda was treated better than other children when you remember that she called her grandpa "master". interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: "cat" ross brassfield, ark. age: born "i was born in releford county on old major ross place. i was born durin' a battle between the north and south at murfreesboro. the house was on the battle ground. mama had five children. her name was susanna wade. papa's name was amos ross. he belong to major bill ross. major ross had ten houses houses--one at the edge of the thicket, two on stone river, and they was scattered around over his land. major ross never went to war. papa went with major billy to bury his gold. it stayed where they put it till after the war they went and dug it up. i seen that. when they brought it to the house, it was a pot--iron pot--full of gold. i didn't know where they had it buried nor how they fixed it. "my folks was all field hands. they muster been blessed cause they didn't get mixed up with the other nations. grandfather's mother--grandma venus--come from africa. she'd been in bondage about a hundred years. i recollect her well. my folks all lived to be old people, over a hundred years old. they was all pretty well, all africans. "i have seen the ku klux quarter mile long and two breasted on horses. they scared me so bad i never had no experiences with them. they run my uncle in. he was a big dancer. one time they made him dance. he cut the pigeon-wing for them. that was the name of what he danced. "i never was sold. i was give way. one of the wades married into the mitchell family. mama belong to the wades. they give me and mama and aunt sallie--she wasn't my aunt but i called her that--to wade's daughter. she was the young mistress. the wades wasn't so good to their slaves. when freedom was declared, papa come and got me and mama and took us on over to his place agin. we started sharecroppin' at major ross's place. in chick mcgregor paid my way. i come to arkansas. i farmed all my life till to i been here in brassfield sawmilling. they took the mill away from here. i cain't plough, i'm not able. i pick and hoe cotton. i work day labor. i never have got on the welfare." southfield folklore subjects name of interviewer: pernella anderson subject: centennial snow--spring in st. louis addition name: mattie ross occupation: gardening residence: south field, oil field. age: [tr: information moved from bottom of second page.] ah wuz born aftuh surrender. ah guess ah'm about years ole. mah pa wuz er slave an mah ma wuz too. dey moster wuz name green traylor an dey lived right down dar at _tula_ creek. mah mistess wuz named martha traylor an dey name me aftuh huh. mah name is martha lee traylor. aftuh she mahried huh name wiz martha tatum. we worked down dar. oh! mah lawd! how we did work--all ovah dat bottom. de puttiest fiel' ah evah did see. de traylor's owned hit den. later on de tatums bought hit fum dem and years aftuh dat de nash's bought hit fum de tatums. but new all uv dat place is growed up. nothing but er pine thicket and er black berry thicket. ye caint hardly walk through de place. later on de cobbs owned us. george cobb wuz his name. he lived down in de caledonia settlement. ah went behin' him er many er day wid de hoe or he'd crack mah haid. he use tuh be de sheriff here de years uv de boom an his nephew is de sheriff now--grady wosley. later en while ah wuz a gull ah werked fuh de swilleys an wuz partly raised on dey plantation. de ole man wuz name lawson swilley. his wife, margaret swilley, and i clare dem two people treated me white. she mammied me er many er day. ah wuz bred and born right down dar er-round caledonia. ah wuz a big gull durin de time uv de centennial snow. dis snow wuz called dat cause hit wuz de bigges snow dat evah been. hit wuz ovah yo haid. we had tuh spade our way evah whah we went. tuh de wood gitting place, tuh de sping, tuh de hoss lot, and evah whah. de anow wuz warm an soft. we piled up so much snow till hit took hit er half er year tuh melt. dat snow stayed on de groun two months. ah am de muthah uv five gulls and fo' boys. didn nairy one uv mah gulls come in de pen till dey wuz mahried. ah use tuh fish in er big ole fish pond rat down whah de wesson depot is now. years ergo people come fum camden an othuh places tuh fish in dat fish pond. mr. sam austin sole old man burgy (burgiss?) er piece uv groun' to bury folks in and he wuz de first man tuh die an be buried dar. so dey name hit de burgy cemetery. down dar in memphis addition atah the colored prof. dykes place dar use tuh be one uv de bes' springs. course at dat time hit wuz er big ole fiel' den and de watuch wuz jes lak ice watuh. dat make me think. mah pa sed he went tuh de wah tuh cook fuh his ole moster, green traylor. well pa said dar wuz er spring whar dey got watuh. said he went tuh git watuh outen de sping and had tuh pull dead men outn de spring an dat day drinked of'n dem dead men all while de wah wuz going on. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: laura rowland (bright mulatto) age: ? address: brinkley, arkansas "my parents name was mary ann and sam billingslea. mother's father lived with us when i first remember. his name was robert todd. he was a brown skin negro. they said he was a west indian. he talked of olden times but i don't remember well enough to tell you. father owned a home that we was living on when i first remember. mother was bright color, too. vaden, mississippi was our trading post. mother had twenty children. she was a worker. she would work anywhere she was put. my folks never talked much about slavery. i don't know how they got our place. "i know they was bothered by the ku klux. one night they heard or saw the ku klux coming. the log house set low on the ground but was dug out to keep potatoes and things in--a cellar like. the planks was wide, bout a foot wide, rough pine, not nailed down. they lifted the planks up and all lay down and put the planks back up. the house look like outside nothing could go under it, it was setting on the hard ground. when they got there and opened the doors they saw nobody at home and rode off. "another time, one black night, a man--he must have been a soldier--strided a block step with his horse and ordered supper. she told him she didn't have nothing cooked and very little to cook. he cursed and ordered the supper. told her to get it. she pretended to be fixing it and slipped out the back door down the furrows and squatted in the briers in a fence corner. long time after she had been out there hid, he come along, jumped the fence on his horse, jumped over her back, down into the lane and to the road he went. if the horse hadn't jumped over her and had struck her he would have killed her. now i think he was a soldier, not the ku klux. i heard my father say he was a yard boy. "i married in mississippi and came to malvern and hot springs. he was a mill hand. i raised three children of my own and was a chamber maid. i kept house and cooked for mrs. bera mccafity, a rich woman in hot springs. my husband died and was buried at malvern. i married again, in hot springs, and lived there several years. we went to the steel mill at gary, indiana. he died. i come back here and to brinkley in . one daughter lives in detroit and one in chicago. the youngest one is married, has a family and a hard time; the other makes her living. it takes it all to do her. i get $ . on the p.w.a. "they all accuse me around here of talking mighty proper. i been around fine city folks so much i notice how they speak. "i don't fool with voting. i don't care to vote unless it would be some town question to settle. i would know something about it and the people. "i don't know my age. i was grown when i married nearly sixty years ago. we have to show our license to get on the w.p.a. or our age in the bible you understand." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: landy rucker w. fourth avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in in the state of georgia, elbert county. "i member some about the war. i went to the field when i was twelve. pulled fodder, picked peas and tended to the cow pen. i had to go then. we had _a good master_. _our mistress wasn't good though_. she wouldn't give us enough to eat. old master used to ask if we had enough to eat and he'd pull out great big hams and cut em all to pieces and give em to us. old mistress would cry and say, 'you're givin' away all my good dinner.' but she repented since the war. she said she didn't do right. "we got here to pine bluff in ' . "oh yes, i remember comin' here on the train and on the boat. "old mistress whipped us when she thought we needed it. i been pretty good all my life. "my father was a blacksmith and one day when i was six or seven i was takin' his dinner when some dogs smelled the dinner and smelled me too and they got after me. i had to climb a tree and they stayed around till they heard some other dogs barkin' and ran off. i come down then and took my bucket and left. nother time some hogs chased me. they rooted all around the tree till they heard somethin' crackle in the woods and run off and then i'd come down. "after the war i went to school three days and the teacher whipped me. i went home and i didn't go back. i went home and went to the field. i had a mother and a sister and i tried to make a living for them. "i went to school a little while after that and then went to the field. most i know i learned by myself. "yes'm, i seen the yankees bout a year fore the war ceasted. they come to get somethin' to eat and anything else they could get. got the mules and things and took my two brothers and put em in the war. one come back after surrender and the other one died in the war. they said they was fightin' to free the niggers from being under bondage. "i seen the ku klux. looked like their horses could fly. made em jump a big high fence. they come and took my father and all the other men on the place and was goin' to put em in the confederate army. but papa was old and he cried and old mistress thought a lot of him so they let him stay. i just lay down and hollered cause they was takin' my brothers, but they didn't keep em long. one of my brothers, six years older than me, come up here to pine bluff to jine the yankees. "we could hear the guns at marks mill. "i been married twice. there was about eleven years betwixt the two marriages. "i worked on the farm till about ' . then i worked in the planing mill. i got hit by a car and it broke my hip so i have to walk on crutches now. then i got me a little shoe shop and i got along fine till i got so i couldn't set down long enough to fix a pair of shoes. i bought this house and i gets help from the relief so i'm gettin' along all right now." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: martha ruffin cross street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in north carolina, and i was seven years old when the surrender was. every one of my children can tell you when they was born, but i can't. my mother, quinettie farmer was her name. brother robert farmer is my cousin. he is about the same age as my husband. he got married one week and me and my husband the next. my father's name was valentine farmer. my grandmother on my mother's side was mandy harrison, and my grandfather's name on my mother's side was jordan harrison. my grandpa on my father's side was named reuben farmer, and his wife was nancy farmer. i have seed my grandpa and grandma on my father's side. but my mother didn't see them on my mother's side. "i 'members my daddy's white folks' names, moses farmer. my father never was sold. my daddy, valentine farmer, was a ditcher, shoemaker, and sometimes a tanner. my mother was a house girl. she washed and ironed. i couldn't tell exactly what my grandparents did. my grandparents, so my parents told me, were mostly farmers. i reckon moses farmer owned about three hundred slaves. "i was born on robert bynum's place. he was my mother's owner. he married one of the harrison girls and my mother fell to that girl. my mother done just about as she pleased. she didn't know nothin' about workin' in the field till after the surrender. "the way my mother and father happened to meet--my old master hired my daddy to do some work for him and he met my mama that way. "the way my folks learned they was free was, a white school-teacher who was teaching school where we stayed told my mother she was free, but not to say nothing about it. about three weeks later, the yankees come through there and told them they was free and told my old boss that if he wanted them to work he would have to hire them and pay them. the school-teacher stayed with mother's folks--mother's white folks. the school-teacher was teaching white folks, not niggers. she was a yankee, too. my mother was the house girl, and the school-teacher stayed with her folks. the war was so hot she couldn't git no chance to go back home. "my daddy farmed after the war. he farmed on shares the first year. the next year, he bought him a horse. he finally owned his own farm. he owned it when he died. he had about one hundred acres of land. "i have pretty fair health for an old woman like i am. i am bothered with the rheumatism. the lawd wouldn't let both of us git down at the same time. (here she refers to her husband who was sick in bed at the time she made the statement. you have his story already. it was difficult for her to tell her story, for he wanted it to be like his--ed.) "i belong to the primitive baptist church. i haven't changed my membership from my home. "i got married in , in february. how many years is that? i got so i can't count up nothin'. fifty-six years. yes, that's it; that's how long i been married. i had a little sister that got married with me. she didn't really git married; she just stood up with me. she was just a little baby girl. they told me i was pretty near twenty-three years old when i married. i have a daughter that's been married twenty-five years. we had older daughters, but that one was the first one married. i have got a daughter over in north little rock that is about fifty years old. her husband is dead. we had ten children. my daughter is the mother of ten children too. she got married younger than i did. this girl i am living with is my baby. i have four children living--three girls and one boy. a woman asked me how many children i had and i told her three. she was a fortuneteller and she wanted to tell me my fortune. but i didn't want her to tell me nothin'. god was gittin' ready to tell me somethin' i didn't want to hear. i've got five great-grandchildren. we don't have no great-great-grandchildren. don't want none." interviewer's comment the old lady's style was kind of cramped by the presence of her husband. every once in a while, when she would be about to paint something in lurid colors, he would drop in a word and she would roll her phrases around in her mouth, so to speak, and shift and go ahead in a different direction and on another gear. very pleasant couple though--with none of the bitterness that old age brings sometimes. the daughter's name is searles. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: thomas ruffin cross street, little rock, arkansas age: or "i was born in north carolina, franklin county, near raleigh. my father's name really i don't know. folks said my master was my daddy. that's what they told me. of course, i don't know myself. but then white folks did anything they wanted to in slavery times. "my mother's name was morina ruffin. i don't know the names of my grandparents. that is too far back in slavery for me. of course, old man ruffin my father's father, which would have been my grandfather, he died way back yonder in slave times before the war. my father gotten kilt in the war. his name was tom ruffin. i was named after him. he died trying to hold us. that man owned three hundred slaves. he never married. carried my mother round everywhere he went. out of all his niggers, he didn't have but one with him. that was in slavery time and he was a fool about her. "i couldn't tell you exactly when i was born. up until the surrender i couldn't tell how old i was. i am somewheres around eighty-two years old. the old lady is just about the same. we guesses it in part. we figure it on what we heard the old folks say and things like that. i remember plenty of things about slavery that i saw. "i never did much when i was a boy. the biggest thing i remember is a mule got to kicking and jumped around in a stall. she lost her footing and fell down and broke her neck right there in the stall. i remember her name as well as if it was yesterday. her name was bird. that was just before the war. i know i must have been at least four years old then. you can figure that up and see what it comes to. "i never did any work when i was a child. i jus went to the spring with the young mistress and danced for them sometimes. but they never did give me any work to do,--like they did the others. i lived right in the biggest house the biggest portion of my time. "that day and time, they made compost heaps. mixed dirt with manure. they hoed cotton and crops. they didn't know what school was. they helped with washing and ironing. did every kind of work they had strength enough to do till they got big enough to go to the field. that was what the children did. "when they were about seven years old, to the best of my recollection they would go to the field. seven or eight. they would pick up corn stalks and brush. and from that on when they were about eight or nine, they would pick cotton. "my mother never did have to do anything round the farm. she lived about seventy-five miles from it, there where the master had his office. he was a lawyer. after i was born, she didn't come out to see me but once a year that i recollect. when she did come, she would bring me some candy or cakes or something like that. "i didn't see the soldiers during the time of the war. but i saw plenty of them afterwards--riding round and telling the niggers they were free. they had some of the finest saddles i ever seed. you could hear them creaking a block off. no, i didn't see them while they was fighting. we were close enough to hear the guns crash, and we could see the light from them, but i didn't actually see the fightin. the yankees come through on every plantation where they were working and entered into every house and told us we was free. the yankees did it. they told you you were free as they were, that you didn't have to stay where you was, that you didn't have no more master, that you could go and come as you pleased. "i got along _hard_ after i was freed. it is a hard matter to tell you what we could find or get. we used to dig up dirt in the smokehouse and boil it and dry it and sift it to get the salt to season our food with. we used to go out and get old bones that had been throwed away and crack them open and get the marrow and use them to season the greens with. jus plenty of niggers then didn't have anything but that to eat. "even in slavery times, there was plenty of niggers out of them three hundred slaves who had to break up old lard gourds and use them for meat. they had to pick up bones off the dung hill and crack them open to cook with. and then, of course, they'd steal. had to steal. that the bes way to git what they wanted. "they had a great big kitchen for the slaves. they had what you call pot racks they could push them big pots in and out on. they cooked hog slop there. they had trays and bowls to eat out of that were made out of gum wood. it was a long house used as a kitchen for the hands to go in and eat. they et dinner there and for supper they would be there. but breakfast, they would have to eat in the field. the young niggers would bring it out to them. they would bring it about an hour after the sun rose and the slave hands would eat it right out in the field; that was the breakfast. you see the hands went to the field before sunup, and they didn't get to eat breakfast in the kitchen and it had to be et in the field. little undergrowth of children--they had plenty of them on the place--had to carry their meals to them. "they would usually give them collars [hw: collards] in green times, potatoes in potato time. bread,--they didn't know what that was. white folks hardly knew theirselves. they didn't have butter and they didn't have no sugar. didn't know much about what meat was yet. they would give the little bits of children pot liquor. that's the most i ever seed them git. of course i was treated differently. you couldn't judge them by me. i was the only half-white youngun round there, and they said i was half-brother to ol marse's chillun. and the white chillen would git me up to the house to dance for them and all like, and they would give me biscuits or anything good they had. i never seed the others eatin nothin but pot liquor. "most of the slaves lived in log cabins. you know they never had but one door. in general where they had large families, they would have two rooms with a chimney in the middle of the house. the chimney was built out of mud and straw. i can remember them sawin the timber. two pulled a big ol crosscut saw. didn't have no saw mills then. this world has come from a long ways. they used to didn't have no plows. it was without form. you made it at home. "they had ol homemade bedsteads to sleep in. they had a little rope that ran back and forth instead of slats. that was called a corded bed. cheers were all made at home and were split bottoms. "they didn't many of the slaves have food in their homes. but when they did, they would jus have a little wooden box and they would put their food in it. "it seems like the white people got to burying their money during the time of the war. that never come out till after the war. then they got to wantin that money and started looking for it. there never was any talk of buried treasure before the war. "my folks didn't give me any schoolin before the surrender. i never got any before the surrender and a mighty little afterwards. no nigger knowed anything. i started to farming when i was thirteen years old. i used to be a fertilizer, and then a cotton sower. that was the biggest i knowed about farming when i was a boy. my mother lived about fifteen years after slavery. i reckon. "in the time of slavery, you couldn't marry a woman. you just took up with her. mother married the same man she had been going with after freedom. she had four children after the surrender as fer as i can tell--three girls and two boys. "i moved from north carolina to louisiana. stayed there one year and then moved here. bought forty acres of land. bought it after i'd been here a year. it took me four years to pay for that. then next time i bought eighty acres and paid for them. paid them out in two years. then i bought eighty acres more and paid for them in two years. couldn't pay for them cash at first, but could have paid for the last eighty when i bought them if i had a wanted to. then i bought eighty more and then i bought eighty again and then forty and on till i had five hundred and three acres of farm land. i got the three over when i got the sorghum mill. "i left my farm and come to the city for doctor's treatment. my old lady and i worked out five hundred and three acres of land. i got five children living. i gave each one of them forty acres of land. most of the rest i sold. i got a fellow here that owes me for one of the places now. he lives over on third and dennison. his name is wright. my old lady an me held on to that and didn't lose it even in all these hard years. "my daughter kept after me to come here and she built this little house out here where i could holler or do anything i wanted to do and not disturb nobody. i couldn't feel at home up in a big house with other people. four or five months ago it would take two people to put me to bed. i would get off from home and have to carry me back. but i am gettin along fine now. this high blood pressure keeps me from remembering so well. ol lady where's my pipe? you didn't find it up to daughter's? ain't it in the kitchen? can't you find it nowheres? what _didju_ do with it? well, you needn't look for it no longer. it's here in my pocket. that's my high blood pressure workin. that whut it does to you. "i belong to the primitive baptist church and have been belonging to it altogether about sixty-three years. i used to be a missionary. i been a member of the church a long time. "i think times are jus fulfilling the bible. the people are wiser now than we ever known them to be and wickeder. i don't believe the times you see now will be always. people are getting so wise and so wicked that i think the end is near at hand. you notice the germans now are trying to make slaves out of the jews. there's the japans that is jus slaughtering up the chinese like they was nothin but dumb brutes. the world is wickeder than it ever has been before. "the young people today! i'd hate to tell you what i do think of them. the business is going to fall." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: casper rumple, de valls bluff, arkansas age: "i will be, providin' the good lord spare me, years old the first day of january. i was born in lawrence county, south carolina. the big road was the dividing line between that and edgefield county. my mother belonged to john griffin. his wife named rebecca. my father was a irishman. course he was a white man--irishman. show i did know him. he didn't own no slaves. i don't guess he have any land. he was a overseer in edgefield county. his name was ephraim rumple. what become of him? he went off to fight the yankees and took malaria fever and died on red river. i could show you bout where he died. "my mother had a big family. i can't tell you much bout them. i was the youngest. she cooked up at john griffins. he was a old man and the land was all his wife's. she was old too. she had some grown girls. he had no children. they called him pa and i did too. i stayed round with him nearly all the time helping him. "he had a room and she had a room. i slept on a bed--little bed--home-made bed--in the room wid him and she slept in the room with her two girls and my mother slept in the kitchen a whole heap so she be there to get breakfast early. they riz early every mornin'. john griffins wife owned four plantations more than acres in each one, but i couldn't say how much. "my mother was a field hand in busy times too. miss rebecca had all the slaves clothes made. she seed to that. she go to the city, augusta, and bring back bolts cloth. one slave sewed for miss rebecca and her family. she didn't do all the sewing but she sewed all the time. one woman done all the weavin'. at night after they work in the field miss rebecca give em tasks--so many bats to card or so much spinnin' to do. "master john didn't want em to work at night but she made em work all the same. they b'long to her. another thing the women had to do was work in the garden. it was a three acre garden. they always had plenty in thar. had it palinged so the young chickens couldn't squeeze through the cracks. "they had plenty stock and made all the fertilizer needed in the garden and patches. they had goober patch, popcorn patch, sorghum patches, several of em, pea patches but they was field cabbage patch and watermellon patch. they had chicken house, goose house, duck house and way off a turkey pen. it had a cover on it. they had to be cleaned and all that manure moved to the garden and patches. old man john griffin was a good man. things went on pretty quiet bout the place. they had to do their own cooking. they got for the grown ups pounds meat, pk.[tr:?] meal a week. they fed the young chaps plenty so they wouldn't get stunted. they keep em chunky till they get old nough to grow up tall and that make big women and big men. they stunt em then when they start runnin' up, it cause em to be low. the owners was mighty careful (not)[hw: ?] to feed the chaps nough to eat so they make strong hands. "men come long the road peddlin' from out the cities, men come long with droves of horses and mules. they was called horse traders. then once in a while they come long tradin' and selling slaves. nother way they sell em was at public auction. iffen a slave steal from another master, like go in his smoke house or crib and steal, the sheriff have to whip him. they would have public whippin'. "how'd they know was freedom? how'd they not know it was freedom? everybody went wild. they was jes' crazy cause they was free. way i knowd for certain it was freedom mr. john griffin had all the slaves that hadn't done went off come to the house and he told them they was all free. some of em just started walking the roads till they nearly starved. the government didn't start feeding the slaves till so many nearly starved. my mother cooked on nearly a year. then she went to work for vaughn in edgefield county. "they didn't give them no land. the white folks was land pore. "they didn't have no money. when the masters had money they give the slaves a little spending money. nearly all the slaves had a little money long. they get a pass to split rails for a neighbor and make money. that was befo freedom. after freedom nobody had money but the yankee soldiers. they keep it closer than the folks you been livin' with. "mr. griffin, he was called general by all the young men. he was too old to fight so he trained soldiers. he didn't wear a uniform but they did. they met certain days every week. they wore gray uniforms. "they had a battle at lawrence. it was miles. the soldiers passed long the big road. i didn't see the battles. i heard plenty talk about that conflict at lawrence though. "i heard the slaves was goin' to get acres and a mule. i tell you they didn't wait to see if they was going to get another meal. they went wild, walking and hooping up and down the road. they found out when they nearly starved they had got the bad end of the game somehow. then to keep em from starvin' they had certain days to go to lawrence and get a little rations. not much i tell you. they started stealin' and the ku klux started up bout that. "the president got killed (abraham lincoln). then they knowed the gig was up. they had to go to work hard as ever and mighty little to eat. the slaves did vote. it was the color of the paper they used way they knowed how to vote. the republican government had full sway years. all the offices at edgefield nearly was negroes cept the sheriff. the yankees tell em what to do way they knowed how. butler went to congress. he was a negro--(???). that was what the ku klux was mad bout. they run the yankees out and took holt of the offices soon as they could. "our master had no ku klux comin' on our place. he protected us, it wasn't no different than slavery till i was nearly grown and a drove was walking going west to better place. i got in with them and come on. the ku klux had killed several negroes. that scared them all up. i remember tuscaloosa, alabama when we cone through there. we was walking--a line a mile long--marching and singing. they was building back in a hurry seemed like to me. the town had been burned up. some dropped out to get work along. some fell out sick. some so weak they died long the road. had to keep up. some stopped; they never caught up no more. mostly old folks or half starved folks couldn't keep going. the ku klux whoop and shoot you down for any little thing. they started at night, fraid of the yankees but they whooped and run them out and the negroes left. the ku klux got so bold they didn't dress up nor go at night neither. at first they was careful then they got bold. the yankee soldiers bout all they was afraid of. the negroes found out who some of the ku klux was and told the yankees but it didn't do much good. after bout twelve years all the yankees gone back home. the white folks down in carolina thought bout as little of them as negroes. they wouldn't let them have no land if they did have money to pay any price for it. they didn't want them living amongst them. they say they rether have a negro family. "the biggest negro uprisin' i ever seed was at freedom. they riz up in a hurry. "i had to stop and work all along. i got to arkansas in . i never went no further. i been all my life farmin'. i cut and sell wood, clear land. the best living was when i farmed and sold wood. i bought a acre farm and cleared it up graduly, then i sold it fer $ . cause i got blind and couldn't see to farm it. i had a house on it. i own this here house (a splendid home). my daughter and her husband come to take care me. they come from cincinatti here. she made $ . a week up there three years. i get $ . a month now from the social welfare. if i could see i could make money. "i never seen times like this. sin is causin' it. unrest and selfishness. no neighborly spirit. i don't bother no young folks. i don't know how they will come out. if they caint get a big price they won't work and the white folks are doing their own work, and don't help like they did. i could get along if i could see. i had a light stroke keeps me from talkin' good, i hear that." interviewer: thomas elmore lucy person interviewed: henry russell, russellville, arkansas age: "my father's name was ed russell, and he was owned by dr. tom russell, de first pioneer settler of russellville--de' man de town got its name from. "my name is henry, and some folks call me 'bud.' i was born at old dwight de th of october, . yes suh, dat date is correct. "i was too young to remember much about happenings soon after de war, but i kin ricollect my father belongin' to de militia for awhile during de reconstruction days. both negroes and whites were members of de militia. "my folks come here from alabama, but i don't know much about them except dat my grandmother, charlotte edwards, give me an old wash pot dat has been in de family over one hundred years. yes suh, it's out here in de ya'd now. also, i owns an old ax handle dat i keep down at de store jist for a relic of old days. it's about a hundred years old, too. "my wife was sallie johnson of little rock, and she was a sister of mrs. charley mays, de barber you used to know, who was here sich a long time. "for a long time i worked at different kinds of odd jobs, sometimes in de coal mines and sometimes on de farms, but for several years i've run a little store for de colored folks here in russellville. ain't able to do very much now. "i remember very well de first train dat was ever run into russellville. must have been or years ago. a big crowd of people was here from all over de country. of course dere was only a few families living in de town, and only one or two families of colored folks. people come in from everywhere, and it was a great sign. little old train was no bigger dan de dardanelle & russellville train. (you remember de little old train dey used to call de 'dinkey' don't you?) well, it wasn't no bigger dan de dinkey, and it didn't run into de depot at all, stopped down where de dump is now. sure was a sight. lot of de folks was afraid and wouldn't go near it, started to run when two men got off. i saw only two man working in front of it, but i remember it very plain. dey was working with wheelbarrows and shovels to clear up de track ahead. "another thing i remember as a boy was de 'sassination of president gyarfield. i can't read or write but very little, but i remember about dat. it was a dull, foggy mornin', and i was crossin' de bayou with big bob smith. (you remember 'big bob' dat used to have the merry-go-'round and made all de county fairs.) well, he told me all about de killing of de president. it was about wasn't it? "i think times was better in de old days because people was better. had a heap more honor in de old days dan dey have now. not many young folks today have much character. "all right. come back again. whenever i kin help you out any way, i'll be glad to." note: henry russell is quite proud of the fact that his ancestors were the first families of russellville. he is a polite mulatto, uneducated, and just enough brogue to lend the southern flavor to his speech, but is a fluent conversationalist. interviewer: miss sallie c. miller person interviewed: katie rye, clarksville, arkansas age: "we lived in greenbrier, faulkner county, arkansas. all stayed at home and got along very well. we had enough to eat and wear. mistress was awful mean to us but we stayed with them until after the war. after the war master moved us off to another place he had and my father farmed for his self, master and his pa and ma, and mistress' pa and ma. they awful good to us, but mistress was so high tempered she would get mad and whip some of the slaves but she never whipped any of us. she worried so over the loss of her slaves after the war she went crazy. we had two white grand pas and grand mas. we colored children called them grandpa and ma and uncle and aunt like the white children did and we didn't know the difference. the slaves was only allowed biscuit on christmas and sometimes on sundays but we had beef and plenty of honey and everything after we moved from the big house. mistress used to come down to see us an' my mother would cook dinner for her and master. he was such a _good_ man and the best doctor in the state. he would come in and take the babies up (mother had nine children) and get them to sleep for my mother. his mother would come to the kitchen and ask for a good cup of coffee and mother would make it for her. the master and his family were northern people and my mother was given to the mistress by her father and mother when she married. "after my father bought his own farm about ten miles from the big house, father would put us all in an ox wagon and take us back to see our white folks. "the mistress claimed to be a christian and church member but i don't see how she could have been she was so mean. "i think the present day generation mighty wicked. seems like they get worse instead of better, even the members of the church are not as good as they used to be. they don't raise the children like they used to. they used to go to sunday school and church and take the children, now the children do as they please, roam the streets. it is sad to see how the parents are raising the children, just feed them and let them go. the children rule the parents now. "we sang the old hymns and 'dixie', 'carry me back to old virginia', 'when you and i were young, maggie'." circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--miss hazel horn address--little rock, arkansas date--last of april, subject--ex-slave [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] . name and address of informant--uncle bob samuels, washington, arkansas . date and time of interview--last of april, . place of interview--washington, arkansas . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant--j.c.w. smith. . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you--j.c.w. smith . description of room, house, surroundings, etc. personal history of informant . ancestry--grandmother, spanish; grandfather, negro; father, negro. . place and date of birth--born about . family-- . places lived in, with dates-- . education, with dates-- . occupations and accomplishments, with dates-- . special skills and interests-- . community and religious activities-- . description of informant--tall and straight. he is blind. clean in appearance, dressed in slightly faded overalls. he has short, clean, grey beard. speaks with a clear accent. . other points gained in interview--ancestors were in de soto expeditions. text of interview (unedited) "from my mother's mother i learned that on my mother's side my ancestor came with de soto from spain where she was educated at madrid. from spain she came to havana, cuba, and from there to tampa, florida. from florida she came to some point in alabama. from this place she came to the mississippi river and the east bank and crossed where it is called gaines landing. after they crossed the river they went ten kilometers from there, traveled north from there to where arkansas county is close to the mouth of the arkansas river. here they camped awhile. when they broke camp there they traveled northeast to boiling springs. making their way from here they crossed the ouachita river on the other side of arkadelphia. they traveled on, crossing little missouri river below wallaceburg. here they found some indian mounds. then they traveled on a trail from there to washington, turned into washington and took a trail toward columbus and turned off to the right (uncle bob not sure of the name of this trail) and crossed what is known as beard's lake. they crossed little river at ward's ferry and crossed the saline river. traveling northwest they reached white oak shoals where index is now and crossed over into what was mexico and traveled to a place called kawaki located where [tr: ?] now is. "after camping here for a while they came back into arkansas to some point near rando, crossed red river at dooley's ferry, went to coola fabra(?) and back to boiling springs. [here a gold mine was found and a quarrel ensued, and in a fight de soto was killed.] they carried his body overland and buried him in the mississippi river between grensville[hw:sp.] and vicksburg. [tr: moved from end of interview: de soto was buried at the junction of the mississippi and [??] rivers, about miles south of vicksburg.] the remaining forces of the expedition returned to spain. "sometime in my mother's mother was born. my mother's mother was spanish. my mother says she was well educated. mother and her mother have spanish mixed with negro blood. i had a sister named mary and a brother named john. "armarilla, my grandmother came here from cuba through to gaines landing. her son edmin and her husband were with her. they crossed the mississippi river and she said they stopped at the old de soto camp. a short distance west of this place they met two men--nick trammel and john morrow who profitted (dealt) in negro slaves. my grandfather and mother employed these men to guide them to coola fabre(?) camden?. from little river to dooley's ferry these men carried them to waco, texas. they killed my grandfather and kept my grandmother forcing her to marry either a half-breed mexican, an indian or a negro. it was near waco in hickman[hw:sp.] prairie that mother was born. the boy edmin was returned to dooley's ferry and remained in the vicinity until he was about seventeen years of age. he then lived in the vicinity of little rock about six months before returning to mexico. my grandmother said that mr. trammel and mr. morrow probably thought he might cause trouble and killed him as she never saw him after he returned from little rock. mother was held in lafayette county at a point where the river crossed and joined bowie county (texas) and where louisiana bounded the south. "de soto traveled by land, not by boat. he had a force of about persons. the women dressed as men. my grandmother was with her husband. "my mother was a slave. she was held in bowie county, hickens[hw:sp.] prairie, by bob trammel. they kept her locked up and i have heard mother say that she used whale bone, card bats and a spinning wheel. finally they got so hot behind the trammels in - , they pulled up stakes and went down on the guadalupe river and carried my mother's mother down there. before they left dave block went on trammel's bond and got my mother. he made my mother head housekeeper slave. she had been taught spanish. she was tall and fair with straight black hair. she was married to dick samuels, my father. "after the war my father was elected [hw: hempstead] county clerk in on the republican ticket. he could neither read nor write, so was clerk in name only securing one of the white men to attend to the office. by trade he was a blacksmith." interviewer's comment uncle bob samuels is the son of richard samuels and mary. he was a slave of david block. after freedom he came to little rock with a sister and a brother, john. uncle bob said he often heard his mother speak of a gold mine. she had a trunk of maps and charts which her mother had given to her. in this was supposed to be the papers regarding de soto's legendary gold mine. the trunk had been lost as uncle bob has no idea where the gold mine is. he tells the story the same way, never varying a point. he does not claim to remember indian trails or names. uncle bob is tall and straight. he is blind. was clean in appearance dressed in slightly faded overalls. he has a short, clean grey beard. he talks with a clear accent, no negro accent. during reconstruction days he served as county clerk of hempstead county under carpetbaggar rule. during those days he was a political power to be reckoned with. he was a national as well as a state figure in the "lily white republican" organization. [his wife was a negro, good looking, but showed little trace of much white blood.] interviewer: mary d. hudgins person interviewed: emma sanderson home: wade street, hot springs. aged: "emma sanderson"--"wade street". that was all the prospective interviewer could learn. "emma sanderson--ex-slave!" "wade street"--"why it's way off that way. you go sort of thatta way, and then thatta way." a city map disclosed no wade street. maps belonging to a local abstractor helped not a whit. "insurance maps are in more detail." someone advised, "wade street," mused the young woman at the desk, "i've heard of it. we have written a policy for someone there." the head of the department was new to the city, but he was eager to help. after about five minutes search--from wall maps to bound volumes of blocks and back again it appeared that "wade street" more frequently known as "washington street" meanders wanderingly from silver street, in the colored section out to the "gorge addition" inhabited by low economic level whites. down malvern avenue (hot springs' beale street) went the interviewer. on she went past the offices of a large chicago packing house. for better then a block she trudged by dilapidated shops which a few seasons back had housed one of the key transient centers of the u.s.a. down the street she walked, pausing for a moment to note that coffee colored faces decorated the placards in the beauty shop window--two well groomed mulatto girls sitting inside, evidently operators. her course took her past sandwich joints and pool halls. nails, she noted as she drifted along, had been driven into the projection beneath the plate glass window of the brick bank (closed during the depression--a building and bank built, owned and operated by negro capital) to keep loungers away. the colored theater (negroes are admitted only to the balconies of theaters in hot springs--one section of the balcony at the legitimate theater) she noticed was now serving as a religious gathering place. the well built and excellently maintained pythian bath house (where the hot waters are made available to colored folk) with the alice eve hospital ( beds, nurses, resident physicians--negro doctors thruout the town cooperating--surgical work a specialty) stood out in quiet dignity. for the rest, buildings were an indiscriminate hodge-podge of homes, apartment houses, shacks, and chain groceries. at the corner where "the street turns white" the interviewer turned east. the langston high school (for colored--with a reputation for turning out good cooks, football players and academicians) stands on silver street. a few paces from the building the interviewer met a couple of plump colored women laughing and talking loudly. "i beg your pardon," was her greeting, "can you tell me where wade street is?" they could and did. they were so frankly interested in knowing why the white women wanted emma sanderson that she told them her mission. they were not taken aback--there was no servility--no resentment they were frankly charmed with the idea. their directions for finding mrs. sanderson became even more explicit. when the proper turn off was found the question of wade versus washington street was settled. a topsy-turvy sign at the intersection announced that wade street was ahead. emma sanderson's grandson lived a couple of blocks down the road. only the fact that she could hear someone inside moving about kept the interviewer hammering on the door. finally she was rewarded by a voice. "is that somebody a' knockin'?" in a moment the door opened. the question, "were you a slave" no matter how delicately put is a difficult one to ask, but mrs. sanderson was helpful, if doubtful that her story would do much good. "i was just so little when it all happened." but the interviewer was invited in and placed in a chair near the fire. "no ma'am. he ain't my grandson--i's the third grandmother. no son, you ain't three--you's five. don't you remember what i told you? yes, he stays with me, ma'am. i take care of him while the rest of 'em works. "it's hard for me to remember. i was just so little. yes, ma'am, i was born a slave--but i was so little. seems to me like i remember a big, big house. we was sort of out in the country---out from memphis. i know there was my father and my mother and my uncles and my aunts. i know there was that many. how many more of us old man doc walker had--i just don't know. they must have took good care of us tho. my mother was a house nigrah. "when the war was ready to quit they gave us our pick. we could stay on and work for wages or we could go. the folks decided that the'd go on in to memphis. my mother and father didn't live together none after we went to town. first i lived with mother and then when she died my father took me. my mother died when i was . she worked at cooking and washing. when i was big enough i went to school. i kept on going to school after my father took me. he died when i was about . by that time i was old enough to look out after myself. "what did i do? i stayed in folkses houses. i cooked and i washed. then when i was about , i married. after that i had a man to take care of me. he was a carpenter. "we been here in hot springs a long time--you maybe heared of sanderson--he took up platering and he was good too. how long i been in hot springs--law i don't know--'cept i was a full grown women when we come. "i's had four children--all of 'em is dead. i lives with my grandson. the little fellow, he'll be old enough to go to school in a year or two. a dime for him ma'am--an' cents besides? now son you keep the dime and you can spend the pennies. i always tries to teach him to save. then when he gets big he'll know what to do." dining room and living room joined one another by means of a high and wide arch. the stove was sensibly set up in this passage. both rooms were comfortably furnished with products which had in all probability been bought new. the child stood close by thruout the entire conversation. there was no whit of timidity about him, nor was he the least impertinent. he was frankly interested and wanted to know what was being said. he received the dime and the pennies with a pleasant grin and a (grandmother prompted) "thank you". but the gift didn't startle him. dimes must have been a fairly usual part of his life. but a few minutes before the interviewer left she dropped her pencil. it was new and long and yellow. the child's eyes clung to it as he returned it. "would you like to have it." the young woman asked, "would you like a pencil of your very own, to draw with?" would he! the child's whole face beamed. dimes were as nothing compared to shiney new pencils. the third grandchild was overjoyed with his new plaything. ella sanderson was delighted with her great grandchild's pleasure. the interviewer received a warm and friendly "good-bye". interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mary scott devalls bluff or biscoe age: "i said if ever i seed you agin i'd show you dis here scar on my head. see here [a puffed-out, black, rusty, not quite round place, where no hair grew]. dat dar what my young mistress put on me when i was a chile. dock hardy hired me. he was rich and married a pore gal. it went to her head. he was good to me. she was mean. she had him whoop me a time or two for nothin'. they had two little babies, i stayed round wid. i loved em. i churned, brought in all the wood mighty near, brought bout all the water from the spring. master dock be coming horseback from franklin, tennessee. i knowed bout time i take the babies to meet him. he'd wait at a big stump we could climb on his horse, take the baby in front and us up behind him, and put us off on the back piazza at the house. i wrapped up the churn and quit. she ax me what i quit churnin' for. i say the butter come. she say it ain't had time. i say it ready to take up anyhow. she got so mad she throwed a stick of stove wood, hit me on my head. i run out crying, the blood streamin' down. i started to the spring, come back and got the water bucket. i got me some water and brought back a fresh bucket full. i washed my head in cool water where it was bleedin'. it bled all way back. she say, 'where you been?' i say i been to the spring, brought some cool water to the babies. i give em some i told her. when i got water i always give them some. she took the bucket, made me go wid her, poured the water out in the path under a shade tree, and made me take 'nother bucketful home. i thought she was so mean; i didn't know what she was doing that about. got to the house she put me on a clean chemisette. i slipped off down to the feed house, lay down, my head on the cotton seeds, and went to sleep. "when master dock come he woke me up, wanted to know why i didn't meet him. he seen that blood. went on to the house. he ask her what done my head that way. she say, 'she went to the spring, fell down, spilled the water, and hurt it on a rock.' i told him that wasn't so--not so! i told him all bout it. he told her she ought to be 'shamed treat good little nigger chap mean. he was so sorry for me. she didn't care. they had been goin' to old missis house every week. it was three weeks 'fo she would go. i got to see my mama, 'fo she died. "old mistress emily was a doctor woman. dock told her, 'mama, scrubbs jumps and screams bout a hour late every evening wid her head.' when it got late it hurt and i screamed and jump up and down. mistress emily come got me in her arms, put me to sleep. when i woke up dock and kitty gone home with the babies. i cried bout being from the babies; i loved em, never been away from em 'fo. she got three maggots and says, 'scrubbs, see what i got out your little head.' mama had died then. she say, 'your mama would want me to keep you here wid me.' she kept me till it healed up. them maggots big as a sage broom straw. we swept the floor wid sage straw tied together then. mistress emily kept me a month with her and doctored my head every day. i slept on a pallet and on a little bed she had in the room. when i went back to kitty's she wasn't as mean to me as she been--but mean nough then. "my mama named amy hardy. she had five boys, three girls. she died with a young baby. i reckon they had different papas. i was my papa's only chile. they all said that. bout a month after i went to dock and kitty's, it was surrender. he (the little negro girl's father) come, stayed all night, and took me wid him to live. dock wanted me to stay; i love dock and the children. every year till a few years ago my head get sore and run. we tried all kinds medicine on it. don't know what cured it. "the week 'fo i left there i had a task to make a cut of thread every night, a reel. when i heard papa was coming to git me, i put cotton bats under the reels and kivered em up. good thing papa got me--kitty would killed me when she went to spin next week. she been so mean why i done that way. "they never sold any of our set but some on the place was sold. the mothers grieve and grieve over their children bein' sold. some white folks let their slaves have preachin', some wouldn't. we had a bush arbor and set on big logs. children set round on the ground. 'fo freedom i never went to preachin'. i kept kitty's babies so she went. mothers didn't see their children much after they was sold. "fo freedom they would turn a wash pot upside-down at the door and have singin' and prayer meetin'. the pot would take up the noise. they done that when they danced too. i don't know how they found out the iron pot would take up the noise. they had plenty of em settin' round in them days. somebody found it out and passed it on." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mollie hardy scott, r.f.d., devalls bluff, arkansas age: "i was born at granville, georgia in franklin county. i don't know my age cept i was big enough to plow when young master lef and went to war. my mother died bout time the war started. we belonged to miss eliza and master jim hardy. he had two boys bout grown, jim and john. my father belong to the linzys. i don't know nuthin much bout them nor him neither. when the war was done he come and got me and we went to barton county, georgia. when i lef they give me my feather bed, two good coverlets and my clothes. white folks hated fo me to leave. we all cried but i never seen em no more. they said he take me off and let me suffer or die or something. i was all the child my father had but my mother had ten children i knowed of. we all lived on the place. they lived in a little log house and i stayed wid em some an up at white folks house mostly. no i never seed my folks no more. we had plenty to eat. had meat and garden stuff. we had pot full of lye hominy. it last several days. it was good. i seed em open up a pot full of boiled corn-on-the-cob. plenty milk and butter. we had wash pot full of collards or turnip salad. maybe a few turnips on top and a big piece of fresh meat. we had plenty to eat and wear long as i lived wid the white folks. we had goobers, molasses candy to pull and pop corn every now and then. they fill all the pockets, set around the fire an eat at night. sometimes we bake eggs and sweet potatoes, cracklin hoe cake covered up in the ashes. bake apples in front of the fire on de hearth. everybody did work an we sho had plenty to eat an wear. "i had plenty when i stayed at my father's an we worked together all the time. when he died i married. i've had a hard time not able to work. there ain't no hard time if yous able to get bout. i pieces quilts an sells em now. sells em if i can. for $ piece (has no idea of money value). some women promissed to come git 'em but they ain't come yet. i wanter buy me some shoes. i could do a heap if they send fo me. i can nurse. i kept a woman's children when she teached last year (negro woman's children). "i brought four or five when i come to arkansas of my own. they all dead but my one girl i lives wid. "seemed lack so many colored folks coming out west to do better. we thought we come too. we come on immigrate ticket on the train. all the people i worked for was captain williams, dr. givens. mr. richardson right where mesa is now but they called it then ( miles from memphis). mr. gates. i farmed, washed and ironed. i nursed some since i'm not able to get about in the field. i never owned nothing. they run us from one year till the next and at the end of the year they say we owe it bout all. if we did have a good crop we never could get ahead. we couldn't get ahead nuff not to have to be furnished the next year. we did work but we never could get ahead. if a darky sass a white land owner he would be whooped bout his account or bout anything else. yes siree right here in dis here county. darky have to take what the white folks leave fo em and be glad he's livin. "i say i ain't never voted. whut in de world i would want er vote for? let em vote if they think it do em good. "i seen a whole gang of ku kluxes heap of times when i was little back in georgia. i seed paddyrollers and then they quit and at night the ku kluxes rode by. they would whoop or shoot you either if you didn't tend to yo own business and stay at home at night. they kept black and white doing right i tell you. i sho was afraid of them but they didn't bother us. if you be good whose ever place you lives on would keep 'em from harmin you. they soon got all the bad yankies ran back north from georgia. they whip the black men and women too but it was mostly the men they watched and heap of it was for stealing. folks was hungry. couldn't help stealin if they seed anything. i seed heap of folks having a mighty hard time after the war in them restruction (reconstruction) days. i was lucky. "my daughter would do mo than she do fo me but she is a large woman and had both her legs broke. they hurt her so bad it is hard fo her to do much. she good as she can be to everybody. the welfare give three of us $ . a month (daughter, husband, and mollie). we mighty glad to get that. we sho is. i am willin to work if i could get work i could do. that's my worst trouble. like i tell you, i can nurse and wash dishes if i could get the jobs. "i don't see much of the real young folks. i don't know what they are doing much. if a fellow is able he ought to be able to do good now if he can get out and go hunt up work fo himself. that the way it look like. i don't know." interviewer: thomas elmore lucy person interviewed: sam scott, russellville, arkansas age: "hello dar, mistah l----! don' you dare pass by widout speakin' to dis old niggah friend of yo' chil'hood! no suh! yuh can't git too big to speak to me! "reckon you've seen about all dar is to see in de worl' since i seen you, ain't you? well, mos' all de old-time niggahs and whites is both gone now. i was born on de twentieth of july, . count up--dat makes me (born ), don't it? my daddy's name was sam, same as mine, and mammy's was mollie. dey was slaves on de plantation of capt. scott--yes suh, capt. john r. homer scott--at dover. my name is sam, same as my father's, of course. everybody in de old days knowed sam scott. my father died in slavery times, but mother lived several years after. "no, i never did dance, but i sure could play baseball and make de home runs! my main hobby, as you calls it, was de show business. you remember de niggah minstrels we used to put on. i was always stage manager and could sing baritone a little. ed williamson and tom nick was de principal dancers, and tom would make up all de plays. what? stole a unifawm coat of yours? why, i never knowed tom to do anything like that! anyway, he was a good-hearted niggah--but you dunno what he might do. yes, i still takes out a show occasionally to de towns around pope and yell and johnson counties, and folks treat us mighty fine. big crowds--played to $ . clear money at clarksville. usually take about eight and ten in our comp'ny, boys and gals--and we give em a real hot minstrel show. "de old show days? never kin forgit em! i was stage manager of de old opery house here, you remember, for ten years, and worked around de old printin' office downstairs for seven years. no, i don't mean stage manager--i mean property man--yes, had to rustle de props. and did we have road shows dem days! richards & pringle's georgia minstrels, de nashville students, lyman twins, barlow brothers minstrels, and--oh, ever so many more--yes, daisy, de missouri girl, wid fred raymond. never kin forgit old black billy kersands, wid his mouf a mile wide! "de songs we used to sing in old days when i was a kid after de war wasn't no purtier dan what we used to sing wid our own minstrel show when we was at our best twenty-five and thirty years ago; songs like 'jungletown,' 'red wing,' and 'mammy's li'l alabama coon.' our circuit used to be around holla bend, dover, danville, ola, charleston, nigger ridge, out from pottsville, and we usually starred off at the old opery house in russellville, of course. "i been married, but ain't married now. we couldn't git along somehow. yes suh, i been right here workin' stiddy for a long time. been janitor at two or three places same time; was janitor of de senior high school here for twenty-two years, and at de bank of russellville twenty-nine years. "folks always been mighty nice to me--and no slave ever had a finer master dan old captain scott. "in de old show days de manager of de opery always said. 'let de niggers see de show,' and sometimes de house was half full of colored folks--white folks on one side de house and niggahs on de other--and dere never was any disturbance of any kind. ain't no sich good times now as we had in de old road show days. no suh!" note: sam scott, who has been personally known to the interviewer for many years, is above the average of the race for integrity and truthfulness. his statement that he was born a few years after slavery and that his father died during slavery was not questioned the matter being a delicate personal affair and of no special moment. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: cora scroggins, clarendon, arkansas age: or "my mother was born in spring hill, tennessee and brought to arkansas by her master. her name was margaret. dr. and mrs. porter brought my mother to batesville, arkansas when she was eight years old and raised her. she was very light. she had long straight hair but was mixed with white. she never knew much about her parents or people. "mr. william brook (white) came to de valls bluff from tennessee and brought her sister soon after the war. she was a very black woman. "dr. porter had a family. one of their daughters was mrs. mattie long, another mrs. willie bowens. there were others. they were all fine to my mother. she married in dr. porter's home. mrs. porter had learnt her to sew. my father was a mechanic. my mother sewed for both black and white. she was a fine dressmaker. she had eight children and raised six of us up grown. "my father was a tall rawbony brown man. his mother was an indian squaw. she lived to be one hundred seven years old. she lived about with her children. the white folks all called her 'aunt matildy' tucker. she was a small woman, long hair and high cheek bones. she wore a shawl big as a sheet purty nigh all time and smoked a pipe. i was born in batesville. "my mother spoke of her one long journey on the steamboat and stagecoach. that was when she was brought to arkansas. it made a memorable picture in her mind. "dr. and mrs. porter told her she was free and she could go or stay. and she had nowheres to go and she had always lived with them white folks. she never did like black folks' ways and she raised us near like she was raised as she could. "she used to tell us how funny they dressed and how they rode at night all through the country. she seen them and she could name men acted as ku kluxes but they never bothered her and she wasn't afraid of them. "i cooked all my life till i got disabled. i never had a child. i wish i had a girl. i've been considered a fine cook all of my life." circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--bernice bowden address-- oak street, pine bluff, arkansas date--november , subject--ex-slaves [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] . name and address of informant--sarah sexton, route , box , pine bluff . date and time of interview--november , , : a.m. . place of interview--route , box , pine bluff, arkansas . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant--georgia caldwell, route , box , pine bluff, arkansas. . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you--none. . description of room, house, surroundings, etc.--frame house, front porch with two swings. fence around yard. chinaberry tree and tree of paradise, coxcomb in yard. southeast of norton-wheeler stave mill just off highway . text of interview "prewitt tiller bought my mother and i belonged to young master. in slavery i was a good-sized-young girl, mama said. big enough to put the table cloths on the best i could. after freedom i did all the cookin' and milkin' and washin'. "now listen, this young master was prewitt's son. "grandpa's name was ned peeples and grandma was sally peeples. my mother was dorcas. well, my papa, i ain't never seed him but his name was josh allen. you see, they just sold 'em around. that's what i'm talkin' about--they went by the name of their owners. "i'm seventy-eight or seventy-nine or eighty. that's what the insurance man got me up. "i been in a car wreck and i had high blood pressure and a stroke all at once. and that wreck, the doctor said it cracked my skull. till now, i ain't got no remembrance. "you know how long i went to school? three days. no ma'm i had to work, darlin'. "i was born down here on saline river at selma. i done forgot what month." "what kinda work have i done? oh, honey, i done farmed myself to death, darlin'. you know buck couch down here at noble lake? well, i hoped pick out eight bales of cotton for him. "i wish i had the dollars i had workin' for r.a. pickens down here at walnut lake. yes, honey, i farmed for him bout fifteen or twenty years steady. "and he sure was nice and he was mischievous. he called all of us his chillun. he use to say, 'now you must mind your papa!' and we'd say 'now mr. pickens, you know you ain't got no nigger chillun'. he use to say to me 'sallie, you is a good woman but you ain't got no sense'. them was fine white folks. "honey, these white folks round here what knows me, knows they ain't a lazy bone in my body. "i'se cooked and washed and ironed and i'se housecleaned. yes'm, i certainly was a good cook. "i belongs to the palestine baptist church. yes ma'm. i don't know what i'd do if twasn't for the good master. i talks to him all the time. "i goes to this here government school. a man teaches it. i don't know what his name is, we just calls him professor. "well, chile, i'll tell you the truf. these young folks is done gone. and some o' these white headed women goes up here truckin'. it's a sin and a shame. i don't know what's gwine come of 'em." interviewer's comment this woman lives with her daughter angelina moore who owns her home. mother and daughter both attend government school. both were neatly dressed. the day was warm so we sat on the front porch during the interview. personal history of informant . ancestry--grandfather, ned peeples; grandmother, sally peeples; mother, dorcas peeples; father, josh allen. . place and date of birth--on saline river, selma, arkansas. no date. . family--two daughters and granddaughter. . places lived in, with dates--desha county, walnut lake, noble lake, (arkansas) poplar bluff, missouri. no dates. . education, with dates--three days, "after freedom". attends government school now. . occupations and accomplishments, with dates--farmwork, cooking, laundry work until . . special skills and interests--cooking. . community and religious activities--member of palestine baptist church. . description of informant--medium height, plump, light complexion and gray hair. . other points gained in interview--injured in auto wreck seven years ago. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: roberta shaver, west memphis, arkansas age: "i was born close to natchez, mississippi. grandma was sold at wickerson county, mississippi. they took her in a wagon to jackson, tennessee. she was mother of two children. they took them. she was part indian. she was a farm woman. her name was dicy jackson. they sold her away from the jacksons to dobbins. she was a house woman in jackson, tennessee. she said they was good to her in tennessee. grandma never was hit a lick in slavery. grandpa was whooped a time or two. he run off to the woods for weeks and come back starved. he tended to the stock and drove master clayton around. he was carriage driver when they wanted to go places. "after freedom grandma set out to get back to grandpa. walked and rode too i reckon. she brought her children back. after a absence of five years she and grandpa went back together. they met at natchez, mississippi. mama was born after freedom. "the way grandma said she was sold was, a strange man come there one day and the master had certain ones he would sell stand in a line and this strange man picked out the ones he wanted and had them get their belongings and put them in the wagon and took them on off. she never seen grandpa for five years." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mary shaw palm street, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: laundry work "i was born in bolivar county, mississippi. my mother didn't know how old i was but after freedom i went by miss ann blanchet's--that was my mother's old missis--and she said i was born in . "but i don't know nothin' 'bout slavery or the war. i was born and bred in the desert and my mother said it was a long time after freedom 'fore she knowed anything about it. she said there was just lots of the folks said, to their knowin', they had been free three years 'fore they knowed anything about it. "my husband brought me to arkansas when i was and i been workin' in the same family, captain jeter's family, ever since-forty odd years. "i always have worked hard. i've had the flu only reason i'm sittin' here now. if i had to sit and hold my hands very long, they'd have to take me to little rock. "i been married twice. my last husband was sam shaw. he was a great whiskey man and when whiskey went out, he went to bootleggin' and they got behind him and he left. "he wrote me once and said if i'd borrow some money on my home and send it to him, he'd come back. i wrote and told him just like i'm tellin' you that after i had worked night and day to pay for this house while he was off tellin' some other woman lies just like he told me, i wasn't goin' to send him money. so i ain't seen him since. "i ain't never been to school much. when schools got numerous in mississippi they had me behind a plow handle. "mrs. jeter made me mad once and i quit. my first husband was a porter on the railroad and i got on the train and went to memphis with him. "one time he come back from a trip to pine bluff and handed me a little package. i opened it and it was a note from mrs. jeter and a piece of corn bread. she said, 'now, mary, you see what i've had to eat. i want you to come back.' so i went back and stayed 'til she died. and now i'm workin' for her daughter, mrs. mcewen. mrs. jeter used to say, 'mary, i know you're not a arkansas woman 'cause you ain't got a lazy bone in your body.'" interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: violet shaw, west memphis, arkansas age: "i heard grandma katie williams say she was put up on a high stump and auctioned off. she told how great-grandma cried and cried and never seen her no more. grandma come from oakland, tennessee to mississippi. grandma took the two young children and left the other two with great-grandma. they took her from her husband. she never seen none of them again. "after freedom she didn't know how to find them. she never could get trace of them. she tried. she never married no more. i was born at clarksdale, mississippi. i have seen tom pernell (white), the young master, come and spend the night with henry pernell. henry had once been tom's father's slave and carriage driver. i was too small to know the cause but i remember that several times mighty well. they fixed him up a clean bed by hisself. henry lived in town. but he might have been drunk. i never seen no misbehavior out of him. it was strange to me to see that. "freedom--aunt mariah jackson was freed at dublin, mississippi. she said she was out in the field working. a great big white man come, jumped up on a log and shouted, 'freedom! freedom!' they let the log they was toting down; six, three on a side, had holt of a hand stick toting a long heavy log. they was clearing up new ground. he told them they was free. they went to the house. they cooked and et and thanked god. some got down and prayed, some sung. they had a time that day. they got the banjo and fiddle and set out playing. some got in the big road just walking. she said they had a time that day." texarkana district folklore subjects name of interviewer: cecil copeland subject: ex-slave this information given by: frederick shelton place of residence: dump section, texarkana, arkansas occupation: none age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] in an humble cabin on the outskirts of the city lives a venerable old negro ex-slave. although bent with rheumatism and age, he still retains his mental faculties to a remarkable degree. an inquiry as to his health elicited the following reply: "i'se a willful mind but a weak body. just like an old tree--de limbs are withered and almost dead. i'se been here a long tins, ovah years, and am ready to go any time de good lawd says de word. dat's de trouble wid de people nowadays--dey ain't prepared. back when i wuz a young man, dey wuzn 't so much meaness, and such goings on as dey are nowadays. de young-peple know as much as de old folks. yas, suh, de worl' am goin' to de dogs." asked about life in pioneer days, the old negro replied; "we had lots ob good times in dem days. log rollings wuz lots ob fun to me as i wuz strong den, an' i could "show off" befo' de odder niggers. dey wuzn't much rollin' to it, mostly carrying. i mind de time when i lifted de end ob a log, an' four men tried at different times to lift de odder, but dey couldn't do it. three of dese men went to an early grave from trying to lift dis log--all tore up inside. maybe dat's whut ails me. "you had to be careful den, when traveling through de woods, or de varmints would git you, especially at night. i mind de time when a negro wuz comin' through de woods one nite, when he seed a panther about to spring on him. "dis nigger dropped in his tracks lack he wuz dead. de panther came up to him and smelled ob him, but de nigger held his breath, and de panther thought he wuz dead. de panther covered him wid leaves an' went about one hundred yards into de woods to call his friends to de feast. no sooner had he left when de nigger jumped up and climbed a tree, first rutting an old chunk of wood in de place where he wuz buried. de nigger could hear de panther out in de woods as he called for his friends, and pretty soon, here dey come, about five of 'em. slowly circling aroun' de place where de nigger had been, all of a sudden dey all jumped. findin' nothin' but de old chunk of wood, dem panthers got real mad. wid angry growls, dey jumped on de one whut had called dem, and ate him up." this old negro reserves all of the heroic roles for others. asked if he had had any experience with the "varmints", as he termed them he said: "yas, suh. de worst scared i ever got wuz frum a wolf. walkin' down a trail one day, i spied a wolf not more than ten feet away. man, i wuz so scared dat i seemed to freeze in my tracks, and couldn't move. i tried to holler but all i could do wuz croak. den i tried to whistle but de only sound i could make wuz a hiss. after standing for whut seemed hours, wid his ears sticking straight up, de wolf finally turned around and trotted away." the conversation drifted to other topics, and finally to ghosts and spirits. the old negro said he had never seen a ghost, and didn't believe in those things. no sooner had he said this when his wife, who had been listening in on the conversation from the inside of the door exclaimed: "i does! seein' is believin' aint it? well suh, about two years ago de negro dat lived next door died. a few weeks after he died i wuz settin' out on de porch when i see dis negro come out of de house, and walk slowly to de corner of mah yard where he vanished into de air. a few nights later de same thing happened again. no suh, dat nigger didn't go to heaven and he didn't go to hell. he's still around heah. he wuz a wicked negro and wuz scared to go." circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] . name and address of informant--laura shelton, pulaski street, little rock, arkansas. . date and time of interview interview-- . place of interview-- pulaski street, little rock, arkansas. . name and address of person, if any who put you in touch with informant-- . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you-- description of room, house, surroundings, etc.-- personal history of informant . ancestry--mother, susan barnett; father, ben bearden; grandfather, harvey barnett. . place and date of birth--arkansas, . family--three children. . education, with dates-- . places lived in with dates--jerome, arkansas and little rock. no dates. . occupations and accomplishments, with dates--farmed, wash and iron. . special skills and interests-- . community and religious activities--belongs to baptist church. . description of informant-- . other points gained in interview-- text of interview (unedited) "my mother used to sit down and talk to us and tell us about slavery. if she had died when i was young i wouldn't have known much. but by her living till i was old, i learned a lot. "my mother's old master was tom barnett, so she said. no, not 'so she said' because i have seed him. he give her her age and all at that time. i have it in my bible. he said that she was twelve years old the christmas before the surrender. the surrender was in may, wasn't it? "my mother's name was susan bearden. she married ben bearden. she worked in tom barnett's house. she milked and churned and 'tended to the children and all such as that. he never allowed her to go to the field. neither her mother, my grandmother. she was the cook. my mother's name before she married was susan barnett. "an old colored lady that they had there seed after the colored children. she looked after my mother too. she was so old she couldn't do nothin' so they had her to look after the children. my grandmother was kept busy because she had the white folks to cook for and she had all the colored folks to cook for too. "there is an old lady down on spring street that can give you a lot of information about slavery times. "a boy was telling her that somebody was going 'round asking questions about slavery and she said she wished he would come and see her. "my mother never had any chance to go to school before freedom and she never had any chance to go afterwards because she didn't have any money. when they turned them loose the white folks didn't give 'em anything, so they had to work. they didn't allow them to pick up a piece of paper in slave time for fear they would learn. "my mother remembered the pateroles. she said they used to catch and whip the colored men and women when they would get out. "my mother's old master was the one that told mama she was free. he told her she was free as he was. after they learned that they were free, they stayed on till christmas. "after christmas, they went to another plantation. my gran'pa, he come and got them all to come. my gran'pa's name was harvey barnett. his old master's son had married and he had been staying with him. that made him be on another place. there was a good many of the children in my grandmother's family. mama had a sister named lucy, one named lethe, one named caroline, one named annie, and one named jane. she had two boys--one named jack, and one named barnett. she had another sister named--i don't remember her name. "after freedom, we sharecropped for a number of years up until my father died. he died about twenty-four years ago. "after that mama washed and ironed for about ten or twelve years. then she got too old to work and we took care of her. my mother died last march on the ninth day. she always had good health for an old lady. never got so she couldn't get up and do her light work such as dress herself, cooking, sweeping, and so on. she would even do her own washing and ironing if we would let her. she would hide from us and pick cotton till we stopped her. "she was sick only one week and the doctor said she died of old age. he said it was just her time. she didn't have nothin' the matter with her but jus' old age he said so far as he could find. dr. fletcher was our doctor. she died in jerome, arkansas about sixteen miles from the louisiana line. leastwise, they tell me it's about sixteen miles from the line. she always told us that she had her business fixed with the lord and that when she taken sick, it wouldn't be long. and sure 'nough, it wasn't. "i farmed until my mother and brother died. then i came up here with my sister as i had no children living. i jus' wash and iron now whenever i can get somethin' to do. "i have been married once. i had three children. all of them are dead. my children are dead and my husband is dead. "i belong to the baptist church down on spring street. i always unite with the church whenever i go to a place. i don't care whether i stay there or not. "my mama's master was good as far as white folks generally be in slavery times. he never whipped my grandmother nor my mother. he was good to the field hands too. he never whipped them. he would feed them too. he had right smart of field hands but i don't know just how many. i don't think he ever sold any of his slaves. i think he come by them from his father because i have heard them say that his father told him before he died never to 'part with black mammy. that was what he called her. and he kept them altogether jus' like his father told him to. his father said, 'i you to keep all my negroes together and black mammy i don't want you let her be whipped because she nursed all of you.' she said she never was whipped 'cept once when she got a cockle berry up her nose and he got it out and gave her a little brushing--not as much as grandma would have given her. "he kept them all in good shoes and warm clothes and give them plenty to eat. so many of the slaves on other plantations didn't have half enough to eat and were half naked and barefooted all the time." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mahalia shores, marianna, arkansas age: "i was born in greene county, georgia. my owner was jim jackson. he bought my mother's father. she was raised on jim jackson's place. i rec'collect a right smart about slavery times. he made us dress up and let the nigger traders see what little niggers i got. we thought it was nice. what fine limbs we had. aunt judy--some called her 'big mamma'--lived down under the hill. she was old and seen after the children. the biggest children took care and nursed the little ones. on wednesday and saturday the cook made ginger cakes for the little children. the house girl called us. she was aunt teena's girl. aunt teena was a housemaid. see little niggers coming from every direction to get our cakes. "jim jackson's wife was named mariah. they lived in a big fine white house. when it was freedom a soldier come, brought a paper and massa jim was settin' on the porch. tom chapman was his overseer. they rung the big farm bell and had the oldest niggers stand in a line and us little ones in front so we could all see. tom chapman read the paper and stood by the soldier. he had two big plantations. massa jim got sick that day and vomited and vomited. he lived a week or two weeks. they sent for dr. ducham but he couldn't do him no good. he died. massa jim told them they could take the teams and go to town, all he ax of 'em was to feed and take care of 'em. every one of the grown folks went and left us at home. aunt judy seen 'bout us like she been doing all the time. they went over to greensboro to celebrate. they all come back. they was all ready fer their breakfastes. it was twelve miles from greensboro. then the next day massa jim or tom chapman, one called the grown folks to the house and told them, 'you can stay and i will pay you or you can go. i pay no more doctor bills. i don't feed you no more nor give you no more clothes.' some moved and some hired to him. some went to his father-in-law's place and some to his brothers' place and around. his wife was rich. she was dave butler's gal. no, i mean massa jim's wife--miss mariah. that big place was what her pa give her. massa jim had five hundred little niggers on that place and lots more on the big plantation. he had about two thousand little niggers. we went in droves is right. "i never went to a table in slavery time. we had our plates and cup and took it to the pot and they put some victuals in 'em, then we went and et where we pleased. we had all the meat we could eat and all the milk we could drink all the time. aunt teena sewed and grandma would weave cloth. they made white aprons. my hair was nice and old mistress would tell aunt judy to curl my hair. they rolled it up on cloth and on little light cobs. if they wet it, it would stay curled. "massa jim sold his niggers when he wanted to. he sold my grandpa and uncle steve. grandma wanted him to sell her and he wouldn't do it. i don't know what become of grandpa. after freedom uncle steve come back to us all. grandpa was crying. he come to our house and said he had to go. we never seen him no more. "some of the slaves wouldn't be whooped by tom chapman. i heard them say since i got grown he 'tacked 'em. it caused trouble. he couldn't whoop 'em then. old master whooped some of 'em. some would say, 'i take ten licks offen you and that is all.' then he would sell them the first chance. they would go to the woods if he beat them too much. he didn't abuse his niggers. he said his niggers was his property. aunt sarah tended to the cows and aunt clarisa raised geese, turkeys, chickens, ducks, and churned. "the ku klux come to our house, called uncle billy--that was my papa. they got him up out of bed. one man said, 'i ain't had no water since the battle of shiloah.' he had pa draw water till daybreaking. he had a horn he poured the water in. we was all scared half to death. next morning there was a branch from the well done run off. something took place about a well. uncle neel anderson and uncle cush dug wells for their living. they come after them. aunt mandy had a baby. they pitied her and uncle neel got so scared he run upstairs in his shirt tail and stuck his head in the cotton. they found him that way. uncle cush said, 'come on, neel, and go with me.' they whooped uncle cush in his shirt tail. if you didn't open the door they would break it in. "i worked in the field in georgia and arkansas both. i cooked since i was twelve years old. i married when i was twenty years old. i cooked here in marianna eighteen years and i have cooked three sunday dinners on saturday and sunday together. i would make three dollars when i done that. i had five children and i raised one boy. i washed and ironed. i get some help from the welfare but i saved and my good old man saved so we would have plenty when we got old. folks burnt up two of my houses. i got three more not fitten to live in till they are covered. i got good property in stuttgart but couldn't pay the tax on it and 'bout to loose it. i tried to get a loan and never could. we niggers have a hard time." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: rosa simmons west th street, pine bluff, arkansas age: ? "yes mam, i was here during that civil war. i was fifteen years old then. i was born in tennessee. "my boss man carried all the best hands to texas and carried the scrub hands across cypress creek here in arkansas, and that's where i come. i was fifteen when the yankees come in on my boss man's place, so you know now i ain't no baby. i thank god that he left me here to get old. "before the war. i nussed two babies--my mistress' baby and her sister's baby. yes'm we had a good master and mistress. we didn't suffer for nothin' and we didn't have no overseer over us. colonel maples was my master. no'm he wasn't no soldier--that was the name his mother give him. "when my folks first come to arkansas we lived in a cabin that just had a balin' sack hangin' in the door and one night a bear come in and my brother and i broke a board off the side and fell right out in the cane. we all hollered so some folks come down and shot the bear. i ain't never seed a bear before and i didn't know what it was. "i 'member when the yankees come to my boss man's place. they wanted to shake hands but he was scared to death and wouldn't do it. another time the yankees captured him and kept him three months. they took his horse and he finally come home on a mule that didn't have but three legs. i guess the yankees give him the mule. he turned the old mule loose and said he never wanted to see another yankee. if he saw any kind of a white man comin' down the road he run in the house and hid between the feather bed and the mattress. "one time the yankees come and drunk the sweet milk and took all the butter, turkeys and hogs and then broke the powder horn against the maple tree. "the cook say 'i'm gwine tell marse joe you drink all this milk.' the yankees say, 'let the damn fool alone--here we are tryin' to free her and she ain't got no sense.' they said there wouldn't be any more hard times after the war. "but i sure have seen some hard times. i have washed and cooked and done 'bout everything. "when i get up in the morning i got the limburger (lumbago) in my back so i ain't able to do much. sometimes i have something to eat and sometimes i don't." mrs. carol graham mrs. mildred thompson el dorado district fannie sims. customs. "how ole is ah? ise about . yes'm ah wuz live durin de wah. mah ole moster wuz mistuh jake dumas we lived near de ouachita rivuh bout five miles fum el dorado landin. ah membush dat we washed at de spring way, way fum de house. what dat yo say? does ah know ca'line. ca'line, lawsy, me yes. ca'line washington we use tuh call huh, she wuz one uv mr. dumas niggers. we washed fuh de soldiers. had tuh carry day clo'es tuh dem aftuh dark. me an ca'line had tuh carry dem. we had tuh hide de horse tuh keep de soldiers fum gittin him. when we would take de horse tuh de plum orchard we would stay dah all day to dark wid "blackie". dat wuz de horse's name. mah job mostly wuz tuh watch de chillun an feed mah mistress chickens. "ah kin recollect when dey took us an started tuh texas an got as fur as el dorado and found out dat us niggers wuz free. we went back an grandma's mistress's son took us home wid him fuh stretches and stretches. we lived on de ole camden road. "in mah days ah've done plenty uv work but ah don' do nothing now but piece quilts. dat's whut ah've been doing fuh mah white fokes since ah been heah. ah jes finished piecing and quiltin two uv em. de glove[tr:?] and de begger. mah husban' been dead years dis pas' august. no, ah counts is by dose twins ah raised. one uv em lives in dis heah place right heah. ah aint much count now. sometime mah laig gets so big ah jes had tuh sloop mah foot erlong." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: jerry sims (indian and negro) brinkley, arkansas age: born "i was born in close to natchez, mississippi. chief sims was my grandpa. he was indian, full blood. his wife was a choctaw indian. grandpa was a small red indian. they kept my pa hid out with stock nearly all time of the civil war. both my mas' parents was nearly all indian too but they was mixed. i'm more indian than anything else. i heard pa talk about staying in the cane brakes. mighty few cane brakes to be found now. i come with my grandpa and grandma to arkansas when i was five years old. "my ma belong to quill and sely whitaker. i et and slept with hattie and bud and rob whitaker. quill whitaker was a union surgeon in the civil war. "i don't think any of my folks was ever sold. they was of a porer class and had to have a living and sorter become slaves for a living. i never heard ma say how she got in bondage. pa stayed with john rob bout like a slave. "i am a farmer. i am not on the pwa. times for me is hard. you see some has so much and others hardly can live atall. "it is not for me to say about the young generation. i have mighty little to do with any of them. "i have voted but not lately. i never did understand voting." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: victoria sims, helena, arkansas age: "i was born in limestone county, alabama. it was on a river. where i was born they called it elks mouth. our owners was frank martin and liza martin. they raised papa. their daughter aired (heired) him. her name was miss (mrs.) betty hansey. papa's name was ed martin. i stood on a stool and churned for papa's young mistress. the churn was tall as i was. i loved milk so good and they had plenty of it--all kinds. soon as ever i get through, they take up the butter. i'd set 'round till they got it worked up so i could get a piece of bread and fresh butter and a big cup of that fresh milk. they always fixed it for me. "mama was minthy martin. she cooked on another place. she was a nurse. her papa belong to one person and her mother to somebody else. mama was minthy bridgeforth but i don't have her owner's name. i guess she was sold. i heard her say the bridgeforth's was good to her. some white man whooped on her once. i never heard her say much about it. papa's owners was good to him. they was crazy about him. i knowed papa's owners the best and i lived there heap the most. i was born a slave but i don't know who i belong to. i've studied that over myself. i used to go back to see papa's owners. they owned lots of slaves and lots of land. papa done a lot of different things. he fed and farmed and cleaned off the yards and slopped the pigs. he done what they said do, well as i can recollect. i wasn't with mama till after freedom. mama said her white folks was treated mighty mean during the war. once the soldiers come and mama was so scared she took the baby and run got in the cellar. they throwed out everything they had to eat. they took off barrels of things to eat and left them on starvation. one soldier come one time and wanted mama to go to the camps. she was scared not to go, scared he'd shoot her down. she told him she'd go the next day soon as she could get up her things and tell her folks she had gone. he agreed to that. soon as he left she and some other young women on the place put out to the cane brakes and caves. she said they nearly starved. the white folks sent them baskets of victuals several times. mama said she had some pretty beads she wore. somebody had made her a present of them. she loved 'em. i think she said they was red. mama's mistress told her to hide her beads, the soldiers would take them. she hid them up in the loft of their house on a nail. one day a gang come scouting and they rummaged the whole house and place. when the soldiers left she thought about her beads and went to see and they was gone. she cried and cried about them. that was before she went to the canebrakes. "when freedom come on, the owners told them they was free. they didn't leave and then they made a way for them to stay on. they stayed on. "i was grown when we come to this state but we lived in tennessee a few years. mama had had nine children by that time. all was dead, but us two girls and my brother. we come to arkansas with our parents. we heard the land was new and rich. i wasn't married then. "i've worked hard in the field all my life till last year or so. i still do work. "times is tough here i tell you. i get a little help, six dollars. "some of the young folks won't work, some not able to work. if anybody saving a thing i don't hear about it." interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: virginia sims n. magnolia pine bluff, ark. age: occupation: retired midwife "i was born in . i was twenty when peace was declared. i was born in virginia. yes ma'am, but i was sold, put up on a stump just like you sell hogs to the highest speculator. i was sold with my mother from a man named joe poindexter and bought by tom murphy and brought to arkansas. my god, every murphy round here knows me. yes'm, my mother and me was sold. papa wasn't sold, but he come here the second year after surrender. "i was old enough to spin twelve cuts a day--had it to do. and i could weave cloth just like they do now. "had seven brothers and i'm the onliest girl. "i can recollect when miss mary poindexter died. they said i was two. "my mistis in arkansas was mrs. susan murphy. that was out on the plantation, we didn't live in no city--my god, no! "the way my people acts now, they looks foolish. i never heard a person curse till i come up here. i was a grown young lady nineteen years old when our master lowed us to get out and cote. you better not. the first husband i married i was nineteen goin' on twenty. my husband fought on the southern side. his master sent him as a substitute. "my master put good clothes on me, i'd say. 'master. i wants a dress like so and so, and i wants a pair of shoes.' yes ma'am, and he got em for me. i was forty-three and married to a nigger fore i knowed what twas to cry for underwear. "i member they was a white man called dunk hill and he said, 'virginia, who freed the niggers?' i said, 'god freed the niggers.' he said, 'now, virginia, you goin' be just as free as i am some day!' "general shelby's troops was comin' on this side the ribber. that's one time i was scared. never seed so many men in my life. they wanted something to eat. mama cooked all night. they was nine hundred and somethin'. i toted canteens all night long. "i member when they had that marks mill battle. my husband was there and he sent word for me to come cause he had the measles and they had went in on him. i had to put on boots and wade mud. young folks now ain't got no sense. i see so many folks now with such dull understanding. marks mill was the onliest part of the war i was in. "general shelby and captain blank, they whetted their swords together when peace was declared. captain said, 'general, i'm not crazy and neither am i a coward. i looked up and seem like a man was comin' out the clouds, and so i'm goin' to surrender.' "them cavalry men--they'd say, 'ride!' and how they'd go. "i seen em when they was enlistin'. said they was goin' to whip the yankees and be back for breakfast in the morning. "marse ben was goin' and miss susan say, 'virginia, if you think he ain't goin' come back you ought to kiss him goodbye.' i said, 'i ain't goin' to kiss no white man.' "miss fanny went up the ladder and sot rite on the roof and watched the soldiers goin' by. yes'm. old master whipped me with a little peach stick cause i let frankie--we called her frankie--go up the ladder. i said i couldn't stop her cause she said if i told her papa, she and becky goin' to whip me. he whipped miss fanny. old miss come in and say, 'ain't you goin' whip this nigger?' she was mean as the devil. oh, god, yes. she so mean she didn't know what to do. but old master kep her down. you know some of these redheaded women, they just as devilish as they can be. we had some neighbors, mrs. davis and mrs. daniels and old miss would be out there on the lawn quarrelin' till it was just like a fog. us niggers would be out there listenin'. "but i was always treated good. you know if i had been beat over the head i couldn't recollect things now. my head ain't been cracked up. nother thing. i always been easy controlled. "i never went to school a day. after we was freed we stayed right on the murphy place. they paid us and we worked on the shares. that's the reason i say i done better when i was a slave." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: senya singfield w. second avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in washington, virginia right at the foot of the blue ridge mountains. my mother was sold when i was a babe in her arms. she was sold three times. i know one time when she had four children she was sold and one of my brothers was sold away unbeknownst to her. her old master sold her away from her mistress. she was a cook and never was mistreated. "i ain't never been to school. when i got big enough, my mother was a widow and i had to start out and make a living. i've always been a cook. used to keep a boarding house, up until late years. i've washed and ironed, sewed a right smart and quilted quilts. i've done anything i could to turn an honest living. oh i've been through it but i'm still here. i've been a widow over forty years. "i think the folks nowdays are about run out. they are goin' too fast. when i was comin' up, i had to have some manners. my mother didn't low me to 'spute nobody." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: peggy sloan howard street, little rock, arkansas age: about , or more occupation: farming "i was born in arkansas in tulip, in dallas county i think it is, isn't it? "charlotte evans was mother's name and my father's name was lige evans. gran'daddy david was my mother's father, and cheyney was my mother's mother. "mr. johnnie sumner was the name of my young master, and the old man was mr. judge sumner. the old people are all dead now. mr. judge sumner was johnnie sumner's father. me and mr. johnnie suckled together. mr. johnnie came to fordyce they say looking for the old slaves. i didn't know about it then. i never would know him now. that is been so long ago. i sure would like to see 'im. "my mother ain't told me much about herself in slave times. she was a nurse. she lived in a log cabin. you know they had cabins for all of them. the colored lived in log houses. the white people had good houses. them houses was warmer than these what they got now. "my grandma could cut a man's frock-tail coat. these young people don't know nothin' 'bout that. grandma was a milliner. she could make anything you used a needle to make. "lige evans was the name my father took after the surrender. he wasn't named that before the surrender--in the olden times. my mother had fifteen children. she was the largest woman you ever seen. she weighed four hundred pound. she was young master johnnie's nurse. mr. johnnie said he wanted to come and see me. i heard he lives way on the other side of argenta somewheres. "i was my mama's seventh girl, and i got a seventh girl living. i had fifteen children. my mother's children were all born before the surrender. "mr. judge sumner and his son were both good men. they never whipped their slaves. "they didn't feed like they do now. i et corn bread then, and i eat it now. some people say they don't. they would give them biscuits on sundays. they had a cook to cook for the hands. she got all their meals for them. "they had a woman to look after the little colored children, and they had one to look after the white children. my mother was a nurse for the white children. my mother didn't have nothing to do with the colored children. "i didn't never have no trouble with the pateroles. sometimes they would come down the lane running the horses. when i would hear them, i would run and git under the bed. i was the scaredest soul you ever seen. i think that's about all i can remember. "i was the mother of fifteen children. i had one set of twins, a boy and a girl. the doctor told me you never raise a boy and a girl twin. my boy is dead. all of my children are dead but two. "i was raised on the farm. i want a few acres of ground now so bad. "i never was married but once. my husband's name was david sloan. i don't know exactly how long he and me were married. it was way over twenty years. my license got burnt up. "you know i couldn't be nothin' but a christian." interviewer's comment peggy sloan's memory is going. she is not certain of the number of children her mother had although she knows there were more than seven because she was the seventh. she remembers nothing about her age, but she knows definitely that all of her mother's children were born before the war--that is before the end of the war. since the war ended seventy-three years ago and she was the seventh child with possibly seven behind her, i feel that she could not be younger than eighty. she remembers definitely running at the approach of men she calls pateroles during "slavery time." her mind may be fading, but it is a long way from gone. she questioned me closely about my reason for getting statements from her. she had to be definitely satisfied before the story could be gotten. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: arzella smallwood hazen r.f.d., green grove, arkansas age: doesn't know exact age "i was born about eight miles from williston, south carolina. after freedom my mother married lee ballinger and she had six children. he died when i was real small. my mother was named hester mccrary. old master mccrary bought grandma and my mother in virginia. one sister my mother never did run across after freedom. she was older and sold to other people. i think at freedom my mother left and i think grandma did too. my grandpa was half indian, but i never did see him to remember what he looked like. our young master is a doctor. he waited on my mother before she died. grandma was blind and she lived with us. our young master may still be living. old mistress was named sylvania and she sent for my mother to come wait on her when she got sick to die. i think they had pretty fair treatment there. my mother was to be a house girl and cook. i think grandma was a cook and field woman both. "i heard them say the white folks took them to church to learn to pray, then they didn't allow them to pray for freedom. but i don't think they wanted freedom. after they was set free they died up so scand'lous. grandma said they had to work harder. my mother brought a good price because she was real light color and sharp to learn. she had six children and we was all darker than she was a whole lots. she and grandma was both good on giving advice. seem like they could see how things would turn out every time. "i married a man with a roving nature. we come here. he left me, come back for me to look after before he died. i married again. i left him. he told me how i could do five washings a week and take care of us both. i didn't aim to do it. i mighter got some washings but i didn't aim to keep him. "i get a little commodities along to help out. i'm picking berries now twenty-five cents a gallon for the first picking. fifteen and twenty cents is the regular prices. "i haven't got children and i don't know what they ought to do. i reckon they do the best they can. "times is hard on me. it takes me all the time to make a living." pine bluff district folklore subjects name of interviewer: martin & barker subject: negro customs this information given by: sarah smiley (colored) place of residence: humphrey, arkansas age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] i was born the th of may, . my home was in charleston, s.c. i was not a slave, but my parents were. my mother was a seamstress and my father, edward barnewill, was butler for their white folks. i looks the door at sundown, and me and god are all by ourselves, and i am not afraid. i came to sherrill when i was a schoolgirl, and married when i was . lived here after i was married. taught school before i was married. had seven children by my first husband. my three husbands were ike williams, eli treadvan, and calvin smiley. when asked about her books standing on her shelves--namely golden gems, arithmetic, and the bible, also a blue back speller--said she just loved her books. young folks of today don't love like they did in the olden days. now it is hot love, minute love, free love. when my first child was born, i begged the midwife not to cut me open to get the baby out. the midwife told me the same place it went in the same place it will come out. when my breasts began to grow (adolescence) i didn't want those bumps on me, and tied them down with wide rags. cures--i uses gasoline and cedar, soak it and rub on affected places for rheumatism. i believe that you must not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing. heaven is a place of rest. if we are faithful to god, you can ride death home. hell is below--also here on earth. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: andrew smith r.f.d., forrest city, arkansas age: "i was born after the surrender at oxford, mississippi. we belong to master jim smith. mother cooked and father worked in the field. he was on a average being good. they didn't trouble my mother as i recollect hearing 'em say but they whooped them in the field. pattyrollers chased papa in sometimes. i heard him talk about it but i couldn't tell what he said now. mama had two before freedom, then she married and had three children. he died. she married the second time and had two more children. that made seben in all. "she said her first marriage was pronounced (announced). my mother said their master refugeed them to texas till the year of the surrender. they didn't know nothing 'bout freedom till a while after they got back from texas. they stayed on that year and longer too not knowing 'bout freedom. my rickerliction is short. "frank houston was a neighbor of our'n. he lived on my folks' joining plantation close to houston, mississippi during slavery. during or before the war come on he put his money in a barrel--hogshead. they said it was gold and silver. i don't know. it might some been paper. he rolled the barrel down to the river. it was the tallahassee (?) river eighteen miles northeast of oxford, mississippi. he hid his barrel of money in the river. they hunted and hunted it and never could find it. it might sunk in the mud and quick sand. somebody might er hauled it out and stole it. the whole neighborhood hope him hunt it. they never did find it. i seen the old man and jim smith heaps of times. "i voted in mississippi. i couldn't read. they had a big fight in the country at midway church where we all voted. it was out a ways from oxford, mississippi. i never voted in arkansas. i pay poll tax. never 'lowed to vote. "i never went to school a day in my life. "i come to forrest city fifty-four years ago. married here. never had a child. now my wife dead. i farmed all my life. i bought a farm but they never let me have it. i never got it all paid out. they took it. "i get welfare help. i does some work. i'm nearly past hard work now." circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--carol n. graham address--rear west main street, el dorado, arkansas date--november , subject--ex-slaves [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] . name and address of informant--caroline smith, route , el dorado. (lives with negroes by name of green about mile from smith's crossing) . date and time of interview--november , , tuesday morning, : - : . place of interview--at the home of some negroes named green. . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant--had previously talked with caroline. . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you--mrs. ethel depriest, east miles street, el dorado. . description of room, house, surroundings, etc.--a typical negro farm house. personal history of informant . ancestry-- . place and date of birth--camden, arkansas? no date. . family--one child. . places lived in, with dates--camden and el dorado. no dates. . education, with dates-- . occupations and accomplishments, with dates--none . special skills and interests-- . community and religious activities-- . description of informant-- . other points gained in interview--this slave old enough to remember civil war. text of interview (unedited) "i first remembers living on the plantation of mr. jake dumas near el dorado landing. you know it's calion now. we lived up towards camden and it was there that my ma and pa was married and buried. i was a big girl durin' the war. my job was to card and spin. and i use to carry the children to school. when i would get to the school i would put the children off, git straddle and ride that horse home. when i would get there old mos would say ca'line did you run him? i'd say naw sir. then he'd say, 'oh, carryline put the horse in the lot and come out here. i'd say, 'master i didn't run that horse' but didn't do no good. he sure would whip me. i'd get down and roll. i would stomp and he would do the same. i wondered how he could tell i'd run that horse. but course he could cause that horse had the thumps (heart beating rapidly). "i remember seeing the soldiers come through during the war. they come by droves stealing horses, setting the cotton on fire and taking sumpin to eat, too. "yes, i does still member the songs we sung durin' the war but i've got the asthmy and ain't got much wind fur singin'. "you want to know the reason, you want to know the reason, you want to know the reason, i'll tell you why, we'll whip them yankees, whole hog or die." "hooray, hooray, hooray for the southern girl. hooray for the homespun dress the southern ladies wear. my homespun dress is plain i know, i glory in its name; hooray for the homespun dress the southern ladies wear." "i've got the asthmy honey and jest caint sing no more. "you asked 'bout my husband and chillun. i been married fo' times. my first man's name was dick hagler, the next frank bibby, the next henry harris and the last one was tom smith. that's where i get my name ca'line smith. i never did have but one daughter but she had sixteen chillun. she's daid now and mah granchillun is scattered. "i got the asthmy an jes don' feel like talkin' no more. long time ago when i was sick master always had a doctor to me now i have to hire one. and they always fed me good and clothed me but after i was free i would go round and work around to git a little sumpin to eat." interviewer: thomas elmore lucy person interviewed: caroline smith, russellville, arkansas age: "ca'line smith's my name and dey calls me 'aunt ca'line.' i was born about de year as i was about dis high (measuring) when de war broke out. i remembers de boys marching away in their grey uniforms just as plain. we chillen would watch dem as dey went away; we could see em as we peeped through de winders and de cracks in de walls. "i was born in mississippi close to columbus on de plantation of my master, john duncan. and he was a purty strict old master, sure, but sometimes he was kind to us. when we was set free he let us all go wherever we wanted to, but didn't pay us nothin'. "all de slaves that i remembers stayed on around in different parts of mississippi after de war and engaged in farmin', and workin' on roads and streets, and other public work. about forty years ago i come to pope county, arkansas wid my parents and has lived here ever' since. "i don't remember nothin' about de klu klux klan or if our folks was ever bothered wid em. "yes suh, i keeps workin' every day and likes to keep up my sewin'. plenty of it to do all de time--jest like i'm doin' today. my health is purty good ceptin' i has a sort of misery in my side. "i draws a pension of $ . a month, but i dunno who sends it. "i belongs to de adventist church, and i sure believes in always tellin' de trufe and nofin' but de trufe; we better tell de trufe here, for some of dese days we all gwine where nofin' but de trufe will be accepted. "no suh, i ain't never took any interest in politics and ain't never voted. "dese young'uns today is simply too much for me; i can't understand em, and i dunno which way dey headed. some few of em seems to have sound common sense, but--well, i just refuse to talk about em." interviewer: pernella anderson person interviewed: edmond smith d avenue el dorado, ark. age: ? "i was born in arcadia, louisiana a long, long time ago. now my work when i was a child was farmin'. i did not stay a child long, i been grown ever since i was fourteen. my father lived till i was eleven, and i thought since i was the oldest boy i could take his place of bossin', but my mother would take me down a button hole lower whenever i got too high. "before my papa died we had a good livin'. we lived with his mistress's daughter, and we thought we lived in heaven. my papa made all of the shoes and raised all of the cattle from which he got the hide. we raised all the wool to make our wool clothes and made all of the clothes we wore. and food--we did not know what it was to go to a store to buy. didn't have to do that. you see, people now living out of paper sacks. every time they get ready to cook it's go to the store. we old timers lived out of our smokehouse. "in there we had dried beef, cured pork, sugar from syrup, sweet potatoes, onions, irish potatoes, plenty of dried fruit and canned fruit, peanuts, hickory nuts, walnuts; eggs in the henhouse and chickens on the yard, cows in the pen and milk and butter in the house. "my mama even made our plow lines. she had a spinning wheel and you know how to spin?--you can make ropes for plow lines too. just twist the cotton and have it about six inches long and put it in the loom and let it go around and around. you keep puttin' the twisted cotton in the loom and step on the peddle and no sooner than done, that was worked in a rope. now, if you don't know what i am talking about it is useless for me to tell you. "after papa died that left no one to work but mama and i tell you time brought about a change. a house full of little children--we lived from hand to mouth. not enough corn to feed one mule. no syrup, no hogs, no cows. oh! we had a hard time. i remember hearing my mama many a night ask god to help her through the struggle with her children. the more my mama prayed the harder times got with her. wasn't no churches around so she had to sing and pray at home. the first sunday school i remember going to was in . i went to school and got as high as fifth grade, then i ran away from my mama. "just becaise i let old bad man overpower me i got grown and mannish. couldn't nobody tell me a thing. i would steal, i would fight, i would lie. i remember in i went to church--that was about the fourth time i had been to church. the preacher began preachin' and i went outdoors and cut the harness off of his mule and broke one of his buggy wheels. i went down in the woods and cut a cow just for meanness. i stole a gun, and i would shoot anytime and anywhere, and nobody bothered me because they was scared to. i stole chickens, turkeys and anything. "i got in trouble more times than a little, so the last time i got in trouble some white people got me out and i worked for them to pay my fine out. while working for them i made shoes. they taught me to do carpenter work. they taught me to paint; to paper; to cook; work in the field and do most anything. i came to my senses while working with those people and they made a man out of me. when i left there i was a first class carpenter. those white people was the cause of me getting independent. i didn't get no book sense, but if you get with some good white people, that will be worth more than an education." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: emma hulett smith; hazen, arkansas age: "i was the first colored baby born here or very near here. there was only three houses in this town (hazen). i think they muster been log houses. "my folks belong to dr. hazen. he brought families from tennessee. when the war broke out he took em to texas. then he brought em back here. when they was freed i heard my mother say they worked on for him and his boys (alex and jim hazen) and they paid them. he was good to them. they had er plenty always. after the war they lived in good log houses and he give em land and lumber for the church. same church we got cept a storm tore it down and this one built in place of it. he let em have a school. same place it stands now. my mother (mandy hulett) got a union pension till she died. she cooked at the first hotel in hazen for john lane. she washed and ironed till she died. we girls helped and we wash and iron all we can get now. none of us not on relief (fannie nor emma). i can't wash no more. my hands and arms swell up with rheumatism. i still iron all i can get. "the present conditions seems awful unsettled; wages low, prices high and work scarce at times. men can get work in the hay two months and bout two months work in the rice or pickin cotton, either one. then the work has played clean out till hay time next year. "how do they live? some of their _wifes_ cooks for white people and they eat all they make up soon as they get paid. only way they live." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: ervin e. smith ringo street, little rock, arkansas age: "i have been in this state for forty-nine years. i will be here fifty years on the fifteenth of december. "i was born in ebenezer township, york county, south carolina, on the twenty-ninth day of april, in . that makes me eighty-four years old on friday. i was born on good friday--on good friday at six o'clock in the morning. "i am telling you what i was instructed all of my life. my father, w.d. smith, and my mother, haria, told me these things. my mother carried a nickname, salina, all her life, but her real name was haria. "i'll tell you how they happened to keep such good records. we had a little advantage over the other people of that day. my father never got any school education, but his brothers instructed him--his half-brothers. they were white. they was good, too. i mean them brothers thought just as much of me as they did of anybody else. so my father got pretty good training. he got it from his brothers and that's how he learned to keep such good records. relatives "i am told my mother cooked for one family for forty-two years. her maiden name was haria harris. she was three-fourths white. she come from the indian tribe--old catawba indians. her own daddy was a white man, but her grand daddy on her mother's side was an indian. "i am told that the old fellow bought my mother when she was fifteen years old. finally he got hold of both my father and my mother. both of them put together didn't have half colored blood. he must have loved them a lot to work so hard to get them together. my father was half white, but his mother was a mulatto woman (interpreter's comment--this should make him a quadroon)[tr: sentence lined out.]; and my mother's great-grandmother was a colored woman. "i never knew much about race troubles. the best friend i ever had was an old white grandmother. i was carefully shielded from all unpleasant things. fort sumter "i was looking at the men when they were getting ready to get on the train to go to fort sumter. mr. john white, captain john white, i knew him personally. he was one of our neighbors. that was in ebenezer that he was one of our neighbors. the soldiers going to capture fort sumter caught the columbia and augusta train going to charleston. looked like to me there was ten thousand of them. john white was the captain and beauregard [hw: here gustave toutant beauregard.] was the general. "i didn't see the fighting because it was too far away. it was about eighty miles from us where they got on the train to fort sumter. they got on the train at rock hill. rock hill was a city--small city--real close to ebenezer. we lived near rock hill. they was adjoining towns. patrollers and good masters "the only patrollers i knew of was some that come on the place once and got hurt. my mother had a brother hobb and the patroller tried to whip him. hobb knocked all his front teeth out with a stick. ches[tr:?] wood was the name of the patroller. it was like it is now. there were certain white people who didn't allow any of their niggers to be whipped. i never seen a patroller on my place. i have heard of them in other places, but the only one to come on our place was the one uncle hobb beat up. he had to take it, because you couldn't put anything over on harris' plantation. my people was rich people. they didn't allow anybody to come on their places and interfere with then--their niggers. "i have heard my mother say that no white man ever struck her in her life. i have had uncles that were struck. two of them, and both of them killed the men that struck them. uncle saul killed edmund smith and uncle george killed ed mcgehee. uncle george's full white sister (his half-sister) sent him away and saved him. they electrocuted uncle saul--they executed him. "white men struck them and they wouldn't take it. they didn't do nothin' at all to hobb baron. he got to his boss and the white folks was 'fraid to come there after him. all of this was in slavery. my people ain't never had no trouble with anybody since freedom; white people would get mad with my uncles and try to do something to them, and they wouldn't take it. "there were three races in the neighborhood where i was raised--niggers, indians, and white folks. they never sent the indians out until when i was a grown man. they sent them over there to utah when it became a state. i had a lot of indian friends that went along at that time. "bad blood was mixed up there and you couldn't do nothing to anybody and get away with it. first pair of shoes "i can remember the first pair of shoes my uncle gave me. they had a little brass on the top of the toes to keep you from kicking them out and skinning them up. that was way back yonder in the fifties. bible and church in slave time "white people taught their niggers what bible they wanted them to know. "'who made you?' "'god.' "'why did he make you?' "'for his own glory.' "'why ought you to love god?' "'because he made me and takes care of me.' "that was all the bible they wanted you to learn. that, and just a few more things. i could state them all. education "in , everybody that was less than sixteen years old in south carolina had to go to school. the little fellows that had been slaves had to go to school, and they got some education. you will hardly find an old man from south carolina around my age who can't read and write. there was one hundred sixty pupils in my school. all boys. i never went to a mixed school--a school where they had boys and girls both. "the first school i attended was in ebenezer. i went to high school in macklenburg. miss sallie good and miss mattie train, elias hill, and david g. wallace--all of these were my teachers. they were all white except elias hill. he was the only colored teacher in that section of the country--at that time. "when i finished high school, i went to biddle university. biddle was a boys' school. it was in charlotte, north carolina. they had a girls' school in concord, north carolina. biddle is still running, but it has another name. dr. mattoon was president of biddle then and dr. darling was president of the girls' school. murders "the first murder ever i saw was violet harris killed warren fewell. it come over a family quarrel some way. they fell out over something. she was not related to him. it was done right at the fence at her gate. she cut him with a butcher knife--stuck him just once right through the heart. that is the first murder i ever saw. they were both colored. the war was just winding up. it happened in ebenezer. i don't recall that they punished her. "i have seen a white man killed by a white man, and i have seen a colored man killed by a colored man; but i have never seen a colored man killed by a white man or a white man killed by a colored man. i have seen them after they were killed, but i never seen the killing. i have seen both races killing their own, but i have never seen them killing across the races. "about fifty years ago, i saw a young man come in the church and kill another one. just come in and shot him. that is been fifty years ago--back in in ebenezer. "rock hill, south carolina, from to a while later, bore the name 'bloody town.' they killed a man there every saturday night in the year--fifty-two times a year they killed a man. they had to send for the federal troops to bring them down. they didn't just kill colored people. they killed anybody--about anything." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: frances smith havis street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i specs i was born in slavery times. i remember seein' the yankees. that was in mississippi. i'm seventy-seven--that's my age. "spencer bailey was old master. just remember the name was 'bout the biggest thing i knowed about. i seen him all right but i didn't know much about him 'cept his name. "mother belonged to him, yes'm. "i tell you the truf, what little i used to remember i done forgot it. i just didn't try to keep up with it. i wasn't concerned and just didn't try to keep up with it. "i know our folks stayed there a while. first place we went to after the war was tennessee. "i don't know how long i been here--i been here a time though. "yes'm, i went to school several terms. "i was married in arkansas. my folks heard about arkansas bein' such a rich country, so they come to arkansas. "i farmed a long time and then i done housework. "deal a times i don't know what to think of this younger generation. i sits down sometimes and tries to study 'em out, but i fails. "well, what the old folks goin' to get out of this?" interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: henrietta evelina smith pine street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in louisiana in east felicie parish near baton rouge on the twenty-eighth day of december. my mother's name was delia white. her maiden name was delia early. my father's name was henry white. my mother's father was named amos early. my mother's mother's name was julia. my father's father was named tom white and his mother was named susan. "my father and mother both belonged to the eason's. i don't know how they spelled it. eason's daughter married munday and my uncle bought this white man's place years after freedom. that is not far from clinton--about four or five miles. it is three miles from ethel, louisiana. "amos, my grandfather, was the wagoneer on the old place. father, he used to drive the wagon too. he'd haul cotton to baton rouge and things like that. he would run off and stay five or six months. i have heard them talk about how he used to come back and bring hogs and one thing and another that he had found out in the woods. he would run off because the overseer would whip him. but he was such a good working man that once or twice, the boss man turned off his overseer on account of him. there wasn't nothing against his work. he just wouldn't take a blow. most of the times after he had been out a while the boss man would tell the hands to tell amos that if he would come on home they wouldn't whip him for running off. "my grandmother's mother on my father's side was named melissa. i think that was her name. my father's mother was named susan like i told you. she was part indian--better work hand never was. but she wouldn't be conquered neither. when they got ready to whip her, it would be half a day before they could take her. when they did get her, they would whip her so they would have to raise her in a sheet. the last time they whipped her, it took her nearly a year to get over it. so the white man just turned her loose and told her she was free. she went on off and we never did know what became of her. "the easons were farmers and they had a large plantation. i don't know just how many slaves they owned. "my father and mother were fed like pigs. they had an old woman that did the cooking. she was broke down from work. they would give the slaves greens and the children pot-liquor. my parents were field hands. my mother was too young to carry a row when she was freed, but she worked on an older person's row. they worked from can till can't. you know what i mean, from the time they could see till the time they couldn't. reb time was something like the penitentiary now. it never got too cold nor too hot to work. and there wasn't any pay. my parents never were given any chance to earn any money. i heard that my grandpa used to make a little something. he was a wagoneer you know. he would carry a little extra on his load and sell it. his old master never did find it out. people knew he had stole it, but they would buy it just the same. "the old boss man came down in the quarters and told them they were free when freedom came. right after freedom they stayed there on the old place for a year or more. my mother wasn't grown and she and my father married after that. afterwards they had kind of a fight to get away from the old man. he was carrying them the same way he was going before the war and they had a row (quarrel), and left him. i don't know just what terms they worked on. i don't think they did themselves. they took just what they could get and didn't know just how they was paid. "if a man made a good crop, they would run him away and make him leave his crops behind. "my folks continued to farm all their lives. they had trouble with the night riders. they had to vote like they were told. if you voted the wrong way they would get behind you and run you off. there were some folks who would take pay for voting and then vote different, and when the night riders found it out, there would be trouble. i don't believe in taking money for voting, and i don't believe in lying. "my mother and father didn't get any schooling. that was allowed after slavery, but it wasn't allowed in slavery time. they learned a little from other people. they would slip and learn to read. "my great-grandmother was considered pretty when she was young. she had glossy black hair and was a little short. she was brownskin and had big legs. her master would take her out behind the field and do what he wanted. when she got free, she gave both of her children away. she had two children by him--a boy named eli and a girl named anna. she didn't want them 'round her because they reminded her of him." interviewer's comment the subject did not wish to state her age. it is probably around sixty-five. her mother was married shortly after freedom. and eight years is probably a liberal allowance for the distance of her birth from emancipation. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: henry smith virginia, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: odd jobs "yes mam, i was here in slavery times. i was born in tennessee on a plantation near jackson. i was eight years old when peace was declared. all i member is when they beat the folks pit near to death. "my old master was tom smith. mean? cose he was mean. old mistress was sorta good to us but old master was the devil. used to make the men hold the women while they whipped em. make em wear old brogan shoes with buckles across the instep. had the men and women out fore day plowin'. i member they had my mother out many a day so dark they had to feel where the traces was to hitch up the mules. "my mother worked in the field and i stayed in front and helped her up when she got behind. "i member when the yankees had thousands and thousands of bales of cotton in the streets right here in pine bluff and take a knife and cut it open and put a match to it, and burn peoples houses and the gin houses and everything. take the hosses and mules and run em off. "old master and mistress carried us to texas till peace was declared. i member one morning the mail come and old master had a long paper and he called all us colored folks up and told us we was free. he told us we could go or stay. they all wanted to stay so he brought em all back here to arkansas. he give each one three acres of ground and all they could make on it. that's the nicest thing he ever done, but he didn't do that but one year. after that the land fell back to him. then they worked on the halves. "when the colored folks went to buy stock and rent land from the whites, it cost five and six dollars a acre. they sho could make some money that way, too. "i was big enough to do right smart behind a plow. i could do a heap. we got along pretty well. "i got married when i was bout eighteen and made a home for myself. me and my wife had twenty-two children. white folks helped us a lot. my wife's dead and all my children dead 'cept four. "i been here in pine bluff twenty-two years. i been here a good while--that ain't no joke. used to make three dollars a day mowin' grass. bought this place with the money. can't make that now. they won't give you nothin' for your work. "oh yes'm, i voted and wouldn't know what i was votin' till 'twas too late. "never went to school much. learned to read a little bit. they kep' me in the field. yes ma'm, i've worked but i've never had a doctor to me in my life. "ain't much to this younger generation. the old race can get along a lot better with the white folks than the young race can. "i'm the head deacon of the morning star church. read the bible right smart. i tell you one thing--i like all of it." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: j.l. smith pulaski street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in in the month of september on the fifteenth. i was born at a place they call indian bay on white river down here in arkansas. my mother was named emmaline smith and she was born in tennessee. i don't know really now what county or what part of the state. my father's name was john smith. he was born in north carolina. i don't know nothing about what my grandfather's name and grandmother's names were. i never saw them. none of my folks are old aged as i am. my father was sixty years old when he died and my mother was only younger than that. experience of father "i heard my father say that he helped get out juniper timber in north carolina. the white man me and my sister worked with after my father died was the man my father worked with in the juniper swamp. his name was alfred perry white. as long as he lived, we could do work for him. we didn't live on his place but we worked for him by the day. he is dead now--died way back yonder in the seventies. there was the brooks and baxter trouble in , and my father died in seventy-five. white lived a little while longer. "my father was married twice before he married my mother. he had two sets of children. i don't know how many of them there were. he had four children by my mother. he had only four children as far as i can remember. "i don't know how my father and my mother met up. they lived in the same plantation and in the same house. they were owned by the same man when freedom came. i don't know how they got together. i have often wondered about that. one from tennessee and the other from north carolina, but they got together. i guess that they must have been born in different places and brought together through being bought and sold. "my mother was a murrill. my father was a cartwright. my father's brother lewis was a man who didn't take nothing much from anybody, and he 'specially didn't like to take a whipping. when lewis' master wanted to whip him, he would call his mother--the master's mother--and have her whip him, because he figured uncle lewis wouldn't hit a woman. "i have six children altogether. two of them are dead. there are three girls and one boy living. the oldest is fifty-seven; the next, fifty; and the youngest, forty-eight. the youngest is in the hospital for nervous and mental diseases. she has been there ever since . the oldest had an arm and four ribs broken in an auto accident last january on the sixteenth of the month. she didn't get a penny to pay for her trouble. i remember the man did give her fifteen cents once. the truck struck her at the alley there and knocked her clean across the street. she is fifty-seven years old and bones don't knit fast on people that old. she ain't able to do no work yet. all of my daughters are out of work. i don't know where the boy is. he is somewheres up north. slave houses "i have seen some old log houses that they said the slaves used to live in. i was too young to notice before freedom. i have seen different specimens of houses that they lived in. one log house had a plank house builded on to the end of it. the log end was the one lived in during slavery times and the plank end was built since. that gal there of mine was born in the log end. there were round log houses and sawed log houses. the sawed log houses was built out of logs that had been squared after the tree had been cut down, and the round log houses was built out of logs left just like they was when they was trees. there's been quite an improvement in the houses since i was a kid. food "i have heard my father and mother talking among themselves and their friends, but they never did tell me nothing about slave times. they never did sit down and talk to me about it. when they'd sit down and start talkin', it would always be, 'now you children run on out and play while we old folks sit here and talk.' but from time to time, i would be sitting on the floor playing by myself and they would be talking 'mongst themselves and i would hear them say this or that. but i never heered them say what they et in slave times. work "my father worked in the juniper swamp in north carolina, like i told you. i think i heard my mother say she cooked. most i ever heard them say was when they would get with some one else and each would talk about his master. cruelties "i heard my mother say that her mistress used to take a fork and stick it in her head--jog it up and down against her head. i don't know how hard she punched her. my mother was very gray--all her hair was gray and she wasn't old enough for that. i reckon that was why. how freedom came "i don't remember how freedom came. they were refugeed--i call it that--my father and mother were. my sister was born in texas, and they were back in arkansas again when i was born. i was born and raised right here in arkansas. they were running from one place to the other to keep the yankees from freeing the slaves. i never even heard them say where they were freed. i don't know whether it was here or in texas. right after the war "i have no knowledge of what they did right after the war. the first thing i remember was that they were picking cotton in pine bluff or near there. it was a smoky log house i had to stay in while they were out in the field and the smoke used to hurt my eyes awful. ku klux and patrollers "i don't remember nothing about the ku klux. i heard old folks say they used to have passes to keep the pateroles from bothering them. i remember that they said the pateroles would whip them if they would catch them out without a pass. when i first heard of the ku klux klan, i thought that it was some kind of beast the folks was talking about. i didn't hear nothing special they did. occupational experiences "when i got old enough, i worked a farm--picked cotton, hoed, plowed, pulled corn--all such things. that is about all i ever did--farming. farming was always my regular occupation. i never did anything else--not for no regular thing. marriage "i married in . my father and mother married each other too after freedom. i remember that. it was when the government was making all those that had been slaves marry. i have been married just the one time. my wife died in april . present condition "i am not able to do anything now. i don't even tote a chair across the room, or spade up the ground for a garden, or hoe up the weeds in it. i am ruptured and the doctor says it is the funniest rupture he ever seen. he says that there's a rupture and fat hanging down in the rupture. they have to keep me packed with ice all the time. the least little thing brings it down. i can't hold myself nor nothing. have to wear something under my clothes. "i don't get a pension." interviewer's comment smith is sensitive about his first name--doesn't like to give it--and about his condition. he doesn't like to mention it or to have it referred to. he has an excellent memory for some things and a rather poor one for some others. he got angry when his granddaughter supplied data about his wife which he apparently could not recall. his physical condition is deplorable and his circumstances extremely straitened. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: john h. smith w. twelfth street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i reckon i was here, i member seein' the smoke from the guns look like a cloud. "i was born in missouri in . i member _way_ back. yes'm. i'm old--i'm _old_. "i member seein' the soldiers--yankees--eight or ten in a squad and they asked me did i want to ride with em? old mistress say, 'that's my boy!' i member way back when they used to put the folks upon a block and sell em. i member one night we was in the cabin and the ku klux come up on horses. and i member when they was hollerin' peace was declared. "mama told me i was born in . mama had all our ages in that big bible. "we stayed in st. louis six years then we went to chrystal city. missouri and i went to the glass factory and went to work. "did i vote? me? yes'm, i voted many a time--republican. i'm still a republican--always will be i reckon. i haven't voted for a long time but i think everybody ought to have the liberty to vote. "i like to live in the north better cause the white folks treats you better. they treats me all right here cause i don't do nothin'. "i member my white folks was good to me. "i went to school after the war whar i was born. c.n. douglas, the son of napoleon douglas, was my teacher. first teacher we had was miss mary strotter. i know she couldn't learn us anything so they got c.n. douglas. he brought that paddle with the little holes and he learned us something. i know my sister was next to me and she couldn't get her spelling and i'd work my mouf so she could see. c.n. douglas caught me at it and he whipped me that day. i never worked my mouf again. "i was the best speller in the school. i won a gold pen and ink stand and george washington picture. "before the war i member the overseer would say, 'if you don't have that done tonight, i'll whip you tomorrow.' they had one man was pretty bad and i know they give him a thimble and a barrel and told him he had to fill up that barrel, but he couldn't do it you know and so they whipped him. "mama used to whip me. she called me the 'devil's egg bag' for a long time. i used to take a darning needle and punch the eyes out of guineas or chickens just to see em run around. she broke me of that. i know now she never whip me enough, but she made a man of me. i got a good name now. always been a good worker. done my work good and that's what they want to know. yes ma'm, i'm _old_." interviewer: miss irene robertson persons interviewed: maggie snow and charlie snow r.f.d., brinkley, arkansas ages: and "my parents' names was mary and henderson kurkendall. they had seven children. mama died when i was three years old. papa was a yankee soldier. "they belong to the same white folks, moster jake and peggy kurkendall. they had a big farm. "my papa told me that one morning they woke up and looked out over the field. the yankees had pitched their camps far as you could see on moster jake's farm. they come up to his house. moster jake had a big house and a big family. the yankees come up there and throwed out all they had and told the slaves to take it. no, they didn't; they was scared to take it and it belong to them. they didn't want it all wasted like they was doing. papa said they rode their horses up to the house. they took all the soldiers on the place to the camp. they was scared not to go. "papa left mama at the old home place and moster jake let them work all they could. papa stayed in the war till after the battle at vicksburg. then he come home. they stayed awhile at moster jake's and worked. he got his knee hurt and his health ruined. he never was no count after he got back home. mama could pick six hundred pounds of cotton a day he said. they worked from daybreak till pitch dark in them days. "little jake kurkendall is living now enoch or harrison station, mississippi. he is older than i am. he got a family. but he is all the son old moster jake had that i know living now. "papa said the yankees made all the slaves fight they could run across. some kept hid in the woods. seem like from way he told bout it they wanted freedom but they didn't want to go to war. "when we heard bout arkansas being so rich and a new country, we wanted to come. some white and some colored come. we come to aubrey, arkansas. we got six living, five dead children. i been here fourteen years (at brinkley). i hired out to cook in mississippi but i wash and iron and work in the field till i bout wore out. my husband in a terrible condition. he picked some cotton. he got rheumatism in his legs. "we own a little home bout a mile from town and a pig. i wish i could get a cow. i ain't got the money to buy one. jess can't get one no way. we had a fine garden. two of us get $ and commodities. times so far this year been good. when it gets cold times may be hard. times better this year than last or it been for a long time. "i didn't know i could vote. guess my husband done my part of the voting." "i am seventy-three years old. there was two boys and two girls of us. my aunts and uncles raised me. my mother died when i was little and fore that my papa went to the army and never come home. they said he got killed or died--they didn't know. my parents belong to berry bruce. he had a family i heard em say. he lived at louisville, mississippi. "i recollect the ku klux. i heard em talk a whole lot about em. one time they rode round our house and through the hall of our house. yes ma'am, it scared us so bad it most paralyzed us all. they went on. we didn't know what they wanted. we never did find out. "i don't vote. i never voted in my life. i don't recken i ever will. i have been a hard worker all my life. i farmed. i loaded and unloaded on a steamboat with my family farmin' in the country. the boat i run on went from memphis to new orleans. "my family farmed at batesville in the country out from there. for a long time i made staves with the sweeds. they was good workers. we would make , , then load the barge and send or take them to vicksburg. i got my board and $ a day. "the present conditions for the cotton farmer has been better this year than last. when it gets cold and no work, makes it hard on old men. i got no job in view for the winter. "i would like to have a cow if i could raise the money to get one. i been tryin' to figure out how to get us a cow to help out. i can't make it. "i suffer all the time. i can't sit still, i can't sleep i suffer so wid rheumatism. nobody knows how i do suffer. my general health is fine. "this president has sure been merciful to the poor and aged. surely he will be greatly rewarded hereafter." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: robert solomon, des arc, arkansas age: my father was african. he was born in atlanta. my mother was a cherokee indian. her name was alice gamage. i was born in . i don't know where i was born--think it was in the territory--my father stole my mother one night. he couldn't understand them and he was afraid of her people. he went back to savannah after so long a time and they was in florida when i first seen any of her people. when i got up any size i asked my father all about him and my mother marrying. he said he knowed her 'bout two year 'fore they married. they sorter courted by signs--my mother learned me her language and it was natural fur me to speak my father's tongue. i talked for them. she was bout fifteen when she run away. i don't know if a preacher ever did marry em or not. my father said she was just so pretty he couldn't help lovin' her. he kept makin' signs and she made signs. i liked my gramma gamage. she couldn't understand much. we all went to the indian territory from florida and georgia. that's how i come out here. i don't remember the ku klux. i remember hearing ma and gramma talk 'bout the way they tried to get way from 'em. my father was a farmer till freedom. he farmed around here and at pine bluff. he died at west point. my mother and step-mother both died at pine bluff. they took my mother to her nation in oklahoma. she was sick a good while and they took her to wait on her. then come and took her after she died. there show is a fambly. my father had twenty-two in his fambly. my mother had five boys and three girls and me. my stepmother had fourteen more children. that's some fambly aint it? all my brothers and sisters died when i was little and they was little. my father's other children jess somewhar down round pine bluff. i guess i'd know em but i aint seed none of them in i don't know how long. the first work i ever done was sawmilling at pine bluff. then i went down in louziana, still sawmilling--i followed dat trade five or six years. den i got to railroading. i was puttin down cross ties and layin' steel. i got to be straw boss at dat. i worked at dat fifteen years. i worked doing that in six different states. that was show fine livin'--we carried our train right along to live in. i married and went to farming. then i come to work at this oil mill here (in des arc). the reason i quit. i didn't quit till it went down and moved off. i aint had nothin' much to do since. i been carryin' water and wood fur mrs. norfleet twenty years and they cooks fur me now. my wife died 'bout a year ago. she been dead a year last january. she was sick a long time 'fore she died. well the relief gives me a little to eat, some clothes and i gets $ . a month and i takes it and buys my groceries and i takes it up to mrs. norfleet's. they says come there and eat. they show is good to me 'cept i aint able to carry the wood up the steps much no more. it hurt me when i worked at the oil mill. i helped them 'bout the house all the time. what i do wid my money i made? i educated my girls. yes maam i show is got children. one my girls teaches school in st. louis and de other at hot springs. they both went to college at pine bluff. i sent em. no'm dey don't help me. they is by my second wife and my first wife live with my son, down close to star city. dey farm. it's down in lincoln county. they let me live in this house. it belongs to him. i went to the bank fo' it closed and got my money whut i had left. i been livin' on it but it give out. the conditions are all right. they kin make a right smart but everything is so high it don't buy much. some of 'em say they ain't goiner do the hardest work, hot or cold and liftin' for no dollar a day. don't nobody work hard as i used to. there's goiner be another war and a lot of them killed--'cause people ain't doin right. some don't treat the others right. no'm they never did. they used to threaten em and take 'em out in cars and beat 'em up, just for disputin' their word or not paying 'em and de lack. the white man has cheated a heap because we was ignorant and black. they gamble on the cotton and take might' near all of it for the cheap grub they let out to make de crop on. conditions are better but a heap of the young black and white too deblish lazy to work. some of dem get killed out goin' on at their meanness. i heard of uprisings since the war but i never was 'bout none of them. i votes the republican ticket. the last i voted was for hoover. sure they have tried to change my way of voting but i ain't goiner change. i ain't heard nothin' 'bout no restrictions 'bout votin'. if a woman wanter vote it's all right. my girs and my boy votes right along. they are all republicans. the most money i ever has at one time was $ . . i did save it. i spent it on my girls' clothes and education. they did go to college at pine bluff but they went to the catholic high school first down at pine bluff. no'm they don't help me. they say it's all dey can do to get along. they never have told me how much they make. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: james spikes bell street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "good morning. yes'm i remember the civil war. i was a soldier. i was between sixteen and seventeen when i enlisted in the war. "'why did you enlist?' "i didn't know no better. i thought i would be took care of. they told us the war was sposed to set the darkies free. my old master didn't want me to go--cose not. but they was very good to me. i regard them just the same as myself. "i enlisted in the th regiment of colored soldiers. then i went off with the yankees. i was with them when they had the battle at corinth, mississippi. "i was with them when the yankees taken corinth and whupped. the rebels tried to take it back and the yankees whupped 'em again. the regiment i was with whupped 'em away from several places and kept 'em runnin'. "when we was in fort pickens i 'member they had a poll parrot--some of the officers had trained it to say 'corporal of the guard, jim spikes, post no. ." sometimes i would draw my gun like i was going to shoot and the poll parrot would say, 'jim, don't you shoot me!' they got plenty a sense. "the war was funny and it wasn't funny. well, it was funny for the side that won when we had scrummishes (skirmish). i never was captured but i hoped capture a lot. "i stayed in the war till i was mustered out in baton rouge, louisiana. i was a good big fellow then. oh lord yes, i knowed most anything. "after that i went to memphis and then i come to arkansas and went to farming with some white fellows named french. the river overflowed and we lost 'bout all the cotton. "the government gives me a pension now cause i was a soldier. yes'm it comes in right nice--it does that." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: kittie stanford missouri street; pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm, i used to be a slave. my mother belonged to mrs. lindsey. one day when i was ten years old, my old mistress take me over to her daughter and say 'i brought you a little nigger gal to rock de cradle.' i'se one hundred and four years old now. miss etta done writ it down in the book for me. "one time a lady from up north ask me did i ever get whipped. honey, i ain't goin' tell you no lie. the overseer whipped us. old mistress used to send me to her mother to keep the judge from whippin' me. old judge say 'nigger need whippin' whether he do anything or not.' "some of the hands run away. old henry run away and hide in the swamp and say he goin' stay till he bones turn white. but he come back when he get hongry and then he run away again. "when the war come some of the slaves steal the judge's hosses and run away to pine bluff and he didn't never find 'em. the judge think the yankees goin' get everything he got so we all left arkansas and went to texas. we in texas when freedom come. we come back to arkansas and i stay with my white folks awhile but i didn't get no pay so i got a job cookin' for a colored woman. "i been married fo' times. i left my las' husband. i didn't leave him cause he beat me. i lef' him cause he want too many. "no'm i never seen no ku klux. i heard 'bout 'em but i never seen none that i knows of. when i used to get a pass to go to 'nother plantation i always come back fo' dark. "this younger generation is beyond my onderstanding. they is gettin' weaker and wiser. "i been ready to die for the last thirty years. 'mary (her granddaughter with whom she lives), show the lady my shroud.' i keeps it wropped up in blue cloth. they tells me at the store to do that to keep it from turning yellow. 'show her that las' quilt i made.' yes'm i made this all by myself. i threads my own needle, too, and cuts out the pieces. i has worked hard all my life. "now the welfare gives me my check. my granddaughter good to me. i goes to church on the first and third sundays. "lady, i glad you come to see me and god bless you. goo' bye!" interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: tom stanhouse r.f.d. brinkley, ark. age: "i was born close to greenville, south carolina. i lived down close to spartanburg. my mother was named luvenia stanhouse and henry stanhouse. they had nine children. grandma belong to hopkins but married into the stanhouse family. grandpa's name was tom. they set him free. i guess because he was old. he lived about mong his children. "when they was set free old man adam stanhouse was good to em. he treated em nice but they never got nothing but their clothes. they moved on another place and started working sharecropper. "before freedom old man adam stanhouse would give my pa a pass or his pocket knife to show to go to see my ma. she lived at dr. harrison's farm five miles apart. they all knowed adam stanhouse's knife. i don't know how they would know it. he never let his negroes be whooped unless he said so. owners didn't 'low the ku klux whoop hands on their place. "adam stanhouse brought my pa from virginia with him. some of them men thought might near much of his slaves as they did their children. or i heard em say they seem to. my pa married my ma when she was thirteen years old. they had nine children. "i heard ma say dr. harrison practiced medicine. his wife was named miss lizzie. they had two boys and three girls. "ma was a house girl. pa was a field hand. one time traders come round and ma's owner wanted to sell her and his wife objected. she wasn't sold that time. i don't know if she was sold or not. "i don't know no more about that war than i do about the german war (world war). i was a little boy when it was all over. i left south carolina in . ma was a part red indian and pa was a half black creek indian. i had two children before i left south carolina. i was married back there. i paid my own way and come to fargo. i was trying to better my condition. in i come to brinkley. before that i lived at dark corner eight years. in ma and pa come to me and died with me. i paid $ . for my second class ticket to fargo--in . "since to i farmed, sawmilled, threshed, run a grist mill, run a cotton gin and worked about em. i farmed eight or nine years across the bayou here. "i own a home. my wife is living. i get 'demodities', no money. i got two girls living. one girl is in new jersey and one in michigan. they make their living. "i think the world is going on worse than ever i seen it. folks can't live without money. they don't try to raise their living no more. i ain't no prophet. the world going to nothing way i see it." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: isom starnes, marianna, arkansas age: "i was born in marshall county, alabama near guntersville. father belong to the starnes. they bought him in alabama. my parents' name was jane and burrel starnes. they had two children i knew of. when they was set free they left and started renting. i don't remember much that happened before freedom. i picked up chips and put them in a split basket i just could chin. i'd fill all the baskets and they would haul them up to put under the iron skillet. other chaps was picking up chips too. they used some kinds to smoke the meat. i could tote water on my head and a bucket in each hand. they was small buckets. we had to come up a path up the hill. i stumped my toe on the rocks till they would bleed; sometimes it looked like the nail would come off. my mother was a good cook. i don't know what she was doing in slavery. "i been farming all my life. yes, i owned ninety-eight acres in alabama. i had a home on it. i lost it. we brought a suit for water damage. we lost it, i reckon. they fixed a dam that ruined my place. i left and went to the north--to springfield, ohio. i started public work and worked three or four months in a piano factory. i liked farming the best and come back to it. my boys hope me down hill. i got two boys. my girl left me all i got now. she is dead. i got a home and twenty-five acres of ground. she made the money washing, ironing and farming. i 'plied for the old folks' pension but didn't get it and give it up. i made four bales cotton, one hundred pounds seed cotton. my place is half mile from town. i have to get somebody to do all the work. "my father did vote. he voted a republican ticket. i have voted but i don't vote now. i voted a few days ago for a little cotton this year. it was the cotton control election. i voted a republican ticket. i found out democrat times is about the best time for us in the south. i quit voting because i'm too old to keep up with it. if a woman owns anything--land or house--she ought to be allowed to vote. "the times is mighty hard. i need a little money now and i can't get it nowhere. it looks like bad times for me. the young folks don't work hard as i did. i kept study (steady) at farming. i liked it. my race is the best fitted for farming and that is where we belong. i never been in jail. i never been arrested in my whole life." interviewer's comment i stopped this clean, feeble, old negro--humble as could be--on the edge of town. he had a basket of groceries taking to his old wife. it was a small split basket. his taxes worried him. he couldn't get a holt on any money, so i told him about the farmers' loan. he was so scared looking i felt he didn't tell me all he knew. he looked tired. i gave it up and jokingly asked him if he had ever been in jail. he said, "i never been in jail. i never been arrested in my whole life." i laughed good and thanked him. i told a young woman who had curiously been trying to catch the conversation from her yard that i feared i frightened the old man till he couldn't think to tell me all he knew. she said, "maybe so but he has a reputation of being good as gold and his word his bond." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: ky (hezekiah) steel west fifth avenue (rear), pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: yard man "what is it you want to know? well, i was born in north carolina. i know they brought me here from north carolina in slavery times. i couldn't keep no count of it, lady, 'cause i didn't know. i know i was big enough to walk behind the wagon pickin' up corn. i know that. that was in slavery times. "mr. june ingraham's father brought me here. "oh, that's a long time ago. mr. june and i was boys together. i was born in the ingraham family. "they carried me from here to texas. i stayed there till i was grown and married. then i come back to arkansas i got with mr. june's son and i been here since. "never have gone to school a day. can't read but i can spell a little. "i've done most all kinds of work--split rails, cut wood, farm work, and railroad work on the section. "ku klux come out there where i was in texas. didn't bother me--they was just around first one place, then another. "i voted once. i guess it was republican. i don't remember now who i voted for. i didn't take much interest in politics--only just what i'd hear somebody say. "yankees was camped near us in texas to keep the wild indians back. that was after the war. yes'm, sure was. "i know the very night old missis told us we was free. called all us slaves up there together. told us we was just as free as she was. i always will remember that. "i stayed there till we got through the crop. then i went to paris, texas and portered in a little hotel there. then i went wagonin'--haulin' stuff. "they used to whip me in slavery times when they got ready. need it? well, they said i did. hurt my feelin's and hurt my hide too, but they raised me to do whatever they said. "this younger generation ain't no good--they ain't raised up like i was. things is a whole lot different than they used to be. the folks ain't prayin' to god like they used to. ain't livin' right. "i had two brothers killed in time of the war. that's what the old people told me after i come back from texas. "yes'm, i've had plenty to eat all my life--up until now; i ain't got so much now. "i keep the rheumatism pretty much all the time but i ain't never been down sick so i couldn't help myself. "i'm telling you just what i know and what i don't know i couldn't tell you. good-bye." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: maggie stenhouse, (a mile down the railway track), brinkley, arkansas age: ? "mama was owned by master barton. she lived on the line of north carolina and south carolina. her husband was sold away from her and two children. she never seen him no more. rangments was made with master barton to let master liege alexander have her for a cook. then she went to old pickens, south carolina. liege alexander had a white wife and by her he had two girls and a boy. he had a black cook and by her he had two boys and a girl. one of these boys was my papa and i told you the old man bought my mama from master barton for his colored son. my papa never was sold you see cause he was the old white man's boy. after his white wife died his two girls married and the boy left old pickens, and they told his colored wife and her two boys and girl if they would stay and take care of him as long as he lived they could have the property. my papa went off five or six miles and built him a log house. "the old man--master liege alexander--was blind when his wife died and he had to be tended to like a child. he would knock his stick on the wall and some of the small children would lead him about where he wanted to go. his white children didn't like the way he had lived so they didn't want to be bothered with him. "my parents' names was cheney barton and jim alexander. papa was medium dark and so was his own brother but their sister was as white as the woman's two girls and boy. "after the railroads sprung up the town moved to new pickens. "master liege alexander had lots of slaves and land. i reckon the white wife's children fell heir to the farm land. "my aunt and grandma cooked for him till he died. they kept him clean and took care of him like as if his white wife was living. the colored wife and her girl waited on the white wife and her children like queens. that is what papa said. "durin' slavery there was stockmen. they was weighed and tested. a man would rent the stockman and put him in a room with some young women he wanted to raise children from. next morning when they come to let him out the man ask him what he done and he was so glad to get out. them women nearly kill him. if he said nothin' they wouldn't have to pay for him. them women nearly kill him. some of the slave owners rented these stockmen. they didn't let them work in the field and they kept them fed up good. "fore the civil war broke out mama said master barton hid a half bushel solid gold and silver coins over the mountains. he had it close to the spring awhile. mama had to go by it to tote water to the house. she said she never bothered it. he said he could trust her and she wouldn't tell a lie. he took another sack of money over the mountains and the silverware. his wife died during the war. a lot of people died from hearing of the war--heart failure. i don't know what become of his money. he lost it. he may forgot where he hid it. it was after his wife died that he sold mama to jim alexander's papa. "the yankees rode three years over the country in squads and colored folks didn't know they was free. i have seen them in their old uniforms riding around when i was a child. white folks started talking about freedom fore the darkies and turning them loose with the clothes they had on and what they could tote away. no land, no home, no place; they roamed around. "when it was freedom the thing papa done was go to a place and start out share croppin'. folks had no horses or mules. they had to plough new ground with oxen. i ploughed when i was a girl, ploughed oxen. if you had horses or mules and the yankees come along three or four years after the war, they would swap horses, ride a piece, and if they had a chance swap horses again. stealing went on during and long after the war. "the ku klux was awful in south carolina. the colored folks had no church to go to. they gather around at folks' houses to have preaching and prayers. one night we was having it at our house, only i was the oldest and was in another room sound asleep on the bed. there was a crowd at our house. the ku klux come, pulled off his robe and door face, hung it up on a nail in the room, and said, 'where's that jim jesus?' he pulled him out the room. the crowd run off. mama took the three little children but forgot me and run off too. they beat papa till they thought he was dead and throwed him in a fence corner. he was beat nearly to death, just cut all to pieces. he crawled to my bed and woke me up and back to the steps. i thought he was dead--bled to death--on the steps. mama come back to leave and found he was alive. she doctored him up and he lived thirty years after that. we left that morning. "the old white woman that owned the place was rich--big rich. she been complaining about the noise--singing and preaching. she called him praying jim jesus till he got to be called that around. he prayed in the field. she said he disturbed her. mama said one of the ku klux she knowed been raised up there close to master barton's but papa said he didn't know one of them that beat on him. "papa never did vote. i don't vote. i think women should vote much as men. they live under the same law. "i come to arkansas about forty-five years ago. papa brought us to a new country, thought we could do better. i been farming, cooking, washing. i can't do my own cooking and washing now. i got rheumatism in my joints, feet, knees, and hands. we don't get no help of no kind. "my daughter is in caldwell, new jersey at work. she went there to get work. she heard about it and went and haven't come home. i jes' got one child." interviewer: beulah sherwood hagg person interviewed: mrs. charlotte e. stephens west th street, little rock, arkansas age: i was born right here in little rock. my father was owned by a splendid family--the ashleys. the family of noah badgett owned my mother and the children. pardon me, madam, and i shall explain how that was. in many cases the father of children born in slavery could not be definitely determined. there was never a question about the mother. from this you will understand that the children belonged to the master who owned the mother. this was according to law. my father's family name was andrews. how did it happen that it was not ashley?... oh, my dear, you have been misinformed about all slaves taking the name of the master who owned them when peace came.... no, madam. my father was named william wallace andrews after his father, who was an english gentleman. he had come to missouri in early days and owned slaves.... yes, my grandfather was white. the ashleys brought my father to arkansas territory when they came. they always permitted him to keep his family name. many other masters did the same. from the standpoint of understanding between the white and colored races, little rock has always been a good place to live. the better class families did not speak of their retainers as slaves; they were called servants. both my parents were educated by their masters. besides being a teacher and minister my father was a carpenter and expert cabinet worker. the first school for negroes in little rock was opened in and was taught by my father. i went to school to him. a few months later there came from the north a company of missionary teachers and opened a school which i attended until . my father was a minister of the methodist episcopal church for colored people on what is now eighth and broadway. he also had a chapel on the property of mr. ashley. you probably know that during slavery days the slaves belonged to and attended the same church as their white folks. they sat in the back, or in a balcony built for them. my father was considered the founder of wesley chapel, which was methodist episcopal. from that time until this day i have been a member of that church. seventy-three years, i think it is. before the break came in the methodist church, you know, it was all the same, north and south. after the division on account of slavery the methodist church in the south had the word "south" attached. for a long time my father did not realize that. in he and his church went back into the original methodist church. in the society of friends--we called them quakers--came and erected a large two-story schoolhouse at sixth and state streets. it was called union school. when it was built it was said by the quakers that it was to be for the use of colored children forever, but within a year or two the city bought the property and took charge of the school. as far as i can now recall, white and colored children never did attend the same school in little rock. there have always been separate schools for the races. i am able to remember the names of the first teachers in the quaker school; j.h. binford was the principal and his sister taught the primary department. other teachers were miss anna wiles (or ware), miss louise coffin, miss lizzie garrison, and sarah henley. i was about years old when peace came and was living with my mother and the other children on the badgett plantation about miles east of little rock. mother did laundry and general house work. being a small child, all that was asked of me was to run errands and amuse the little white children. madam, if i could tell you the great difference between slave owners it would help you in understanding conditions of today among the colored people. both my father and my mother had peculiar privileges. the ashley family were exceptional slave owners; they permitted their servants to hire their time. there was class distinction, perhaps to greater extent than among the white people. yes, madam, the slaves who lived in the family with master and mistress were taught just about the same as their own children. at any rate, they imitated them in all matters; to speak with a low voice, use good english, the niceties of manners, good form and courtesy in receiving and attending guests. i began teaching in little rock schools when i was years old and am still teaching. in all, it is years, and my contract is still good. my first experience as a teacher, (as i told you i was fifteen) was by substituting for a teacher in that first missionary school, in . for some reason, she did not return, and the school board appointed me in her place. after one year i was given leave of absence to attend oberlin college in ohio. i spent three years there, but not in succession. when my money would give out i would come home and the school board would provide work for me until i could earn enough to carry me through another term. i finished at oberlin in . i extended my work through courses at normal schools and teacher's institutes. i have taken lecture courses in many colleges, notably the university of california in . i have taught all grades from the first to the twelfth. my principal work, for the last years, however, has been high school latin and english and science. at present i am serving as librarian at the senior high school and junior college. i have twice served as principal of city schools in little rock. first at capitol hill. the charlotte e. stephens school at th and maple was named in my honor. i have a book i have kept for years regarding those first schools, and i'm told it is the only one in existence. i also have the first monthly report card ever issued in little rock. mr. hall (superintendent of little rock city schools) has asked me to will it to the school board. i could recall many interesting events of those early schools for the colored race. old, old slaves came, desiring to learn to read and spell. they brought the only books they could find, many of which proved to be almanacs, paper bound novels discarded by their mistress and ancient dictionaries, about half of which might be missing. yes, madam, i do remember that the emancipated slaves were led to believe they would be given property and have just what their masters had been accustomed to enjoy. i remember hearing my mother tell, in later years, that she really had expected to live as her mistress had; having some one to wait upon her, plenty of money to spend, ride in a carriage with a coachman. but she always added that the emancipated ones soon found out that freedom meant more work and harder than they had ever done before. what did they work at? pardon me please for so often reminding you of conditions of that time. few of the trades workers were white. brick makers and brick layers, stone masons, lathers, plasters,--all types of builders were of the freed men. you must remember that slaves were the only ones who did this work. their masters had used their labor as their means of income. not all slaves were in the cotton fields, as some suppose. the slave owners of towns and villages had their slaves learn skilled trade occupations and made a great deal of money by their earnings. the yankee soldiers and the many northern people who lived here hired the freed men and paid them. quite soon the colored people were buying homes. many were even hired by their former masters and paid for the work they formerly did without pay under slavery. i remember bill read and dave lowe. they had been coachmen before freedom. by combining their first savings, they bought a hack, as it was called. it was more of a cab. for all those who did not have private conveyances, this was the only way of getting about town. it was little rock's first taxi-cab business, i should say. bill and dave made a fortune; they had a monopoly of business for years and eventually had enough cabs to take the entire population to big evening parties, theater, and all places where crowds would gather. no, madam, i do not recall that we had any inconvenience from the ku klux klan. if they made trouble in little rock i do not now remember it. i did hear that out in the country they drove people from their homes. yes, madam, i do remember, quite distinctly, the times when colored men were voted into public offices. john c. corbin was state superintendent of public instruction. phillips county sent two colored men to the legislature; they were w.h. gray and h.h. white, both from helena. j.e. bush of this city followed m.w. gibbs as police judge. after reconstruction when all colored people were eliminated from public life all these people returned to their trade. i was when i married. my husband was a teacher but knew the carpenter trade. during the time that negroes served in public office he served as deputy sheriff and deputy constable. he was with me for years before his death; we raised a family of six children and gave each one a college education. now, you have asked my opinion of present conditions of the younger generation. it seems to me they are living in an age of confusion; they seem to be all at sea as to what they should get for themselves. i do know this. in some respects the modern frankness is an improvement over the old suppression and repression in the presence of their elders. at the same time, i think the young people of today lack the proper reverence and respect for age and the experience it brings as a guide for them. during my long years of teaching i have had opportunity to study this question. i am still making a study of the many phases of modern life as it affects the young people. i do not like the trend of amusements of today; i would like for our young people to become interested in things more worth while; in a higher type of amusement. conditions of morality and a lack of regard for conventions is deplorable. smoking among the girls has increased the common use of liquor between the sexes. did you ask me about the voting restrictions for the colored race in this state? i will tell you frankly that i think the primary law here is unjust; most unjust. we are citizens in every other respect; the primary voting privilege should be ours also. this restriction has been explained as coming down from "the grandfather clause" inserted in early legislation. i cannot give you the exact wording of the clause but the substance was that no person whose ancestor--grandfather--was not entitled to vote _before_ should have the right to the ballot. of course it is readily seen that this clause was written purely for the purpose of denying the vote to the colored people. perhaps, madam, my talk has been too much along educational lines. you asked me about my life since freedom came and how i have lived to the present time. i have had the blessed privilege of being a teacher--of doing the work i love best of all in the world to do. i have written the story of my life work; it is all ready to be published. i have written "the story of negro schools in little rock" and "memoirs of little rock." madam, i have written, i suppose, what would amount to volumes for our church papers and local negro newspaper. my daughter was, at one time, editor of the womens' page. no, i'm indeed sorry that i have not kept a scrapbook of such writings. in these latter years my friends scold me for having destroyed all the papers as fast as they were read. the most of the news in the articles, however, i have used in the manuscripts of the books i hope to have published. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: william j. stevens, brinkley, arkansas age: up in 's "i was born in pleasant hill, alabama. my owners were haley and missouri stevens. they owned grandma mary. pa was born on the place. mother was sold from the combesses to stevens. mother's mother was a turk dark creek indian. she was a free woman. her name was judy. i called her grandma judy. she was old but not gray. she had long black hair as i remember her. mother was named millie. haley bought her for my pa. _my pa's father was haley stevens' own son_. he was his coachman. pa never worked a great deal. mother never cooked till after emancipation. she was the house girl and nurse. life moved along smoothly as much as i ever heard till freedom come on. the indians was independent folks. my mother was like that. haley stevens took his family to texas soon as freedom come on. mother went with them. they treated her so nicely. pa wouldn't follow. he said she thought more of them than she did him. he kept me with him. he married again. he was a barber at selma, alabama. he died a barber at anniston, alabama. while my mother was in texas she went to see her mother in hickory, alabama. she was talking with a tramp. he had helped my pa in the shop at selma. mother took the train and come to pa's and my stepmother's house. i was fourteen years old then and still wore a long shirt-like dress. they treated her the nicest kind. she told them she was married to a man named sims down in mississippi. she went back. i don't know where. the barber business was a colored man's trade in the early days. "soon after freedom i made two trips a day and carried my young mistress' books to school. it was a mile for us to go 'round the road to pleasant hill. she married c.c. williams. i cooked for her. i cooked her daughter's weddin' supper. she had two girls, maude and pearl. i worked there fourteen years for my clothes and something to eat. then i went to myself. when i wasn't cooking i worked in mr. c.c. williams' sash and blind factory. they was big rich folks. mrs. williams had a hundred rent houses. she went about in her carriage and collected rent. that was at meridian, mississippi. they learned me more than an education--to work. she learned me to cook. i cooked all my life. i cooked here at the rusher hotel till i got so old i was not able to do the work. "i do little odd jobs of work where i can find them. i 'plied for the old age pension but they give me commodities and that's all. i supports my own self such as it be. "i find the young generation don't stick to jobs like i had to do. seems like they want an education to keep them out of work. education does some good and some more harm than good. oh, times! times is going fast. well with some i reckon. some like me is done left. i mean i got slower. time getting faster. i'm done left outen the game. time wait for no man." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: minnie johnson stewart w. sixteenth street, little rock, arkansas age: between and ? "my mother's name was mahala mcelroy. her master's name was wiley mcelroy. she was living in howard county, arkansas near nashville. she worked in the field, and sewed in the house for her mistress. one time she said she never would forget about slavery was a time when she was thirteen years old, and the overseer beat her. "my mother was a real bright woman with great long black hair. her master was her father. she told me that the overseer grabbed her by her hair and wound it 'round his arm and then grabbed her by the roots of it and jerked her down to the ground and beat her till the blood ran out of her nose and mouth. she was 'fraid to holler. "mother married when she was fourteen. i can't remember the name of her husband. the preacher was an old man, a faith doctor, who read the ceremony. his name was lewis hill. "i heard mother say they beat my brother-in-law (his name was dave denver) till he was bloody as a hog. then they washed him down in salt and water. then they beat him again because he hollered. "she told us how the slaves used to try to pray. they were so scared that the overseer would see them that early in the morning while they were going to their work in the field at daybreak that they would fall down on one knee and pray. they were so 'fraid that the overseer would catch them that they would be watching for him with one eye and looking for god with the other. but the lord understood. "my mother was seventy years old when she died. she has been dead thirty years." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: liza stiggers, forrest city, arkansas age: plus "i was born in poplar grove, arkansas on col. bibbs' place. mama was sold twice. once she was sold in georgia, once in alabama, and brought to tennessee, later to arkansas. master ben hode brought her to arkansas. she had ten children and i'm the only one living. mama was a dancing woman. she could dance any figure. they danced in the cabins and out in the yards. "the yankees come one day to our house and i crawled under the house. i was scared to death. they called me out. i was scared not to obey and scared to come on out. i come out. they didn't hurt me. mr. ben hode hid a small trunk of money away. he got it after the war. the slaves never did know where it was hid. they said the hair was on the trunk he hid his money in. it was made out of green hide for that purpose. "mama had a slave husband. he was a field hand and all kind of a hand when he was needed. mama done the sewing for white and black on the place. she was a maid. she could cook some in case they needed her. she died first. papa's foot got hurt some way and it et off. he was so old they couldn't cure it. he was named alfred hode. mama was viney hode. she said they had good white folks. they lived on ben hode's place two or three years after freedom. "i farmed, cooked, and ironed all my life. i don't know how to do nothing else. "i live with my daughter. i got a son." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: james henry stith w. nineteenth street little rock, arkansas age: "i was born la sparta in hancock county, georgia, in january , . my father was named william henry stith, and i was a little tot less than two years old when my mother died. my father has called her name often but i forget it. i forget the names of my father's father, too, and of mother's people. that is too far back. "my father was born in . he was born in georgia. his master was named w.w. simpson. he had a master before simpson. simpson bought him from somebody else. i never can remember the man's name. houses "the first houses i saw in georgia were frame or brick houses. there weren't any log houses 'round where i was brought up. georgia wasn't a log house state--leastwise, not the part i lived in. in another part there were plenty of sawmills. that made lumber common. you could get longleaf pine eighty to ninety feet long if you wanted it. some little towns didn't have no planing mills and you would have to send to augusta or to atlanta for the planing work or else they would make planed lumber by hand. i have worked for four and five weeks at a time dressing lumber--flooring, ceiling, siding, moldings, and so on. "my father was still with simpson when i remembered anything. at that time the house we lived in was a weatherboarded house just like the ones we live in now. it was a house that had been built since freedom. old man simpson sent for my father and told him to build a house for himself on the grounds. my father had been with simpson for so long and had done so much work for him during slave time that simpson didn't want to do without him. he supplied all the lumber and materials for my father. during slave time, simpson had hired my father out to the other planters when he had nothing for him to do in the line of building on his own plantation. he had had him to superintend his grist mill. all that was in slavery time. my father was a highly skilled laborer. he could do a lot of other things besides building. so when freedom came, he wanted my father 'round him still. they both fished and hunted. he wanted my father to go fishing with him and keep him company. my father was a carpenter of the first class, you see, even in slave time. that was all he done. he was brought up to be a carpenter and did nothing but that all his time. my daddy was a mighty good mechanic. good master "my daddy's master was a very good and kind one. my father was not under any overseer. he worked directly under his master. "i remember one incident he told me. his master hired a new overseer who hung around for a bit watching my father. finally, my father asked him, 'now, what are you able to do?' the overseer answered. 'why, i can see all over and whip all over, and that's as much as any damn man can do.' "nobody was allowed to touch my father. he never had no trouble with the pateroles either. old man simpson didn't allow that. he was a free agent. when he wasn't working for simpson, he was working for the next big farmer, and then the next one, and then the next one, and old man simpson got wages for his work. sometimes he worked a contract. old man simpson couldn't afford to have him handicapped in his going and coming. he could go whenever he wanted to go, and come back whenever he got ready, with a pass or without one. his time was valuable. "the reason why so many slaves suffered as much as they did as a rule was not because of the masters but because of the poor white trash overseers. i know of several rich white women that had slaves that wouldn't allow them to be mistreated. they would fire four and five overseers to keep their slaves from being mistreated. mean masters "but there were some mean masters. i have heard that right there in georgia there was one white planter--i think it was brantley---who put one of his slaves that had been unruly in a packing screw and ran it down on him till he mashed him to death. the cotton screw was the thing they pressed cotton bales in. they run it down by steam now, but then, they used to run it down with two mules. they tell a lot of things like that on brantley. of course, i couldn't personally know it, but i know he was mighty mean and i know the way he died. bushwhacking the ku klux "he belonged to the paterole gang and they went out after the negroes one night after freedom. the negroes bushwhacked them and killed four or five of them. they give it out that the men that was killed had gone to texas. brantley was one of the killed ones. the pateroles was awful bad at that time. ku klux they called them after the war, but they was the same people. i never heard of the klan part till this thing come up that they have now. they called them ku klux back when i was a boy. my stepmother carried me over to brantley's house the night he got killed. so i know the texas he went to. that was in ' or ' . he lived about a mile from us and when he got killed, she carried me over to see him just like we would have gone to see any other neighbor. "the negroes were naturally afraid of the ku klux but they finally got to the place where they were determined to break it up. they didn't have no ropes, but they would take grapevines and tie them across the road about breast high when a man would be on horseback. the ku klux would run against these vines and be knocked off their horses into the road and then the bushwhackers would shoot them. when ku klux was killed in this manner, it was never admitted; but it was said that they had gone to texas. there was several of them went to texas one night. amusements "there weren't many amusements in slave times. they had dances with fiddle music. there was mighty few darkies could get out to go to dances because the pateroles was so bad after them. i don't know of any other amusements the slaves had. they were playing baseball when i was born. there were boys much older than i was already playing when i was old enough to notice, so i think they must have known about it in slave time. they didn't play much in that way because they didn't have time. slaves who bought themselves "i have heard tell of some negroes that was thrifty and got money enough from side work to buy themselves. they had to go north then because they couldn't live in the south free. i don't remember their names just now. church "the slaves had church. sometimes they had church at one another's house. i don't think they ever built them a church house. but they could go to the white folks' church if they wanted to. how freedom came "my daddy's master told my father he was free. he told him that in . he told him that he was free to do as he pleased, that he could come when he pleased and go when he pleased. 'course, he told him he wanted him to stay around him--not to go off. soldiers "i have heard my father speak of soldiers, but they were too busy 'round atlanta and up that way to git down where my father was. they don't seem to have bothered his town. they never made my father do any labor in the army neither. my father was mixed indian, white, and negro. marriage "slaves had to get the consent of their masters to marry. sometimes masters would want them to go and would even buy the woman they wanted to keep them contented on the plantation. sometimes the masters wouldn't do anything but let them visit. they would marry--what they called marriage in those days--and the husband would have to git permission from his master to go visit his wife and git permission from her master to come there. he would go on saturday night and get back in time for his work on monday morning. it was just like raising stock and mating it. "i have been married fifty-one years. i have been married twice though. my first wife died in . i have been married to my second wife thirty-four years last april. those were real marriages. opinions "i can't say much along these lines. the chance to make a living looks so dark i can't see much of a future. things seem to be getting worse. nearly everybody i talk with, white or colored, seems to think the same. it is like senator glass said. 'if congress would close up and go home at once, times would get better.' people don't know what kind of fool law congress is going to make and they are not going to spend much money. i don't think mr. roosevelt's pump priming will do much good because you must keep adding to it or it will go away. "i don't think much of the young people. these nineteenth or twentieth century negroes is something fierce i'm telling you. vocational experiences "i am a carpenter. i wish i wasn't. the depression has made it so that the negroes get very little to do. what they have they give to their own people. they don't have much for nobody. even if the nigger gets something, he gets very little out of it. but the main trouble is there isn't anything to do. "i have been a carpenter for fifty-four years. i have been here fifty-one years. i have never had no trouble earning a living till now. i can't do it now. the biggest obstacle of the success of the negro carpenter is that negroes don't have the money to build with. they must get the money from the white man. the white man, on the other hand, if he lets out the money for the building, has the say-so on who will do it, and he naturally picks out another white man. that keeps the majority of negroes out of work as far as carpentry is concerned. it does in a time like this. when times is better, the white man does not need to be so tight, and he can divide up." interviewer: pernella anderson, colored caroline stout ex-slaves i was born in alabama in slavery time. i was sold from my mother after i was five years old and never did see her again. was sold to a family by the name of mr. games. there were six of them in family and i was the seventh. they were very nice to me until i was about years of age. i would attend to the little kids. they were all boys. had to sleep on straw beds and been cooking for myself ever since i was years old. when about ten they started putting hard work on me and had to pick cotton and do the work around the house. was a slave for about years. after i was freed i moved to union county and been here ever since. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: felix street schiller street, little rock, arkansas age: i was born in dickson county, tennessee, fifty miles north of nashville, in . it was on december twenty-eighth. my father told me when he was living how old i was. he told me all the way along, and i remember it. "nannie, jeff, hardy, john mack, and felix (that's me) are my father's children by his first wife. lena, martha, esther are his children by his second wife. he had five children by my mother, and four of them lived to be grown, and one died in infancy. my mother was his first wife. her name was mary street. her name before she married--hold a minute, lemme see--seems like it was mary--mary--street. "my father and my mother couldn't have lived on the same plantation because she was a may and he was a street. i don't know how they met. "my father's master's name was jick street. he owned, to my knowing, my father, bill street; henry street, and ed street. he might have owned more but i heard my father say he owned those. "my father said his white people weren't very wealthy. he and his brother had to go and cut cordwood, both summer and winter. and they was allowed so much work for a task. their task was nine cords a week for each man. that was equal to a cord and a half a day for each man each day. my father would cut his wood like a man ought to cut it. but he said my uncle wouldn't git at his task. he would drink whiskey all the week. they'd get after him about bein' behind with his work, but he would say, 'never mind that; i won't be behind monday morning.' on sunday morning at nine o'clock, he would get up and begin to cut on that wood. and on monday morning at nine o'clock, he would have nine cords cut for his white folks and four or five for himself. it would all be done before nine o'clock monday morning. living brother "i recently seen my brother jeff davis street. i haven't seen him before for sixty-one years. he blew in here from texas with a man named professor smuggers. he lives in malakoff, texas. it's been sixty-one years since he was where i could see him, but he says he saw me fifty-nine years ago. he came back home and i was 'sleep, he says, and he didn't wake me up. he rambled around a little and stood and looked at me awhile, he says. he was seventeen years old and i was twelve. "my brother had a lot of children. he had four girls with him. he had a boy somewheres. he is older than i am. "i heard my father say that in time of war, they were taking up folks that wouldn't join them and putting them in prison. they picked a white fellow up and had him tied with a rope and carried him down to a creek and were tying him up by his thumbs. he saw my father coming and said: 'there's a colored man i know.' my father said he knew him. they let him go when my father said he knew him and that he didn't harbor bushwhackers. every time he saw my father after that he would say, 'bill, you sure did save my life.' "my father and mother lived in a log cabin. they had homemade furniture. they had a bunk up side the wall and a trundle bed. that was the cabin they lived in in slavery time. soldiers "my father said once that when the men were gone, the soldiers came in and asked the women to cook for them. they wouldn't do it; so the soldiers made them bring them a chunk of fire. they throwed the fire on the bed and when it got to burning good, the officer wouldn't let them put it out. but he told them that they could get some of the boys to help them carry out their things if the boys were willing to do it. it was the officers who wanted the women to cook for them. it wasn't the slaves they asked; it was the white folks. sold his master "i heard my stepmother--i call her my mother--say some thing once. she belonged to a white family named bell. they had a lot of slaves. my stepmother was the house girl; so she could get on to a lot of things the others couldn't. she stayed in the house. that was in slavery times. the speculators who were buying colored folks would put up at that place. looked like a town but it all belonged to one person. the name of the place was cloverdale, tennessee. my stepmother said that a gang of these folks put up at cloverdale once and then went on to nashville, tennessee. on the next day a nigger sold the speculator. he was educated and a mulatto, and he sold his master in with a bunch of other niggers. he was just fixin' to take the money, when his master got aware of it, and come on up just in time. i don't know what happened to the nigger. it was just an accident he got caught. my stepmother said it was true. good masters "my mother had a good master. at least, she said he was good. slaves from other plantations would run away and come to her master's place to stay. they would stay a good while. "my father said his master was good to him too. my father's young master has come to see us since the war. he got down low and used to come 'round. my father would give him turns of corn. you know when you used to go to the mill, you would carry about two bushels of corn and call it a milling or a turn. my father would let his young master shell a bushel or two of corn and carry it to the mill. he got poor and sure 'nough you see. we had moved away from them then, and he got in real hard luck. he used to come and sit a half day at a time at our house. and father would give him the corn for his family. we were living in dickson county, tennessee then. seems like we was on frank hudson's place. we hadn't bought a place for ourselves then. ku klux klan "you know they used to ku klux the niggers. they went to the house after the war of an old man named hall. they demanded for him to let them in but he wouldn't. they said that they would break open the door if he didn't let them in. he didn't let them in, and they broke it down. when they started in, his wife threw fire brands in amongst 'em and he knicked one down with an ax. them that wasn't hurt carried the wounded man away and it was reported the next day that he was sick. they never did bother the nigger no more and he never had no charges made against him. runaway negroes--after freedom "it was over forty years ago. me and my wife lived at a big sawmill near elliott, arkansas, just ten miles outside of camden. white folks used to come up there and catch niggers and carry them back to louisiana with them, claiming that they owed debts. one time two white men came to elliott looking for a nigger. they came through the negro quarters and all the men were off that day because it was a holiday. the nigger saw them first and ran to the woods. they ran after him and caught him. they came back through the quarters and tied him to one of the horses and then went on to louisiana--them ridin' and him walkin' tied up with his arms behind him and roped to the horse like he was some kind of cattle or something. the niggers followed them with guns a little distance, but one nigger telephoned to el dorado and the officers there were on the lookout for them. at night, the officers in plain clothes went over and chatted with them white men. when they saw the nigger, they asked what it was they had there. they told the one that asked that it was a damn nigger that owed money back in louisiana and got smart and run away without paying up. the officers drew their guns and put handcuffs on them and carried them and the nigger away to jail. "they put everybody in jail that night. but the next morning they brought them to trial and fined the white men a hundred and fifty dollars apiece and after the trial they turned the nigger loose. that broke up the stealing of niggers. before that they would come and take a negro whenever they wanted to. "niggers were just beginning to wake up then, and know how to slip away and run off. we had whole families there that had run off one by one. the man would run away and leave his children, and as they got old enough, they would follow him one by one. right after the war "right after the war, my people farmed on shares. we had a place we leased on the hudson place that we stayed on. we leased it for five years but we stayed there seven or maybe eleven years. when we left there we bought a place of our own. on the hudson place we cleared up about thirty acres of land and 'tended it as long as we stayed there. we put out a lot of fruit trees on it. had lots of peaches, and plums, and quinces--do you know what quinces are?--and danvils (these danvil plums you know). they are kinda purple looking fruit made in the shape of a prune. they are about two inches through--jus' about half as big as your fist. "when we moved to our own place, we stayed in the same county. it was just about three-fourths of a mile from the hudson place--west of it. moving to arkansas "i came to arkansas with the intention of going to school. but i jus' messed myself up. instead of goin' to school, i went and got married. i was out here just one year before i got married. i married the first time in --february fourteenth, i think. my first wife taken sick with rheumatism and she died in . we were married thirty-one years. i married again about . vocational experiences "when i was able to work, i worked in the railroad shops--boiler maker's helper. before that i farmed and did other things. went from trackman to machinist's helper and boilermaker's helper. opinions "young folks just need the right handlin'. "i don't mix in politics." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mary tabon, forrest city, arkansas age: "pa was sold twice to my knowing. he was sold to mccoy, then to alexander. he was virginian. then he was carried to alabama and brought to holly grove by the mayos. i have wore four names, alexander, adams, morgan, and tabon. "my mother's owners was ellis from alabama. she said she was sold from the scales to ellis. her father, sister, and two brothers was sold from ellis. she never seen them no more. they found uncle charles ellis dead in the field. they never knowed how it come. "my parents had hard times during slavery. ma had a big scar on her shoulder where the overseer struck her with a whoop. she was chopping cotton. she either wasn't doing to suit him or wasn't getting along fast enough to suit him. "ma had so many little ones to raise she give me to nancy bennett. i love her soul in her grave. i helped her to do all her work she taught me. she'd leave me with her little boy and go to church and i'd make cakes and corn bread. she brag on me. we'd have biscuits on sunday morning. they was a rarity. "one day she had company. she told me to bake some potatoes with the jackets on. i washed the potatoes and wrapped them up in rags and boiled them. it made her so mad she wet the towel and whooped me with it. i unwrapped the potatoes and we had them that way for dinner. that was the maddest she ever got at me. she learned me to cook and keep a nice house and to sew good as anybody. i rather know how to work than be educated. "mr. ash give me a lot of scraps from his garment factory. i made them up in quilts. he give me enough to make three dresses. i needed dresses so bad." (one dress has sixty-six pieces in it but it didn't look like that. they sent it to little tock and st. louis for the county fairs. her dresses looked fairly well.) "i was born at holly grove, arkansas. alexander was the name my pa went by and that was my maiden name." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: liza moore tanner, helena, arkansas age: "i was born in north georgia. it was not fer from rome. we belong to master belton moore and miss jane moore. they had a big family, some grandchildren old as their own. that was my job playing wid the children. my parents' name rob moore and pilfy calley. she lived five miles from belton moore's house. she was hired out over at moore's the way she and papa met up. i know now i was hired out too. i run after them children a long time it seemed like to me. i loved them and they cried after me. i get so tired i'd slip off and go up in the loft and soon be asleep. i learned to climb a ladder that very way. it was nailed up straight against the side of the wall. they'd ask me where i been. they never did whoop me fer that. i tell 'em i been asleep. i drapped off 'sleep. i was so tired. papa helped with the young calves and the feeding and in the field too. mama was a fast hand in the field. they called her a little guinea woman. she could outdo me when i was grown and she was getting old. she washed fer the calley's. all i remember they was a old man and woman. mama lived in the office at their house. he let her ride a horse to moore's to work. i rode home wid her many a time. she rode a side saddle. i rode sideways too. she used a battling stick long as she lived when she washed. "papa died two years after the surrender in atlanta, georgia. the moore's moved there and he went along. he left mama at master calley's and i was still kept at the old home place. aunt jilly kept me and my two oldest sisters. her name was jilly calley. i seen mama right often. they fetched papa back to see us a few times and then he died. we all went to atlanta where he was buried. mama lived to be purty nigh a hundred years old. she had fourteen children. i had two sisters and eight half-brothers and three half-sisters. some died so young they never was named. my stepfather was mean to her and beat her, caused some of their deaths. she was a midwife in her later years. she made us a living till i married. she was gone with dr. harrison a lot. he'd come take her off and bring her home in the buggy. i married and immigrated to dell, arkansas. we lived there a year and went to memphis. mama come there and died at my house. she got blind. had to lead her about. my steppapa went off and never come back. he got drunk whenever he could get to it. we hunted him and asked about him. i think he went off with other women. we heard he did. "freedom--i heard miss jane say when she was packing up to go to atlanta, 'i will get a nurse there. they will make her go to school.' i thought she was talking about me. i wanted to go. i loved the children. i got to go to school in the country a right smart. i can read and write. me and my two sisters all was in the same class. it seemed strange then. we had a colored man teacher, mr. jacobin. it was easier for me to learn than my sisters. they are both dead now. "i got three living children--one here and two in memphis. after i got my hip broke i live about with them so they can wait on me. "i don't know about this new way of living. my daughter in memphis raising her little girl by a book. she don't learn her as much manners as children used to know. she got it from the white lady she works for. it tells how to do your child. times done changed too much to suit my way of knowing. 'the old time religion' is the only good pattern fer raising a family. mighty little of that now." interviewer: pernella m. anderson person interviewed: fannie tatum, junction city, arkansas age: born "i was born on wilmington landing in on the ouachita river and was carried away when i was two years old. my mother ran away and left my sister and me when we was three and five years old. i never saw her any more till i was eight and after i was eight years old i never saw her again in forty years. after my mama left me old master neal come here to el dorado and had me bound to him until i was twenty-one. i stayed there till i was twenty-one. i slept by the jamb of the fireplace on a sack of straw and covered with saddle blankets. that was in the winter when snow was waist high. in summer i slept on naked floor and anywhere i laid down was my bed just like a dog. "i wasn't allowed to eat at the table. i et on the edge of the porch with the dogs with my fingers. i worked around the house and washed until i was nine and then i started to plowing. at ten i started splitting rails. my task was two hundred rails a day. if i didn't cut them i got a beating. i did not know what a coat was. i wore two pieces, a lowel[hw:?] underskirt and a lowel[hw:?] dress, bachelor brogans and sacks and rags wrapped around my legs for stockings. that was in winter. summer i went barefooted and wore one piece. my sun hat was a rag tied on my head. "i did not know anything about sunday school nor church. the children would try to teach me my abc's but master would not let them. never visited any colored people. if i see a colored person coming i run from them. they said they might steal me. after i got grown they let me go to a colored party and they whipped me for going. tried to make me tell whether or not a boy come home with me but i did not tell it; one come with me though. that was the first time i got out. of course they sent one of the boys along with me but he would not tell on me. "i never slept in a bed until i was twenty-two years old. never was with any colored people until i was grown. my play was with white children. my father was a white man. he was my ma's old master and they was neals. they kept my hair cut off like a boy's all the time. i never wore a stocking until i was twenty-two and my hair did not grow out and get combed until i was twenty-two. my old master and mistress would have been mean to me but i was so smart they did not get a chance. the only thing i was treated like a dog. "i live in junction city but am here visiting my daughter." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: anthony taylor w. ninth street, little rock, arkansas age: , or ? "i was born in clark county adjoining hot spring county, between malvern and arkadelphia. clark county was named after old man general clark. he was worth four or five thousand acres of land. "my father's name was anthony mcclellan. why they called me anthony taylor was my stepfather was named taylor. my mother's name was lettie sunnaville. my mother has been dead thirty or forty years and my father died six months before i was born. he died a natural death. sickness. he was exposed and died of pneumonia. "fayette sunnaville was my grandfather on my mother's side. that was my mother's father. rachel sunnaville was my mother's mother's name. i don't know the names of my father's people. they was _sole_[hw:?] in slavery. but it is been so far back; i don't remember nothing, and i don't know whether they would or not if they was living. "we stayed on the old plantation for seven or eight years before we had sense enough or knowed enough to get away from there and git something for ourselves. that is how i come to raise such big potatoes. i been raising them fifty years. these are hill potatoes. you have to know how to raise potatoes to grow 'em this big. (he showed me some potatoes, sweet, weighing about seven pounds--ed.) "i have heard my mother and my grandfather tell lots of stories about slavery. i can't remember them. "old man bullocks had about eight or ten families that i knew about. those were the families that lived right near us in the quarters. i didn't say eight or ten hands--i said eight or ten families. them was the ones that was right near us. we was awful small after freedom but them what was with him stayed with him quite a while--stayed with the old master. he would pay them so much after freedom come. "lawd. i could tell you things about slavery. but i'm forgitful and i can't do it all at once. he had the whole county from arkadelphia clean down to princeton and tulip--our old mars did. lonoke was between princeton and tulip. princeton was the county-seat. he must have had a large number of slaves. those ten families i knew was just those close 'round us. most of the farm was _fur_ pine country land. there would be thirty or forty acres over here of cultivation and then thirty or forty acres over there of woods and so on. he had more land than anybody else but it wasn't all under cultivation. "he's been dead now twenty or thirty years. i don't know that he was mean to his slaves. if he had been, they wouldn't have gone on after freedom. they would have moved out. you see, they didn't care for nothing but a little something to eat and a fine dress and they would have gone on to somebody else and got that. "wasn't no law then. he was the law. i worked all day long for ten cents a day. they would allowance you so many pounds of meat, so much meal, so much molasses. i have worked all day for ten cents and then gone out at night to get a few potatoes. i have pulled potatoes all day for a peck of meal and i was happy at that. i never did know what the price of cotton was. "where we was, the ku klux never did bother anybody. all there was, every time we went out we had to have a pass. "my grandfather and grandmother were both whipped sometimes. i don't know the man that whipped them. i don't know whether it was the agent or the owner or who, but they were whipped. lots of times they had work to do and didn't do it. naturally they whipped them for it. that was what they whipped my grandparents for. sometimes too, they would go off and wouldn't let the white folks know where they was going. sometimes they would neglect to feed the horses or to milk the cows--something like that. that was the only reason i ever heard of for punishing them. "i heard that if the boss man wanted to be with women that they had, the women would be scared not to be with him for fear he would whip them. and when they started whipping them for that they kept on till they got what they wanted. they would take them 'way off and have dealings with them. that is where so much of that yellow and half-white comes from. "there was some one going through telling the people that they was free and that they was their own boss. but yet and still, there's lots of them never did leave the man they was with and lots of them left. there was lots of white people that wouldn't let a nigger tell their niggers that they was free, because they wanted to keep them blind to that for years. kept them for three or four years anyway. them that bullocks liked was crazy about him. he would give them a show--so much a month and their keeps. i don't remember exactly how much it was but it was neighborhood price. he was a pretty good man. of course, you never seen a white man that wouldn't cheat a little. "he'd cheat you out of a little cotton. he would have the cotton carried to the gin. he would take half the corn and give us five or six shoats. after he got the cotton all picked and sold, the cotton it would all go to him for what you owed him for furnishing you. you never saw how much cotton was ginned, nor how much he got for it, nor how much it was worth nor nothing. they would just tell you you wasn't due nothing. they did that to hold you for another year. you got nothing to move on so you stay there and take what he gives you. "of all the crying you ever heard, one morning we'd got up and the pigs and hogs in the lot that we had fattened to go on that winter, he was catching them. after we'd done fattened them with the corn that was our share, he took 'em and sold 'em. we didn't even know we owed him anything. we thought the crops had done settled things. nobody told us nothin'. all we children cried. the old man and the old woman didn't say nothing, because they was scared. my mother would get up and go down and milk the cows and what she'd get for the milking would maybe be a bucket of buttermilk. "we'd have a spoonful of black molasses and corn bread and buttermilk for breakfast. we got flour bread once a week. we would work hard all the week talkin' 'bout what good biscuits we'd have sunday morning. sack of flour would last two or three months because we wouldn't cook flour bread only once a week--saturday night or sunday morning. "we had no skillet at that time. we would rake the fireplace and push the ashes back and then you would put the cake down on the hearth or on a piece of paper or a leaf and then pull the ashes over the cake to cook it. just like you roast a sweet potato. then when it got done, you would rake the ashes back and wash the cake and you would eat it. sometimes you would strike a little grit or gravel in it and break your teeth. but then i'm tellin' you the truth about it. "when our hogs was taken that time, we didn't have nothing to go on that winter. they would compel us to stay. they would allowance us some meat and make us split rails and clear up land for it. it was a cinch if he didn't give it to you you couldn't get nothin'. wasn't no way to get nothing. then when crop time rolled 'round again they would take it all out of your crops. make you split rails and wood to earn your meat and then charge it up to your crop anyhow. but you couldn't do nothin' 'bout it. "sometimes a barrel of molasses would set up in the smokehouse and turn to sugar. you goin' hungry and molasses wastin'. they was determined not to give you too much of it. "i made my way by farming. after i got to be some size, i started at it. i farmed all my life. while i could work, things was pretty good. wisht i was on a farm now. even when i'm 'round here sick, i can git these potatoes raised with a little help from the neighbors. "i don't belong to church. i oughter, but i don't. then again, i figure that a man can be just as good out of it as he can in it. i've got good desires, but i never confessed to the public. "i have had three hundred dollars worth of stuff stolen from me. everything i produced is stolen from me because i have no way to protect myself. what i raise if i don't get shet of it right away, the people get shet of it for me. i had eighty head of chickens in the barn out there runnin' 'round. when i got sick and was in the bed and couldn't help myself, the chickens went. in the daytime, they would fix traps and jerk a string and pull a board down on them and then go out in the weeds and get them. i never reported nothin' to the police. i wasn't able to report nothing. i was just batching, and now and then people would come in and report them to me. they would wait till they saw somebody come in and when they saw that i was talking and wouldn't notice them, they would steal anything they wanted. the police came by here and ran them once. but that didn't do no good. "once somebody stole an automatic shotgun. they stole a colt one time. they stole all my clothes and pawned them to a whiskey dealer. he got sent to the pen for selling whiskey, but i didn't get my clothes. they come in the yard and steal my potatoes, collards, turnips, ochre (okra?), and so on. i lay there in the bed and see them, but i can't stop them. all i can do is to holler, 'you better go on and let them things alone.' ever since the last war, i haven't been able to work. i am bare-feeted and naked now on account of not bein' able to support myself. "i just come out of the hospital. i been too sick even to work in my garden. after i come home i taken a backset[tr: ?] but i am still staying here. i am just here on the mercies of the people. i don't get nothing but what the people give me. i don't get no moddities nor nothin' from the government. "i ain't never been able to get no help from the government. long time ago, i went down to the place and asked for help and they told me that since i was alone, i oughta be able to help myself. they gimme a ticket for twenty meals and told me by the time i ate them up, they might have something else they could do for me. i told them i couldn't go back and forth to git the meals. i have the ticket now. i couldn't git to the place to use it none, so i keep it for a keepsake. it is 'round here somewheres or other. i was past the pension age. i ain't been able to do no steady work since the war. i was too old for the war--the world war." interviewer's comment [hw: omit] the spelling of the name sunnaville is phonetic. i don't recognize the name and he couldn't spell it of course. when i called, he had potatoes that weighed at least seven pounds. they were laid out on the porch for sale. he had a small patch in his yard which he cultivated, and had gotten about ten bushels from it. his account of slavery times is so vivid that you would consider his age nearer eighty than sixty-eight. a little questioning reveals that he has no idea of his age although he readily gives it as sixty-eight--a memorized figure. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lula taylor, r.f.d., east of town, brinkley, arkansas age: "my mother was sold five times. she was sold when she was too little to remember her mother. her mother was charity linnerman. they favored. she was dark and granny was light colored. my mother didn't love her mother like i loved her. "granny lived in a house behind the white church (?) in helena. after freedom we kept writing till we got in tetch with her. we finally got granny with us on the jefferies place at clarendon. "a man (negro) come by and conjured my mother. she was with miss betty reed (or reid) up north of lonoke. they was my mother's last owners. that old man made out like she stole things when he stole them his own black self. he'd make her hide out like she stole things. she had a sweetheart and him and his wife. she had to live with them. they stole her off from her last owner, miss betty reed. they didn't like her sweetheart. they was going to marry. he bought all her wedding clothes. when she didn't marry him she let him have back all the weddin' clothes and he buried his sister in them. this old man was a conjurer. he give my mother a cup of some kind of herbs and made her drink it. he tole her all her love would go to henry deal. he liked him. he was my papa. her love sure did leave her sweetheart and go to my papa. he bought her some nice clothes. she married in the clothes he got her. she was so glad to let go that old man and woman what conjured her 'way from her white folks to wait on them. "granny's head was all split open. i lived to see all that. white folks said her husband done it but she said one of her old master's struck her on the head with a shoe last. "my papa said he'd hit boards and stood on them all day one after another working cold days. "master wade deal at freedom give papa a pair of chickens, goats, sheep, turkeys, a cow; and papa cleared ten acres of ground to pay for his first mule. he bought the mule from master wade deal. "old master deal used to run us from behind him plowing. we tease him, say what he'd say to the horse or mule. he'd lock us up in the smokehouse. we'd eat dried beef and go to sleep. he was a good old man. "grandpa henry pool went to war. papa was sold from the pools to the deals. grandpa played with us. he'd put us all up on a horse we called old bill. he said he got so used to sleeping on his blanket on the ground in war times till he couldn't sleep on a bed. he couldn't get off asleep. "grandpa found a pitcher of gold money been buried in old master pool's stable. he give it to them. they knowed it was out there. "mother was with miss betty reed in most of war times. miss betty hid their jewelry and money. she spoke of the yankees coming and kill pretty chickens and drink up a churn of fresh milk turned ready for churning. it be in the chimney corner to keep warm. they'd take fat horses and turn their poor ones in the lot. they never could pass up a fat hog. they cleaned out the corn crib. "all my kin folks was field hands. i ploughed all day long. "papa said his ole mistress deal was out under an apple tree peeling apples to dry. a white crane flew over the tree and fluttered about over her. next day she died. then the old man married a younger woman. "it is so about the pigeons at pigeon roost (wattensaw, arkansas). they weighted trees down till they actually broke limbs and swayed plenty of them. that was the richest land you ever seen in your life when it was cleared off. folks couldn't rest for killing pigeons and wasted them all up. i was born at pigeon roost on jim high's place. i seen a whole washpot full of stewed pigeon. it was fine eating. it was a shame to waste up all the pigeons and clear out the place." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: millie taylor texas street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm, i was born in slavery times in calhoun county, mississippi. "bill armstrong was my owner. he's been dead a long time. "my folks stayed on there a good while. "pa said they was good to him but they wasn't good to my ma. i heered pa say they beat her till she died. i don't remember a thing 'bout my ma. "i heered 'em talk 'bout the ku klux. they kep' that in my hearin' so much that i kep' that in my remembrance. "i know when we stayed on the place pa said was old master's. yes'm, i sure 'members dat. i know we stayed there till pa married again. "bill armstrong's wife made our clothes. i know we stayed right in the yard with some more colored folks. "pa worked on the shares and rented too. "i was twenty-four when i come from mississippi here. i was married then and had three chillun. but they all dead now. i stays here with my grandson. i don't know what i'd do if it wasn't for him. i reckon i'd just be knockin' around--no tellin'. "i got another grandson lives in marvell. i went there to visit and i got so i couldn't walk, so my grandson carried me to the doctor. and he just looked at me--he had been knowin' me so long. i said, 'don't you know me?' and he said, 'if you'd take off your hat i think i'd know you.' and he said, 'well, for the lawd, if it ain't millie taylor!' "i've always done farmin'. that's the way i was raised--farmin'. i just looks at these folks in town and it seems funny to me to buy ever'thing you need. looks to me like they would rather raise it. "oh, lawd, don't talk about this young race. it looks to me like they is more heathe'nish. the bible say they would be weaker and wiser but they is just too wise for their own good. i just looks at 'em and i don't know what to think about this young race. they is a few respects you and theirselves. "i seen things here in town i didn't think i'd ever see. seems like the people in the country act like they recognize you more. "i has a good remembrance. seems like i gets to studyin' 'bout it and it just comes to me like abc. i know pa used to talk and tell us things and if i didn't believe it, i didn't give him no cross talk. but nowadays if chillun don't believe what you say, they goin' try to show you a point. "yes ma'am, folks is livin' a fast life--white and colored. "looks like the old folks has worked long enough for the white folks till they ought to have enough to live on." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: sarah taylor, r.f.d., madison, arkansas age: "i was born in releford county, tennessee, ten miles from murfreesboro. my parents belonged to dr. jimmy manson. he was off and gone from home nearly all the time. he didn't have a negro driver. because he didn't they called us all manson's free niggers. folks didn't like it because we had so much freedom. one day a terrible thing happened broke up our happy way of living on dr. manson's place. "grandpa was part indian. dr. jimmy didn't whoop. he visited and he'd get a jug of whiskey, call his niggers and give them a little, make them feel good and get them in a humor for working. dr. jimmy had a nigger overseer. they was digging a ditch and making a turnpike from dr. manson's place to murfreesboro. they told grandpa to drive down in the ditch with his load of rock and let the white folks drive up on the dump. they was hauling and placing rock on the dump to make a turnpike. in tennessee it was a law if a man owned a nigger he had to whoop him or have him whooped. if he didn't he had to sell him. they told grandpa if he didn't do as they said they would whoop him, then they said they would break his back. they took the fussing to dr. jimmy for him to whoop grandpa. he sold him to nigger traders and they drove him to mississippi. mother never seen him no more. grandma died of grief. she had nine girls and no boys. after freedom seven went north and mama, was jane, and aunt betty lived on in tennessee, and i lived some in mississippi. that's the reason i hate mississippi to this very day. "the day they fit on stone river in tennessee, brother hood was born. he was born during the battle. i guess they moved off of dr. jimmy's place at freedom, for i was born on jack little's place. "the times is passing faster than i want it to and i'm doing very well. i don't never meddle in young folks' business and i don't 'low them meddling in mine. folks is the ones making times so hard. some making times hard for all rest of us can't help ourselves. it is sin and selfishness makes times so hard. young folks no worse than some not so very old. it ain't young folks making times hard. it's older ones so greedy. they don't have no happiness and don't want to see old ones live nor the young ones neither." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: warren taylor w. seventeenth street, little rock, arkansas age: my people are all from richmond, virginia. i was just four years old when they come here. my father was in charge of all the machinery. he ran the gin. didn't do anything else. my mother was a house girl. the kids learned her everything they learned in school. she knew everything. my father died when i was young. my mother lived till she was eighty. but the time she was fifty, i bought her a home and sat her down on pulaski street in that home. and that is why i have so little trouble. "my ma belonged to hoffman. he sold her to wiley adams. he carried her to mississippi. she stayed there for a short time and then came to arkansas. he settled in a little place called tulip, arkansas. then freedom came and we came to little rock and settled at what is now seventh and ringo streets; but then it was just a stage road leading to benton, arkadelphia, and other places. stages passed twice a day with passengers and freight. no railroads at all then. the government kept the roads up. they had the arsenal hall where the city park is and had a regiment of soldiers there. the work on that road was kept up by the soldiers. that was under grant's administration. i never saw but three presidents--three democratic presidents--cleveland, wilson, and roosevelt. "my father's master was named lee. he married my mother back in virginia. my daddy's people when he was freed was named taylor. he died when i was young and he never gave me any details about them. good masters "the adamses were good to my mother. and they help her even after freedom. charlie adams and mack adams of malvern, arkansas. john was the sheriff and ran a store. mack was a drummer for the penzl grocery. when my mother was ill, he used to bring her thirty dollars at a time. every two months she had to go down to malvern when she was well and carry an empty trunk and when she would come back it would be full. my mother was wet-nurse to the adamses and they thought the world and all of her. marriage "they had a good opinion of their house servants. that is how she and my father came to belong to different families. one white man would say to the other, 'i got a good boy. i'm going to let him come over to see your girl.' he would be talking about a negro man that worked around his house and a negro girl that worked for the other man. that would be all right. so that's the way my father went to see my mother. he was married in the way they always married in those days. you know how it was. there was no marriage at all. they just went on out and got the woman and the white man said, 'there she is. you are man and wife.' right after the war "my father died before freedom. my mother lived with him until her folks moved away from his folks. then she was separated from him and left him in mississippi. she belonged to one white man and he to another, and that could happen any time. "right after freedom, she stayed with these white people, doing the house work. she had the privilege of raising things for herself. she made a garden, and raised vegetables and such like. "my brother who had run off during slavery time and who later became a preacher in the north invited us to live in the city with him. vocational experiences "i wasn't fourteen years old when i was tending to flowers for the cairo and fulton railroad. that was a railroad which later became missouri pacific. they beautified everything. there wasn't any bridge. they had a boat to take you into the town of argenta then, and when the trains came through, the same boat would carry the cars across. an engine would be on the other side to finish the journey with them. "there is one engineer living now who was active in that time, charlie seymour, retired, of little rock. he used to run the first train over the baring cross bridge, and then he ran the first engine over the new bridge here. he had already been retired when they finished the new bridge, but they had him pull the first train over the new bridge because he had pulled the first one over the old bridge. they wanted to give him that honor. "my manager in that time was superintendent a.e. buchanan. "from this work, i was advanced to the office and stayed there twenty years. i served under commissioner thomas essex and later under commissioner j.a. dean. this service included twenty years in various departments. "after that i billed freight for the missouri pacific at the baring cross storerooms under mr. h.s. turner for eight months or more. then i was transferred, because the location was not good for my health, to de soto, missouri, forty-five miles this side of st. louis. sedentary work had proved bad for me and i needed more active work. i waited on the master mechanic there. after that i came back to little rock and worked for the pacific express company under mr. g.f. johnson, superintendent. after that, i worked for the quapaw club[hw?] during its heyday when johnie boyle, hollenberg, acie bragg, will mitchell, mr. cottman, captain shaw, and oodles of others were members. mr. moorehead white was secretary. after that i went to doing my own work. "now i am past my prime and i do the best i can with what little help i get from the government. i get eight dollars a month and commodities. mr. roosevelt has got guts. mighty few men would attempt to do what he has done. he is the greatest humanitarian president the country has ever had. "but i've got a pile of recommendations. i've got recommendations from thomas essex, land commissioner, st. louis, iron mountain, and southern railway w.s. thomas, geologist, st. louis, iron mountain, southern j.h. harvey, general foreman of bridges and building g.a.a. deane, land commissioner succeeding essex, st. louis, iron mountain, and southern s.w. moore, general secretary, railway y.m.c.a. arthur b. washburn, superintendent, arkansas deaf mute institute a.c. st. clair, manager of the college of physicians and surgeons (note comment) [tr: no additional comment found.] you can read these for yourself, and you see what they say. they can't get me work now, but it's great to know you did good work and be able to prove it. "the same commodities they give now were given in . they had what they called the freedman's bureau. they used to have what they called the lick skillet on spring street from fifth to seventh. leastwise, the colored people called it that. bush and a lots of other big niggers used to go there and get free lodgings until they were able to get along alone without help. the niggers they call big niggers now stayed in wagon yards when they first come here. former morals "there was a time when a low-down person, colored or white, couldn't stay in the community. they would give him a ticket and send him to memphis or somewhere else. "reuben white built the first baptist church. in those days, people were christian. white baptized one hundred fifty people twice a month. you didn't have to put a lock on your door then. bachelor "i haven't been married; marriage holds a man back. a woman won't do as she is told. successful negroes in little rock "they had three negro aldermen in this city: one of them was green thompson; but the negroes butchered him. he was murdered as he came in from a festival. m.w. gibbs, land office man for the government, was the only nigger here who wasn't bothered by no one--by no colored person. dr. smith was the leading colored dentist once, and the leading dentist of the city in his day. almost all the white people went to him. colored people had the barber shops. mcnair had a barber shop on main between second and third. his boy killed him--no good reason. his boy went to school with us; he was always stubborn and mean. "henry powell was jailer here once. sam wilkins, a man that weighed about three hundred pounds, was the turnkey at the penitentiary. he lived in one of the finest houses in the town at that time. nigger bands had all the music then. i have seen white organizations like the odd fellows and masons follow negro bands. nigger orchestras played here all the big to-dos among white people. white people used to get nigger dancers to come here to dance and show them so that they could learn the late steps. "colored caterers had the big jobs. henry miller was one of them. he's going pretty strong still. you get some smart niggers 'round the marion hotel right now. we used to have some smart cooks. but they did too much peddling out of the back door. dishonesty put them back. white people have taken all that work now. the nigger ruined himself in this town. they are paying white men now for what they know. they used to pay niggers for what they knowed. opinions "if the government would give you a job today, niggers would be up to take you out of it tomorrow. niggers are dirty, and these 'round here are ignorant. "the parents don't teach the children, and the children can't amount too anything. if children are not taught to work, they will never have nothing. a bunch of these young people don't mean to work. they just lay 'round waiting for the old people to die so they can get what little the old folks accumulated and run through it. but a man never keeps what he himself doesn't earn. he can't. "the children are raised now without manners. when i have to go past capitol hill school, i have to get off the sidewalk. ain't nothin' but these graduates teachin' now, young graduates that don't know nothin' but runnin' about. when i come along, the carpetbaggers were teaching and they knew their business. mrs. stephens went to fisk and finished there. mrs. spight graduated from union high school. we had all white teachers at first. miss sarah henley used to teach with old ex-slaves where the bethel a.m.e. church is now. there wasn't no church there then--just a little shanty. i was just five years old. my mother used to take me there and leave me, but she taught me herself at home. she taught me just like i see you teach your kids. "boys don't do nothing but play now. they had to hustle then. they can't do nothing now. they have this departmental system now. they didn't have it then. the different temperaments ruin children. they used to review, now they don't. they change text-books so fast the old ones can't be sold." interviewer's comment warren taylor holds recommendations from a number of prominent people referring to his excellent character, high morals, unusual intelligence, wide information, industry, thrift, honesty, and trustworthiness. some of the names occur in the interview. the letters and documents proving his long service and good record were brought out during the interview and given to me to read. he has an unusual memory and penetrating insight into conditions. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: sneed teague brinkley, arkansas age: occupation: works on railroad "my owners was miss betsy and master teague. miss betsy had a sister lived with them. her name was miss polly. they was french folks from the old country. "my ma had belong to the cox before the teagues owned her. the teagues had three families of servants. "i remember them--yes mam--they was very saving people. they made everything that they used. the shettle, the carding machine, the spinning wheel and all, they made em. they had a carding machine different to anybodys in the country. it worked by a foot treadle. another thing wasn't like nobody elses in the whole country was the bed. it had four tall post. the head board a little higher than the one at the foot but instead of using slats across from the railings it was mortised together and hemp ropes wove bout a inch apart. it was strong and didn't seem to give (stretch) much. "they raised sheep and they wove and spun wool altogether. they didn't fool with cotton. never did, not even down to my time. that carding machine i'm telling bout turned out rolls of wool. it was right pretty. they made all kinds of wool things and sold them. the old man had three or four boys. mr. jim teague run a wood and blacksmith shop. he sold plows, wagons, hoes. they made spoons, knives, and forks out of sheets of some kind of metal. everything they used they made it and they sold mighty near every thing folks wanted. the servants stayed on after the war. my ma stayed till she died. my family had a little dispute when i was twelve years old and i left. ma died and i never went back. i come to forrest city and got work. i been farmin' and working on the railroad. i have done track work. i got acres land and a house. i don't need on the relief. if i need it i would want it. the reason i ain't got a garden and cow is i work out and not there to see after it. "some times i vote. you make enemies cause they all want you to vote for them and i can't do that. i don't care nothin' bout votin'. i don't enquire no more bout politics. "the fellow what raises things to sell is better off with prices high but if he is working for money, times is hard for him. cause the money is hard to get and hard to keep now. the young folks morals ain't like young folks used to have. seemed like young folks too smart to be trained in morals like they was when i was comin' up." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mary teel holly grove, ark. age: "our masters was wade and curls. miss fannie was master wade's wife. they was kin somehow. i heard ma say they wouldn't let their boys work. we girls growd up together. they called ma 'cousin'. "ma say she come from marshal county tennessee to holly springs mississippi. she never did see her pa. my papa's papa was _a white man_. my pa was lewis brittman. he was a carriage driver. he made and mended shoes. my ma was a fine cook. she had nine children but jes three living now. one of the girls--miss fannie's girls--married bout when i did. we jes growd up lack that. i left the girls at mt. pleasant, mississippi. i stayed on their place a while. i wish i had money to go back to my old home and see all 'em livin'. i never heard 'em say if they give 'em somepin. pa lernt us to do all kinds of work. he knowd how to do nearly everything cause he was brought up by white folks. measles broke out, then small pox and the white folks put us in a room all together at the white house so we could be seen after. we lay on the same beds. my brother would whistle. i was real little but i member it well as yesterday. ma say stop whistlin' in that bed and miss fannie say let him whistle i want to hear him cause i know he better. they say it bad luck to sing in bed or look in the lookin'-glass (mirror) if you in the bed. we all got over it. "pa made us go clean. he made me comb and wrop my hair every night. i had prutty hair then. i had tetter and it all come out. i has to wear this old wig now. when i was young my eye-sight got bad, they said measles settled in em and to help em ma had these holes put in em (in her ears). i been wearin' earbobs purt nigh all my life. "the ku klux never bothered us. they never come nigh our house no time. pa died and ma married a old man. they stayed in the same place a while. when pa died he had cattle and stock that why i don't know if he got somepin at freedom. he had plenty. "we lived at holly springs (miss.) when they started the first colored schools. there was three lady teachers. i think a man. one of the white teachers boarded at my ma's. on saturday the other two eat there. i recollect ma cooking and fixing a big dinner saturday. no white folks let em stay with em or speak to em. they was sent from up north to teach the darky chaps. i was one went to school. they wasn't nice like my white folks then neither. they paid high board and white folks sent em to ma so she get the money. i was years old when i married. i lived wid my husband more an years. we got long what i'ze tellin' you. this young set ain't got no raisin' reason they cain't stand one nother. i don't let em come in my yard. i cain't raise no children, i'm too old and they ain't got no manners and the big ones got no sense. jes wild. they way they do. they live together a while and quit. both them soon livin' wid somebody else. that what churches fer, to marry in. heap of em ain't doin' it. no children don't come here tearin' up what i work and have. i don't let em come in that gate, i have to work so hard in my old days. i picked cotton. i can, by pickin' hard, make a dollar a day. i cooked ten years fore i stopped, i cain't hold up at it. i washed and ironed till the washing machines ruined that work fer all of us black folks. silk finery and washin' machines ruint the black folks. "ma named elsie langston and lewis langston. they took that name somehow after the old war (civil war), i recken it was her old master's name. "after i was married and had children i was hard up. i went to a widow woman had a farm but no men folks. she say, 'if you live here and leave your little children in my yard and take my big boys and learn em to work, i will cook. on saturday you wash and iron.' she took me in that way when my color wouldn't help me. i stayed there--between memphis and holly springs. "i live hard the way i live. i pick cotton when i can't go hardly. they did give me a little commodity but i lose half day work if i go up there and wait round. don't know what they give me. i don't get a cent of the penshun." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: wade thermon, r.f.d. (pwa reservation), des arc, arkansas age: "i was born in boswell, oklahoma. my mother and father was both slaves some wha in the eastern states. soon as freedom was declared they kept going till i was born. they finally come back and farmed round pine bluff. my folks last time i heard from them was at garland city. there's wha my mother died. i had three brothers and one sister, but one brother died long time ago. oklahoma was pore farmin'. the family could do pretty good farmin' in arkansas. i come here from pine bluff. i got a wife, two girls and a little grandchild. when i first come to dis county i done public work--piece work. i handled cotton and cross ties. i used to help load and unload the boats and i worked helpin' build railroads. then i had to farm about a little fur a living. i worked on victor gates place six years. then i worked on the widow thomas place till the government bought it. then the last eighteen months i got work wid the pwa on the rezer/va/tion. they turned me off now and i ain't got no place to work. "i voted the republican ticket the last time. i don't know nothing 'bout stricted sufage. i voted in oklahoma some and here some. no i sho don't think the women needs to vote. they won't let us vote in the primary. no i wouldn't know who would suit in dem high offices. i reckon it is all right. we is in you might say a foreign country. what i blames 'em fur is not puttin' us in a country all to our selves and den let us run it all to our selves. it is gettin' us all mixed up here every year worse and worse. "i don't know nuthin' 'bout the civil war. that was before i was born. i heard my folks talk some 'bout it, been so long i forgot what they did say. my folks owned a place in oklahoma, at least i recken they did. i never did own no home nor no land. well, missus, cause i never could get but berry little ahead ever and it takes all i makes to live on and i ain't got nuthin' to go on now. "times is changin' so much i don't know whut goin' to happen to the next generation. prices is mighty high now the reason you have to spend every cent you makes fore you get paid off. dats the reason i don't like the pwa work i done. it cuts you off without a thing to go on. i likes farm work whole heap the best." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: mrs. dicey thomas center street, little rock, arkansas age: about "i was born in barbour county, alabama. when i was born, the white folks kept the children's age, not that of their parents. when the yankees came through our white folks' plantation, the white folks was hiding away things. father "my father was named ben see. see was my maiden name. thomas comes from my marriage. yankees "it was about twelve o'clock when the yankees came through, because we had just gone to bring the bowls. they used to serve us out of these gourds and wooden spoons. me and another little girl had gone to get some bowls and spoons and when we got back the yankees were swarming over the place. they said, 'you are free. go where you please.' "my mother had a little baby. the old women would tend to this baby and we would sit and rock the cradle till mother would come. i know i wasn't very old, because i didn't do anything but sit and rock the baby. i had just gotten big enough to carry the bowls. "when the yankees came through they stole ben see's horse and brought him out here in arkansas. in those days, they used to brand horses. some woman out here in arkansas recognized the horse by his brand and wrote to him about it. he came out and got the horse. we had gone by that time. visiting the graves "ben see used to take the little darkies to the cemetery and show them where their master and missis was laying. he never would sell none of his father's slaves. the slave block "he would buy other slaves and sell them though. he used to buy little kids that couldn't walk. maybe some big white man would come that would want to buy a nigger. he used to have servants in the yard and he would have the slaves he'd bought saved up. one of the yard servants would catch a little nigger with his head all knotty and filled with twigs. he would swinge the hair and the little nigger would yell, but he wouldn't be hurt. "he had a block built up high just like a meat block out in the yard. he would have the yard man bring the little niggers out and put them on this block. i don't know nothing about their parents, who they were nor where they were. all i know he would have this child there what he'd done bought. "if there would be about five or six come in, here's this nigger sitting up here. here's a lot of folks waitin' to buy him. one would say, 'i bid so much.' another would say, 'i bid so much.' that would go on till the biddin' got as high as it would go. then the little nigger would go to the highest bidder if the bid suited master. "my mother and father didn't know their age. the white folks kept the ages, and that was something they didn't allow the slaves to handle. i must have been four or five years old when my mother was in the field, because i wasn't allowed to take the baby out of the cradle but just to sit and rock it. arkansas "when i come to arkansas, stages was running from little rock down toward pine bluff. jesse james robbed the pine bluff train. that about the first train came in. they cut down the trees across the train track. they had a wooden gun and they went in there and robbed that train with it. they sent him to the pen and he learned a trade making cigars. "the union station was just like that hillside. it was just one street in the town. i don't know what year nor nothing about it because when i came here it was just like somebody didn't have any sense. plantation "the slave quarter was a row of houses. the plantation was high land. the houses were little log houses with one room. they had fire arches. they would hang pots over the fire. they would have spiders that you call ovens. you would put coals on top of the spider and you would put them under it and you could smell that stuff cooking! the door was in the top of the spider and the coals would be on top of the door. "you couldn't cook nothin' then without somebody knowin' it. couldn't cook and eat in the back while folk sit in the front without them knowin' it. they used to steal from the old master and cook it and they would be burning rags or something to keep the white folks from smelling it. the riding boss would come round about nine o'clock to see if you had gone to bed or not. if they could steal a chicken or pig and kill and cut it up, this one would take a piece and that one would take a piece and they would burn the cotton to keep down the scent. the rider would come round in june and july too when they thought the people would be hunting the watermelons. "when the soldiers came, the niggers run and hid under the beds and the soldiers came and poked their bayonets under the bed and shouted, 'come on out from under there. you're free!' destructiveness of soldiers "the soldiers would tear down the beehives and break up the smoke houses. they wasn't tryin' to git nothin' to eat. they was just destroying things for devilment. they pulled all the stoppers out of the molasses. they cut the smoked meat down and let it fall in the molasses. rations "every saturday, they would give my father and his wife half a gallon of molasses, so much side meat. and then they would give half a bushel of meal i reckon. whatever they would give they would give 'em right out of the smoke house. sweet potatoes they would give. sugar and coffee they'd make. there wasn't nothing 'bout buying no sugar then. how the day went "the riding boss would come round before the day broke and wake you up. you had to be in the field before sun-up--that is the man would. the woman who had a little child had a little more play than the man, because she had to care for the child before she left. she had to carry the child over to the old lady that took care of the babies. the cook that cooked up to the big house, she cooked bread and milk and sent it to the larger children for their dinner. they didn't feed the little children because their mothers had to nurse them. the mother went to the field as soon as she cared for her child. she would come back and nurse the child around about twice. she would come once in the morning about ten o'clock and once again at twelve o'clock before she ate her own lunch. she and her husband ate their dinner in the field. she would come back again about three p.m. then you wouldn't see her any more till dark that night. long as you could see you had to stay in the field. they didn't come home till sundown. "then the mother would go and get the children and bring them home. she would cook for supper and feed them. she'd have to go somewheres and get them. maybe the children would be asleep before she would get all that done. then she would have to wake them up and feed them. "i remember one time my sister and me were laying near the fire asleep and my sister kicked the pot over and burned me from my knee to my foot. my old master didn't have no wife, so he had me carried up to the house and treated by the old woman who kept the house for him. she was a slave. when i got so i could hobble around a little, he would sometimes let the little niggers come up to the house and i would get these big peanuts and break them up and throw them out to them so he could have fun seeing them scramble for them. "after the children had been fed, the mother would cook the next day's breakfast and she would cook the next day's dinner and put it in the pail so that everything would be ready when the riding boss would come around. cause when he came, it meant move. the old lady at the big house "the old lady at the big house took care of the gourds and bowls. the parents didn't have nothing to do with them. she fed the children that was weaned. mother and daddy didn't have nothing to do with that at noontime because they was in the field. white folks fed them corn bread and milk. up to the big house besides that, she didn't have anything to do except take care of things around the house, keep the white man's things clean and do his cooking. "she never carried the gourds and bowls herself. she just fixed them. the yard man brought them down to the quarters and we would take them back. she wash them and scrape them till they was white and thin as paper. they was always clean. "she wasn't related to me. i couldn't call her name to save my life. relatives "we come from barbour, alabama with a trainful of people that were immigrating. we just chartered a train and came, we had so many. of all the old people that came here in that time, my aunt is the oldest. you will find her out on twenty-fourth street and pulaski. she has been my aunt ever since i can remember. she must be nearly a hundred or more. patrollers "when we had the patrollers it was just like the white man would have another white man working for him. it was to see that the negroes went to bed on time and didn't steal nothing. but my master and missis never allowed anybody to whip their slaves. what the slaves expected and got "i don't know what the slaves was expecting to get, but my parents when they left ben see's place had nothing but the few clothes in the house. they didn't give em nothing. they had some clothes all right, enough to cover themselves. i don't know what kind or how much because i wasn't old enough to know all into such details. "when we left ben see's plantation and went down into alabama, we left there on a wagon. daddy was driving four big steers hitched to it. there was just three of us children. the little boy my mother was schooling then, it died. it died when we went down betwixt new falls and montgomery, alabama. i don't know when we left alabama nor how long we stayed there. after he was told he was free, i know he didn't make nare another crop on ben see's plantation. - "my father, when he left from where we was freed, he went to hauling logs for a sawmill, and then he farmed. he done that for years, driving these old oxen. he mostly did this logging and my mother did the farming. "i can't tell you what kind of time it was right after the civil war because i was too young to notice. all our lives i had plenty to eat. when we first came to arkansas we stopped at old mary jones down in riceville, and then we went down on the gates farm at biscoe. then we went from there to atkins up in pope county. no, he went up in the sand hills and bought him a home and then he went up into atkins. of course, i was a married woman by that time. "i married the second year i came to arkansas, about sixty-two or sixty-three years ago. i have lived in little rock about thirty-two or thirty-three years. when i first came here, i came right up here on seventeenth and state streets. voting "i never voted. for twenty years the old white lady i stayed with looked after my taxes. none of my friends ever voted. i ain't got nothing but some children and they ain't never been crazy enough to go to anybody's polls. family "i have two brothers dead and a sister. my mother is dead. i am not sure whether or not my father is dead. the ku klux scared him out of atkins, and he went up in tulsa, oklahoma, and i ain't never heard of him since. i don't know whether he is dead or not. "i have raised five children of my own. ku klux klan "these ku klux, they had not long ago used to go and whip folks that wasn't doing right. that was mongst the white people and the colored. comer that used to have this furniture store on main street, he used to be the head of it, they say. "i used to work for an old white man who told me how they done. they would walk along the street with their disguises hidden under their arms. then when they got to the meeting place, they would put their disguises on and go out and do their devilment. then when they were through, they would take the disguise off again and go on back about their business, old man wolf, he used to tell me about it. occupation "i nursed for every prominent doctor in little rock,--dr. judd, dr. flynch, dr. flynn, dr. fly, dr. morgan smith, and a number of others." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mandy thomas, th and pearl streets, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: laundress "i know my sister told me i was five when my mama was freed. i was born down below el dorado. andrew jaggers was my mother's old master. "i just remember the soldiers goin' past. i think they was yankees. they never stopped as i knows of. "i've seed my young missis whip my mother. "my papa belonged to the agees. after i got up good sized, they told me 'bout my papa. he went with his white folks to texas and we never did see him after we got up good size. so mama took a drove of us and went to work for some more white folks. "i was good and grown when i married and i been workin' hard ever since. i was out pickin' huckleberries tryin' to get some money to buy baby clothes when my first girl was born. yes ma'am." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: omelia thomas w. ninth street, little rock, arkansas age: about occupation: making cotton and corn "i was born in louisiana--in vidalia. my mother's name was emma grant. my father's name was george grant. my mother's name before she married was emma woodbridge. i don't know the names of my grand folks. i heard my mother say that my grandmother was named matilda woodbridge. i never got to see her. that is what i heard my mother say. "i don't know the names of my mother's master, and i don't know the names of my father's white folks. "my father was george grant. he served in the war. i think they said that he was with them when vicksburg surrendered. my father has said that he was really named george lagrande. but after he enlisted in the war, he went by the name of george grant. there was one of the officers by that name, and he took it too. he was shot in the hip during the war. when he died, he still was having trouble with that wound. he was on the union side. he was fighting for our freedom. he wasn't no reb. he'd tell us a many a day, 'i am part of the cause that you are free.' i don't know where he was when he enlisted. he said he was sold out from louisville--him and his brother. "i never did hear him say that he was whipped or treated bad when he was a slave. i've heard him tell how he had to stand up on dead people to shoot when he was in the war. "my brother started twice to get my father's pension, but he never was able to do anything about it. they made away with the papers somehow and we never did get nothin'. my father married a second time before he died. when he died, my stepmother tried to get the pension. they writ back and asked her if he had any kin, and she answered them and said no. she hid the papers and wouldn't let us have 'em--took and locked 'em up somewheres where we couldn't find 'em. she was so mean that if she couldn't get no pension, she didn't want nobody else to get none. "i don't know just when i was born, nor how old i am. when i come to remember anything, i was free. but i don't know how old i am, nor when it was. "i heard my father speak of pateroles. just said that they'd ketch you. he used to scare us by telling us that the pateroles would ketch us. we thought that was something dreadful. "i never heard nothin' about jayhawkers. i heard something about ku klux but i don't know what it was. "my father married my mother just after the war. "i been married twice. my first husband got killed on the levee. and the second is down in the country somewheres. we are separated. "i don't get no help from the welfare, wish i did. i ain't had no money to get to the doctor with my eyes." interviewer's comments the old lady sat with her eyes nearly closed while i questioned her and listened to her story. those eyes ran and looked as though they needed attention badly. the interview was conducted entirely on the porch as that of annie parks. traffic interrupted; friends interrupted; and a daughter interrupted from time to time. but this daughter, while a little suspicious, was in no degree hostile. the two of them referred me to j.t. tims, who, they said, knew a lot about slavery. his story is given along with this one. i got the impression that the old lady was born before the war, but i accepted her statement and put her down as born since the war and guessed her age as near seventy. she was evidently quite reserved about some details. her father's marriage to her mother after the war would not necessarily mean that he was not married to her slave fashion before the war. she didn't care so much about giving any story, but she was polite and obliging after she had satisfied herself as to my identity and work. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: omelia thomas w. fifth street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in marianna, lee county, in arkansas. i wasn't born right in the town but out a piece from the town in the old bouden place, in . my father kept a record of all births and deaths in his bible. he never forgot whenever a new baby would come to get down his glasses and pen and ink and bible. my daddy learned to read and write after the emancipation. "my father's name was frank johnson and my mother's name was henrietta johnson. i don't know the given names of my father's and mother's parents. i do know my mother's mother's name. lucinda, and my father's mother was named stephens. i don't know their given names. my mother's master was a trotter. "my father was a free man. he hired his own time. he told me that his father hired his own time and he would go off and work. he made washpots. he would go off and work and bring back money and things. his mother was free too. when war was declared, he volunteered to go. he was with the yankees. my father worked just like my grandfather did. whenever he had a job to do. he never had a lick from anybody, carried his gun strapped down on his side all the time and never went without it. "after the war, he worked on a steamboat. they used to kick the roustabouts about and run them around but they never laid the weight of their hands on him. "they wouldn't allow him to go to school in slavery time. after the war, he got a blue back speller and would make a bowl of fire and at night he would study--sometimes until daybreak. then he found an old man that would help him and he studied under him for a while. he never went to any regular school, but he went to night school a little. most of what he got, he got himself. "he was born in louisville, kentucky. i don't know how he happened to meet my mother. during the time after the war, he went to running on the boat from new orleans to friar point, mississippi. then he would come over to helena. in going 'round, he met my mother near marianna and married her. "mother never had much to say, and the other girls would have a big time talking. he noticed that she was sewing with ravelings and he said, 'lady, next time i come i'll bring you a spool of thread if you don't mind.' he brought the thread and she didn't mind, and from then on, they went to courting. finally they married. they married very shortly after the war. "my mother was a motherless girl. my daddy said he looked at her struggling along. all the other girls were trying to have a good time. but she would be settin' down trying to make a quilt or something else useful, and he said to a friend of his, 'that woman would make a good wife; i am going to marry her.' and he did. "she used to spin her fine and coarse sewing thread and yarn to make socks and stockings with. her stockings and socks for the babies and papa would always be yarn. she could do pretty work. she had a large family. she had seventeen children and she kept them all in things she made herself. she raised ten of them. she would make the thread and yarn and the socks and stockings for all of these. i have known the time when she used to make coats and pants for my father and brothers. she would make them by hand because they didn't have any machines then. of course, she made all the underwear. she put up preserves and jellies for us to eat in the winter. she used to put up kraut and stuff by the barrel. i have seen some happy days when i was with my daddy and mother. he raised pigs and hogs and chickens and cows. he raised all kinds of peas and vegetables. he raised those things chiefly for the home, and he made cotton for money. he would save about eight or ten bales and put them under his shed for stockings and clothes and everything. he would have another cotton selling in march. "when my father was in the army, he would sometimes be out in the weather, he told us, and he and the other soldiers would wrap up in their blankets and sleep right in the snow itself. "i farmed all my life until . i farmed all my life till then. i was at home. i married in . my first husband and i made three crops and then he stopped and went to public work. after that i never farmed any more but went to cooking and doing laundry work. i came from clarendon here in . "i never had any experiences with the yankees. my mother used to tell how they took all the old master's stuff--mules and sugar--and then throwed it out and rode their horses through it when they didn't want it for theirselves. "i married a second time. i have been single now for the last three years. my husband died on the twentieth of august three years ago. i ain't got no business here at all. i ought to be at my home living well. but i work for what i get and i'm proud of it. "a working woman has many things to contend with. that girl downstairs keeps a gang of men coming and going, and sometimes some of them sometimes try to come up here. sunday night when i come home from church, one was standing in the dark by my door waiting for me. i had this stick in my hand and i ordered him down. he saw i meant business; so he went on down. some of them are determined. "there's no hope for tomorrow so far as these young folks are concerned. and the majority of the old people are almost worse than the young ones. used to be that all the old people were mothers and fathers but now they are all going together. everything is in a critical condition. there is not much truth in the land. all human affection is gone. there is mighty little respect. the way some people carry on is pitiful." interviewer's comment the men who bother omelia thomas probably take her for a young woman. she hasn't a gray hair in her head, and her skin is smooth and must be well kept. she looks at least twenty-five years younger than she is, and but for the accident of her presence at another interview, i would never have dreamed that she had a story to tell. i went to see her in the quarters where she lives--over the garage in the back yard of the white people she works for. when i got halfway up the stairs, she shouted, "you can't come up here." i paused in perplexity for a moment, and she stuck her head out the door and looked. then she said, "oh, i beg pardon; i thought you were one of those men that visit downstairs." i had noticed the young lady below as i entered. she is evidently a hot number, and as troublesome as a sore thumb to the good old lady above her. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: tanner thomas louisiana, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born down here at rob roy on the river on the emory place. my mother's name was dinah thomas and my father's name was greene thomas. he taken sick and died in the war on the north side. that's what my mother told me. i was born under mars jordan emory's administration. "i 'member somebody brought me here to pine bluff to lawyer bell's house. i stayed two or three months, then mars jordan sent for me and carried me back out to rob roy and i stayed with my mother. she had done married again but i stayed with her all the time till i got grown and i married. "i come here in and i been here ever since--forty-six years. oh, whole lots of these white folks know me. "i worked at the standard lumber company and bluff city lumber company and dilley's foundry. then i went to the oil mill. i was the order man. i was the best lumber grader on the place. "course i knows lots of white folks and they knows me too, i done a heap of work 'round here in different places in forty-six years. "i went to school a little but i didn't learn nothin'. "my mother said they come and pressed my daddy in the war. 'course i don't know nothin' 'bout that but my mother told me. "now, what is this you're gettin' up? well, i was born in slavery times. you know i was when my daddy was in the war. "oh lord yes, i voted. i voted republican. i didn't know whether it would do any good or not but i just voted 'cause i had a chance. my name's been in washington for years 'cause i voted, you know. "my way is dark to the younger generation now. i don't have much dealin' with them. they are more wiser. education has done spread all over the country. "god intended for every man in the world to have a living and to live for each other but too many of 'em livin' for themselves. but everything goin' to work out right after awhile. god's goin' to change this thing up after awhile. you can't rush him. he can handle these people. after he gets through, with this generation, i think he's goin' to make a generation that will serve him." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: wester thomas, marianna, arkansas age: "i was born in sumpter county (mississippi?). my mother was sold to dr. and miss kate hadley. my mother's name was lettie williams and she married wesley thomas. my name is wester thomas. i'm seventy-nine years old. mistress kate raised me. dr. hadley had more than a hundred slaves. "i can tell you about freedom. two men in uniforms come and told master. he had the farm bell rung. they told them the civil war was over. they was free. the niggers went back to their quarters. some moved later. my folks never left. dr. hadley died. mistress kate took all that wanted to go to louisiana then. we cleared up land down there. later i farmed." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: annie thompson, biscoe, arkansas age: ? "i was raised by my father's sister and my grandmother. later on i come to my daddy here and my stepmother had other children. i soon married. i've had a hard time. "my grandparents was harriett edwards and william snow. grandmother said they were nice to her. she was master edwards' house girl. she cooked and was a spinner. when i was a girl she had her spinning-wheel and she taught me to spin and knit. she spun thread for caps, mittens, stockings, socks, suspenders, and coats. we knit all those things when i was a girl. grandmother said the white folks never whooped her. grandmother was her old master's own girl and she nursed with one of his white wife's children. she was real light. "my father's mother was a squaw. i don't know her name. she was sold from grandpa and he went to master snow. he never seen her any more. he took another wife and jumped over the broom on the snow place. he thought some of his owners was terrible. he had been whooped till he couldn't wear clothes. he said they stuck so bad. "my own father whipped me once till my clothes stuck to my back. i told you i had seen a pretty hard time in my own life. i was born in starkville, mississippi. "since i was a girl there has been many changes. i was married by rev. bell december , . my husband is living and still my husband. i can see big changes taking place all the time. i was married at de valls bluff." interviewer's comment this woman could give me some comparative views on the present generation but she didn't. it is one of the saturday gathering halls. she depends on it somewhat for a living and didn't say a word either pro or con for the present generation. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: ellen briggs thompson w. twelfth street, little rock, arkansas age: birth and relatives "i was born in october , in nashville, arkansas. i don't remember the exact day. i have went through thick and thin. i was a small girl when my mother died. i got the rheumatism so bad i can't hardly walk. it hurts me now. my oldest brother, henry briggs, was five years older than me, and my youngest brother, isaac briggs, was five years younger than me. i was born october, but he was born at christmas eve just after surrender. my oldest brother died last year. my youngest brother is in galveston, texas. if he is living, he is there. my name was briggs before i married. i was just studying about my sister-in-law when you come up. if i could get the money, i would go to see her. she was my oldest brother's wife. her name was frances briggs after she married. she lives in emmet, arkansas, where he married her. i just had two brothers, no sisters. "my husband's name was henry thompson. he has been dead about twelve or thirteen years. i have had so much sickness i can't remember exactly. i married him a long time ago. i got it put down in the bible. i married yonder in emmet, arkansas. i ain't got the bible nor nothing. my brother had it and he is dead. "my father's name was daniel briggs. he died in hot springs. we were small children when he and my mother was separated. he was in one place and we were in another. he tried to get us children when he died, but we was little and couldn't get to him. my mother was dead then. "my mother's name was susanna briggs. her father's name was isaac metz. the children left him in south carolina. the white folks sold them away from him. my mother just had three children: me, and my two brothers. i don't know how many my grandfather had. there were four sisters that i know besides my mother and two boys: aunt melissa, and aunt jane, and aunt annie, and aunt sarah, and uncle albert mitchell, and uncle ben. my grandmother's name was betsy. i never got to see her but they told me about her. good masters "i have heard them say that their white folks didn't whip them. my master was a good man. my young master, when it come to the surrender, slipped back home and told them they was going to be free as ever he was. his name was joe mitchell. i never seed my white folks whip anybody in my life. they just never whipped anybody. they never whipped me. i have seen the white folks next to us whip their negroes and i asked grandma about it. she said that those were their negroes and she would explain what they was being whipped for. they was on another farm. i don't remember what they was being whipped for. "my young master told the slaves when he notified them they was free that if they didn't want to stay with him, he would give them enough to go on till they could make it, you know, to keep them from starving. he was a good man. "the old man, joe's father, was named thomas mitchell. he died before i was born. i never seed him, just knowed his name. joe's mother was named isabel mitchell. i came to be named briggs because her husband's name was briggs. he belonged to a briggs. i don't know what his name was else. they didn't belong to the same master. they used to let them marry. they would fix great big tables. sometimes they would marry in the house; that was in the winter. then sometimes they would marry outdoors. then they would set a long table for all their associates to eat just like you would fix a table for your friends. looked like they would be so glad to see their boys and girls marry. they would have regular preacher and marry just like they do now. "there wasn't no breeders on our place. but i have heard of people who did keep a woman just for that purpose. they never whipped her nor nothing. they just let her have children. as soon as she had one, they would take it away from her so that she could have another one right away. jayhawkers "when my young master was gone to the war and the jayhawkers would come around, my young master's mother would take all the colored women and children and lock them up and she would take a big heavy gun and go out to meet them. the jayhawkers were white people who would steal corn and horses and even slaves if they could get them. but colored folks was sharp. they would do things to break their horses' legs and they would run and hide. my uncle was a young boy. he saw the jayhawkers coming once. and he ran and pressed himself under the crib. the space was so small he nearly broke his ribs. his mistress had to get him out and take him to the house. "my grandmother used to take me with her after dark when she'd go out to pray. she wouldn't go anywhere without me. one time when she was out praying, i touched her and said to her that i heard something in the corn crib. she cut her prayer off right now and went and told it to her old mistress, and to the young master, who was in the house just then telling the negroes they were all going to be free. the jayhawkers spied us and they got out and went on their way. my young master crawled out and went back to the confederate army. he had to crawl out because he wanted to keep anybody from seeing him and capturing him. soldiers "i never seed but one or two soldiers. that was after the surrender. i suppose they were union soldiers. they had on their blue jackets. there never was any fighting in nashville, while i was living there. "about all that i knew about the war was that the men went off to fight. none of the colored men went--just the white men. the colored men stayed back and worked in the field. isabel mitchell and her boys were bosses. what they said _goed_. slave houses "the slaves lived in old log houses. some of them were plank houses. some of the slaves chinked 'em up with dirt. they had these big wooden windows in the houses. sometimes they would be two, sometimes they would be three windows--one to each room. there would be two or three or four rooms to the house. that would be according to the family. my mother had three girls besides her own children. she had a four-room house. her house was built right in the white folks' yard. my grandmother didn't work in the field. she tended to the children. she worked in the big house. my mother was boss of the whole thing. she would go and work in the field but grandmother would see after the children. she wouldn't let me go from her to the gate without her. i just had to follow her everywhere she went. "grandmother besides taking care of us used to make clothes. she cooked for the white folks. but she sure had to see after us children. i seed after myself. i was all the girl-child there and i just did what i wanted to. "the country was kind of wild in those days. the deer used to come loping down and we would be scared and run and hide. some people would set the dogs on them and some people would kill them no matter who they belonged. you see, some people had them as pets. amusements "i never seed nothing in the way of amusements except people going to church and going to parties and all such as that. they believed in going to church. they would have parties at night. the white folks didn't care what they had. they would help prepare for it. they would let 'em have anything they wanted to have and let 'em go to church whenever they wanted to go. and if they took a notion they would have a supper. when they would have a party they would do just like they do now. they would have dancing. i never seed any playing cards. when they danced, somebody would play the fiddle for them. when they had a supper, they would usually sell the things. then the white folks would come and buy from them. there would be nice looking things on the table. church "they had meetings at center point, and at arkadelphia. and they would let us go to them or anywhere else we wanted. we had to have passes, of course. they had colored preachers. sometimes the slaves would go to the white people's church. they wouldn't go often, just every once in awhile. white ladies would get after the colored to come and go with them sometimes. sometimes, too, when they would have a dinner or something, they would take aunt sue or mother to cook for them. they wouldn't let nobody meddle with them or bother them--none of the other white folks. and they would let them fix a table for their own friends that they would want to have along. personal occupations "i used to work in the field or in the house or anything i could get to do. i would even go out and saw these big rails when my husband would have a job and couldn't get a chance to do it. it has been a good while since i have been able to do any good work. my husband has been dead fifteen years and i had to quit work long before he died. right after the war "right after the war my folks worked in the field, washed, cooked, or anything they could do. they left the old place and came down about washington, arkansas. i don't know just how long they stayed in washington. from washington, my mother went to prescott and settled there at a little place they called sweet home, just outside of prescott. that is where my daughter was born and that is where my mother died. i came here about nine years ago. present support i came here to stay with my daughter. but now she doesn't have any help herself. she has three small children and she's their only support now. she's not working either. she just come in from the urban league looking for a job. they say that they don't have a thing and that the people don't want any women now. they just want these young girls because they make them work cheaper. we have both applied for help from the welfare but neither of us has gotten anything yet." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: hattie thompson, widener, arkansas age: "i was born the second year after the surrender. i was born close to arlington, tennessee. my parents was mariah thermon and johnson mayo. they had eight children. they belong to different owners. i heard mama say in slavery time she'd clean her house good saturday and clean up her children and start cooking dinner fore pa come. they looked forward to pa coming. now that was at our own house. "mama was heired. she was the house woman and cook for her young mistress, miss sallie thermon. she married mr. john thermon. she was miss sallie royster till she married. i heard her say she raised miss sallie's children with her own. she was a wet nurse. i know miss sallie was good to her. i don't think she was sold but her mother was sold. she would spin and weave and the larger children did too. they made bed spreads in colors and solid white. they called the colored ones coverlets. they was pretty. mama helped quilt. she was a good hand at that. they made awful close stitches and backstitched every now and then to make it hold. they would wax the thread to keep it from rolling up and tangling. "thread was in balls. they rolled it from skeins to balls. they rolled it from shuck broches to the balls. put shucks around the spindle to slip it off easy. i have seen big balls this big ( ft. in diameter) down on the floor and mama, knitting off of it right on. when the feet wore out on socks and stockings, they would unravel them, save the good thread, and reknit the foot or toe or heel. "when i was a child, patching and darning was stylish. soon as the washing was brung in the clothes had to be sorted out and every snag place patched nice. folks had better made clothes and had to take care of em. clothes don't last no time now. white folks had fine clothes but they didn't have nigh as many as white folks do now. "mama was a pretty good hand at doing mighty nigh what she took a notion to do about the house. she never was no count in the field--jess couldn't hold out it seem like. she worked in the field lots. pa was a shoemaker. he made all our shoes and had his tools, lasts, etc. he learned his trade in slavery. he farmed. "it has been so long ago i tell you i don't recollect things straight. i don't know how they found out about freedom but they left i think. they got all they could take, their clothes and a little to eat. they started share cropping. they was out from holly springs when i come to knowledge. mama was a nice hand at cooking and hand sewing. she said miss sallie learnt her. she never could read. "i come to arkansas fifty year ago this spring with one little girl--all the little girl i ever had. i never had no boys. i come here to get work. i always got work. it was a new country and it was being cleared out. in the spring we could get wild polk greens to cook. you can't get none now. "times is sider'bly changed since then. hogs run wild. plenty game here then. something to eat was not hard to get then as it is now. we raise a hog in a pen nearly every year but it takes plenty to feed it that way. "my husband have rheumatism and we get $ and commodities. he works in the field and i wash and iron when i can get some to do. that is scarce. he works all he can." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mamie thompson brinkley, ark. age: "i come here with my parents in . nothing much here in brinkley then but woods and three stores. my mother was a mix-breed. she was mixed with cherokee indian and negro. my father come from virginia. he was black--so black he shined. my mother was born in cairo, illinois. my mother and father both died here in brinkley. this town started from a big saw mill." "understand, all i knows was told to me by my parents. grandma's master was master redman. he kept aunt emma and my mother. they never was sold. my mother was put on the block but her mistress come took her down. master redman had her in the field working. the overseer was a white man. he tried to take her down and carry on with her. she led him to the house. he wanted her whooped cause she had whooped him sort of. he was mad cause he couldn't overpower her. master redman got her in the kitchen to whoop her with a cow hide; she told him she would kill him; she got a stick. he let her out and they come to buy her--_a negro trader_. old mistress--his wife--went out and led her down from there in the house and told master redman if he sold mattie she would quit him--she meant leave him. mistress redman kept her with her and made a house girl out of her. she tended to the children and cleaned the house. aunt emma milked and churned. "grandma was a molly glaspy woman. she had straight wavy hair, small eyes. she was a small woman. grandpa was a tall big man. he was a full blood indian. "my mother called whiskey 'jagger'--i don't know why. "after mr. redman died, miss mary married mr. badgett. me and george and sissy all growed up together. my mother was married twice too. she had two of us by her first husband and eight children by her last husband. "i heard them say they lived in crittenden county, arkansas during the civil war. they lived in west tennessee not far from memphis when i was a child. mrs. badgett lived in memphis after she got old. mary's mother visited her long as she lived. i did too. she has been dead several years. she give me a sugar bowl when i was twelve years old--i still got it. i won't sell it. i'll give it to my girl. "i don't know about the ku klux. i never heard a great deal about them. "i don't vote--not interested. "well, i sewed till the very day i was years old. the foreman said i was too old now, but sign up for the pension. i am crippled. i did. i get commodities, but no money. "i washed, ironed, cooked. i worked at mrs. jim gunn's and i cooked nine years for mrs. dora gregg. i work whenever i can get work to be done. i like to sew but they cut me off." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mike thompson, widener, arkansas age: "i was born near honey grove, texas. i remember my grandparents on both sides--they were all thompsons. they were cotton and corn farmers. i don't know where they come from. i was so small and as soon as the war was done a whole gang of us come from texas to dardanelle, arkansas. "the bushwhackers was so bad we was guarded to the line and they went back. we come in wagons. bushwhackers was robbers. i remember that. my grandparents and parents all come in the gang. clem thompson, my owner, died. he had a family. i don't know what become of none but ed thompson. we was the same age and growed up together. i worked for him at dardanelle but i don't know how he come from texas. he butchered and peddled meat and had a shop too. i don't think ed owned land over at dardanelle but my father owned eighty acres over there when he died. my father was cubit thompson. his father was plato thompson. my mother was harriett thompson. "the thompsons was fairly good to their niggers, i recken. ed was good to me. he promised me i should never want but i don't know if he be dead or not. i wish i could hear from him. "when i was about twenty-five years old i was coming in home from town one night. i seen his house on fire. i kept going fast as i could run, woke him up. he run out but his wife didn't. he said, 'my wife! my wife! my wife!' i run in where he run out. she was standing back in a corner the flames nearly all around her. i picked her up and run out and about that time the whole house fell in. they never got through thanking me. i come off over here and never hear a word from him. he always said i saved their lives and hers mostly. "times--young men can get work if they will go to the field and work. if you can't work, times is hard two ways. if you are used to work, you hard to get contentment and loss of the money too. money don't buy much. awful sight of cotton and you don't get much out of it. young folks is got young notions. "i come to widener in . i made a good living. i own this house. now i got to quit working in bad weather. my rheumatism gets so bad. i'll be eighty years old rd of september this year ( )." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: laura thornton w. twenty-fourth street, little rock, arkansas age: ? "my native home is alabama. i was born not far from midway, alabama, about twelve miles from clayton. midway, clayton, and barber are all nearby towns. we used to go to all of them. "my master was tom eford. when he died, i fell to polly eford. polly eford was the old lady. i don't know where they is and they don't know nothing about where i is. it's been so long. because i done lef' alabama fifty years. i don't know whether any of them is living or not. it's been so long. "their baby boy was named giles eford. his mother was miami eford and my father's name was perry eford. that is the name he went in. my mother went in that name too. my father died the second year of the surrender. my mother was a widow a long time. i was a grown-up woman and had children when my father died. "i married during slavery time. i don't remember just how old i was then. my old man knows my age, but i can't remember it. but he's been dead this year makes thirteen years. i had one child before the surrender. i was just married to the one man. i was married after the surrender. i don't want to be married again. i never seed a man i would give a thought to since he died. lord knows how long we'd been married before he died. "we came here and stayed four years and we bought a home down on arch street pike about ten miles from here. i lived there sixty years. i've got the tax receipts for sixty years back. i ain't never counted the ones i paid since he's been dead. "i was the mother of three children and none of them are living. all of them dead but me. "they made like they was goin' to give old slave folks a pension. they ain't gimme none yit. i'm just livin' on the mercy of the people. i can't keep up the taxes now. i wish i could git a pension. it would help keep me up till i died. they won't even as much as give me nothin' on the relief. they say these grandchildren ought to keep me up. i have to depend on them and they can't hardly keep up theirselves. "when the civil war broke out, my baby was about seven years old. my mother was here when the stars fell. she had one child then. "i remember a war before the civil war. i heard the white folks talking about it. they wouldn't tell colored folks nothing. they'd work them to death and beat them to death. they'd sell them just like you sell hogs. my mother was sold from me when i was little. old lady eford, she was my mistress and mammy too. if she ever slapped me, i don't know nothin' 'bout it. "my daddy made his farm jus' like colored people do now. white man would give him so much ground if he'd a mind to work it. he had a horse he used. "we lived a heap better than the people live now. they fed you then. you ate three times a day. when twelve o'clock come, there dinner was, cooked and ready. nothin' to do but eat it, and then set down and res' with the other people. there was them that was good. "but them what was mean done the colored folks bad. early days "i was little when my mother was sold from me. i was runnin' about though in the yard. i couldn't do nothing. but i was a smart girl. the first work i can remember doin' was goin' to the field ploughing. that is the first thing i remember. i was little. i just could come up to the plough. i cut logs when i was a little child like them children there (children about ten years old playing in the street). i used to clean up new ground--do anything. "my mother and father both worked in the field. my father was sold away from me jus' like my mother was. old lady eford was my mother and father too. that was in clayton, alabama. old tom eford had three boys--one named tom, one named william, and there was the one named giles what i told you about. william was the oldest, tom was the second, and giles was the youngest. "i never learnt to read and write. in slave time, they didn't let you have no books. my brother though was a good reader. he could write as well as any of them because he would be with the white children and they would show him. that is the way my brother learnt. he would lay down all day sunday and study. the good blessed lord helped him. marriage "the man i married was on the plantation. they married in slave time just like they do these days. when i married, the justice of peace married me. that was after freedom, our folks would give big weddings just like they do now (just after the war). i ain't got my license now. movin' 'round, it got lost. i was married right at home where me and my old man stayed. wasn't nobody there but me and him and another man named dr. bryant. that wasn't far from midway. "i can't talk much since i had those strokes. can't talk plain, just have to push it out, but i thank god i can do that much. the lord let me stay here for some reason--i don't know what. i would rather go, but he ain't called me. how the day went "we got up after daylight. tom eford didn't make his folks git up early. but after he was dead and gone, things changed up. the res' made 'em git up before daylight. he was a good man. the lord knows. yes lord, way before day. you'd be in the field to work way before day and then work way into the night. the white folks called eford's colored people poor white folks because he was so good to them. old tom eford was the sheriff of clayton. "his folks came back to the house at noon and et their dinner at the house. he had a cook and dinner was prepared for them just like it was for the white folks. the colored woman that cooked for them had it ready when they came there for it. they had a great big kitchen and the hands ate there. they came back to the same place for supper. and they didn't have to work late either. old tom eford never worked his hands extra. that is the reason they called his niggers poor-white folks. folks lived at home them days and et in the same place. when my old man was living, i had plenty. smokehouse was full of good meat. now everything you git, you have to buy. "next morning, they all et their breakfast in the same kitchen. they et three meals a day every day. my mother never cooked except on sunday. she didn't need to. patrollers "me and old lady eford would be out in the yard and i would hear her cuss the pateroles because they didn't want folks to 'buse their niggers. they had to git a pass from their masters when they would be out. if they didn't have a pass, the pateroles would whip them. jayhawkers "the jayhawkers would catch folks and carry them out in the woods and hang them up. they'd catch you and beat you to death. runaways "colored folks what would run away, old lady eford would call them 'rottenheads' and 'bloody bones.' we would hear the hounds baying after them and old lady eford would stand out in the yard and cuss them--cuss the hounds i mean. like that would do any good. some slaves would kill theirselves before they would be caught. they would hear them dogs. i have seen old tom eford. he would have them dogs. he was sheriff and he had to do it. he carried them dogs. he would be gone two weeks before he would be back sometimes. alden or alton was the place they said they carried the runaways. slave breeding "they never kept no slaves for breeding on any plantation i heard of. they would work them to death and breed them too. there was places where old massa kept one for hisself. amusements "folks had heap more pleasure than they do now in slave time. they had parties and dances and they would bow 'round. they had fiddles and danced by them. folks danced them days. they don't dance now, just mess around. my brother could scrape the fiddle and dance on, all at the same time. folks would give big suppers and ask people out. they would feed nice times with one another. folks ain't got no love in their hearts like they used to have. "folks would give quiltings. they don't think about quilting now. they would quilt out a quilt and dance the rest of the night. they would have a big supper at the quilting. nice time too. they would kill a hog and barbecue it. they would cook chicken. have plenty of whiskey too. some folks would get drunk. that was whiskey them days. they ain't got no whiskey now--old poison stuff that will kill people. my daddy was jus' drunk all the time. he had plenty of whiskey. that was what killed old tom eford. he kept it settin' on the dresser all the time. you couldn't walk in his house but what you would see it time you got in. folks hide it now. i have drunk a many a glass of it. i would go and take a glass whenever i wanted to. how freedom came "the old white folks told me i was free. they had me hired out. i wasn't staying with my owner. there wasn't nobody there with me but the white folks where i was staying. that morning i got up to get breakfast and there wasn't no fire and there wasn't so matches. i went to some neighbors to get a chunk of fire and they told me to go back to my folks because i was free. when i got back to the house they was mad and wanted to whip me. so i just put the fire down and never cooked no breakfast but jus' went on to my brother's. the reason they wanted to whip me was because i had gone outside of the house without their knowing it. "when i went to my brother's, i had to walk twelve miles. my brother carried me to my mother and father. and then he took me back to old lady eford, and she told me to go on to my mother, that i was free now. so he took me on back to my ma and pa. he said he'd do that so that i could stay with them. slave earnings "slaves had money in slave time. my daddy bought a horse. he made a crop every year. he made his bale of cotton. he made corn to feed his horse with. he belonged to his white folks but he had his house and lot right next to theirs. they would give him time you know. he didn't have to work in the heat of the day. he made his crop and bought his whiskey. the white folks fed 'im. he had no expenses 'cept tending to his crop. he didn't have to give tom eford anything he made. he just worked his crop in his extra time. many folks too lazy to git theirselves somethin' when they have the chance to do it. but my daddy wasn't that kind. his old master gave him the ground and he made it give him the money. "my daddy left me plenty but i ain't got it now. i didn't care what happened when he died. people made out like they was goin' to put my money in the bank for me and took it and destroyed it. used it for theirselves i reckon. now i need it and ain't got it--ain't got a penny. for five or six years at my home, i made good crops. we raised everything we needed at home. didn't know what it was to come to town to buy anything. if anybody had told me twenty years ago i would be in this shape, i wouldn't have believed it because i had plenty. what slaves got when freed "they said they was gwine a give the slaves something, but they never did do it. then the master made out like he was gwine a give the slaves so much if they stayed 'round and made his crops for him, but he didn't do it. come again "if the lord lets you git back tomorrow, try and come a little sooner in the day than you did today. i gits up about six in the morning. i don't believe in layin' in bed late. i go to bed directly after dark and i wake up early. the lord never did mean for nobody to sleep all day." interviewer's comment a number of people testify to laura thornton's age. i am trying to check up on it. results later. if she isn't a hundred [hw: and] five years old, she is "mighty nigh" it. she has feeble health, but a surprisingly alert mind, and a keen sharp memory. she has a tendency to confuse reconstruction times with slavery times, but a little questioning always brings out the facts. she doesn't like to talk much about marriage in slavery. evidently she dislikes the fact that one of her children ms born before emancipation. she was evidently married only once, as questioning brought out; but she will refer to the marriage before emancipation and the one afterward as though they were to different persons. [hw: curtis, ark. emma (bama?) tidwell] old slave stories i ah'm one uv dem ole timers. ah been here since way back yonder. fust thing ah kin member is a bad storm an mah ma put us undah de baid. she wuz skeered hit would blow us away. ah use tuh play till ah got bigger nuff tuh work. ah member we use tuh play runnin. we'd play walkin tuh see which one uv us could walk de fastest tuh de field tuh carry dinner. we use tuh jump an we use tuh ride stick hosses an limbs offn trees. ole boss learnt mah pa how tuh make shoes an de way he done: dey kilt a cow an a deer an take dey hides an tanned dem. de way he tanned hit wuz tuh take red oak bark an white oak bark an put in vats. dese vats wuz somethin like troughs dat helt water an he put a layer uv oak ashes an or layer uv ashes an a layer uv leather till he got hit all in an covered wid water. aftuh dat dey let hit soak till de hair come offn de hide den dey would take de hide oft an hit wuz ready fuh tannin. den de hide wuz put tuh soak in wid de redoak bark. hit stayed in de water till de hide turnt tan den pa took de hide out uv de redoak dye an hit would be a purty tan. hit didn' have tuh soak so long. den he would git his pattern an cut an make tan shoes outn dat tanned hide. we called dem brogans. we all wore shoes cause mah pa made em. we planted indigo an hit growed jes like wheat. when hit got ripe we gathered hit an we would put hit in a barrel an let hit soak bout er week den we would take de indigo stems out an squeeze all de juice outn dem, put de juice back in de barrel an let hit stay dere bout nother week, den we jes stirred an stirred one whole day. we let hit set three or four days den drained de water offn hit an dat left de settlings an de settlings wuz blueing jes like we have dese days. we cut ours in little blocks. den we dyed clothes wid hit. we had purty blue cloth. de way we set de color we put alumn in hit. dat make de color stay right dere. ah'll tell yuh how tuh dye. er little beech bark dyes slate color set wid copper. hickory bark an bay leaves dyes yellow set wid chamber lye; bamboo dyes turkey red, set color wid copper. pine straw an sweetgum dyes purple, set color wid chamber lye. ifn yuh dont bleave hit try em all. mah ma made cloth while mah pa made shoes. ah member jes as good when dey handcuff mah ma's two brothers tuh keep um from runnin off when dey got ready tuh sell em. ah seed um handcuff as many as eight tugethuh when dey marched dem tuh de pen. yuh know dey had uh pen kinder like de pond pen fer cows an hosses. well dey would drive us niggers tuh de pond pen an dey had er big block in de pen an dey put one uv us niggers on hit at a time. bid us off tuh de highest bidder. mah ole boss wuz a gambler. people talk bout dis gamblin an drinkin bein a late thing--dem white fokes done hit way back yonder years ergo, cause mah ole boss gambled me off, ah clare he did. gambled me off one sunday mornin'. ole boss made whiskey jes like dey do tuhday. black preachers couldn' preach tuh us. ole boss would tie em tuh a tree an whoop em if dey caught us eben praying. we had er big black washpot an de way we prayed we'd go out an put our mouths to der groun an pray low an de sound wud go up under de pot an ole boss couldn' bear us. de white preacher would call us under a tree sunday evenin tuh preach tuh us. dis is whut his text would be: "mind yo mistress." den he would ceed tuh preach--"don't steal der potatoes; don't lie bout nothin an don' talk back tuh yo boss; ifn yo does yo'll be tied tuh a tree an stripped neckid. when dey tell yuh tuh do somethin run an do it." dat's de kind uv gospel we got. we cooked on fiuhplaces in er iron pot; cooked bread in a ubben. we had ash cakes. we et purty good. ah didn go tuh school. ah wuz awful sly. ah wanted tuh learn tuh read so ah hung eroun ole mistess when she wuz teachin huh chillun tuh read. ah listened an when she put de book down an went out ah got de book. ah kep' hit up till ah learnt tuh read. ah been teachin one bible class in curtis years. some uv em dare ask me how ah learnt tuh read so good an ah tole dem dat a person dat couldn' learn tuh read in a hunnert years ought tuh be daid. ah wuz twenty-two when de silver war broke. ah know when hit started but ah don' know whut hit wuz erbout. all i know jeff davis an abraham lincoln wuz de two presidents. lincoln wuz somethin like regular president an jeff davis wuz somethin like er confedric president or somethin. ah didn' know jes how hit wuz. jeff davis ah think wuz er rebel and lincoln republic. when de fight come up dey wuzn fightin tuh set de niggers free, ah don' think. at de time dey wuz fightin ovah de union but aftuh de slave owners wuz gwianter take de innocent slaves an make dem fight on dey side. den lincoln said hit wouldn' be. so dat when he sot em free. whoopee! yo ought ter seed dem yankees fightin. aftuh de battle wuz ovah we would walk ovah de battle groun' an look at de daid bones, skellums ah think dey called em. aftuh de white fokes tole us we wuz free dey didn' give us nothin. turnt us out widout a place tuh stay, no clo'es but whut we had on our back an nuthin tuh eat. we jes slept undah trees an roun bout. didn' have nuthin tuh eat cept parched corn. we stole dat. had tuh do somethin. de nex year de white fokes let us make a crop wid den fuh somethin tuh eat an clo'es an de women could work fuh a few clo'es an somethin tuh eat. so in er year er two niggers went tuh tryin tuh duh somethin fuh demselves, an been tryin tuh help dey selfs evah since. ah know all bout hit. ah wuz tall an ah is now when dey cried "free!" ain't growed nairy nother inch. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: joe tillman w. th and highway no. pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in down here at walnut lake. the man what owned us was crum holmes. "all i can remember was the patrollers and the ku klux. i reckon i ought to, i seed 'em. i got skeered and run. i heered 'em talk 'bout how they'd do the folks and we chillun thought they'd do us the same way. "i 'member hearin' 'em talk 'bout the yankees--how they'd come through there and how they used to do. "i guess we had plenty to eat. all i know was when i got ready to eat, i could eat. "my parents was brought from tennessee but all the place i know anything about is walnut lake. "i know my mother said i was the cause of her gettin' a lot of whippin's. i'd run off and the boss man whipped her cause she wasn't keepin' me at home. if he didn't whip her, he'd pull her ears. "when we was comin' up they didn't 'low the chillun to sit around where the old folks was talkin'. and at night when company come in, we chillun had to go to bed out the way. sometimes i'm glad of it. see so many chillun now gettin' into trouble. "i never been arrested in my life. been a witness once or twice--that's the only way i ever been in court. if i'd a been like a lot of 'em, i might a been dead or in the pen. "in them days, if we did something wrong, anybody could whip us and if we'd go tell our folks we get another whippin'. "after freedom my parents stayed there and worked by the day. they didn't have no privilege of sellin' the cotton though. "i didn't start to farm till i was 'bout twelve years old. they started me bustin' out the middles till i learnt how and then they put the plowin' in my hands. "white people been pretty good to me 'cause i done what they told me. "i went to school a little 'long about ' . i learnt how to read and kept on till i could write a little. "i used to vote 'til they stopped us. i used to vote right along, but i stopped foolin' with it. 'course we can vote in the president election but i got so i couldn't see what ticket i was votin', so i stopped foolin' with it. "i farmed till 'bout ' , then i worked at the compress and brick work." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: j.t. tims mosaic temple, ninth and broadway little rock, arkansas age: occupation: cook, waiter, and farmer "i was born in jefferson county, mississippi in . that would make me eighty-six years old. i was born six miles from fayette--six miles east of fayette. i was eighty-six years old the eleventh day of september. "my father's name was daniel tims, and my mother's name was ann tims. my mother was born in lexington, kentucky. ma's been dead years and years ago, and my father is gone too. my mother's name before she married was ----; she she told it to us all right but i just never can think of it. "i don't know the name of my mother's master. but my father's master was named blount steward. pa was born on blount's plantation and blount bought my ma because they brought her from kentucky for sale. they had her for sale just like you would sell hogs and mules. then my father saw her and liked her and married her. she was a slave too. master "blount steward was kinder good. he was very well till the war started--the federal war. miss ann went to whip me for nothing. whippings "i was carrying her daughter to school every day except saturdays and sundays. one day, miss ann was off and i was at the back steps playing and she decided to whip me. i told her i hadn't done nothing but she put my head between her legs and started to beatin' me. and i bit her legs. she lemme loose and hollered. then she called for william to come and beat me. william was one of the colored slaves. william come to do it. ma had been peeping out from the kitchen watchin' the whole thing. when william come up to beat me, she came out with a big carving knife and told him, 'that's my child and if you hit him, i'll kill you.' "then she sent for tully to come and whip me, i mean to whip my mother. tully was my young master. tully came and said to my mother, 'i know you ain't done nothin' nor your child neither, but i'll have to hit you a few light licks to satisfy ma.' "blount come the next day and went down to where pa was making shoes. he said, 'daniel, you're looking mighty glum.' "pa said, 'you'd be lookin' glum too if your wife and chile had done been beat up for nothin'.' "when he said that, blount got mad. he snatched up a shoe hammer and hit pa up side the head with it. "pa said, 'by god, don't you try it again.' "blount didn't hit him again. pa was ready to fight, and he wasn't sure that he could whip him. pa said, 'you won't hit me no more.' the war was goin' on then. runaways "the following sunday night, twelve head of 'em left there. my ma and pa and me and our whole family and some more besides was along. we went from the plantation to rodney, mississippi first, trying to get on a steamboat--gunboat. the gunboat wouldn't take us for fear we would get hurt. the war was goin' on then. so we just transferred down the river and went on to natchez. we went there walking and wading. we was from sunday night to sunday night gettin' there. we didn't have no trouble 'sept that the hounds ms runnin' us. but they didn't catch us--they didn't catch none of us. my ma and my pa and my brothers and sisters besides me was all in the crowd; and we all got to natchez. "they are all dead and gone to judgment now but me. i think that i got one sister in chicago, illinois. she is my baby sister. i ain't never heard nothing about her bein' dead. natchez "at natchez, ma didn't do anything. we children didn't do nothin' either there. but pa joined the army. he joined it the next day after he got there. then i went to work waiting on the sixty-fourth--lemme see--yes, it was the sixty-fourth brass epaulettes. i was waiting on one of the sergeants. he was a yankee sergeant. the sergeant's name was josephus, and the captain of the company was lieutenant knowles. i was with them two years and six months. i never did get hurt. when they went to fight at new orleans, the captain wouldn't lemme take part in it. he said that i was so brave he was a 'fraid i might get hurt. "me and my father were the only ones working in the family at that time. i stayed right in natchez but my father didn't. my father's first stop was in bullocks bar right above vidalia. that was where his company was stationed first. lemme see, he went from there to davis bend. i wasn't with them. he was in a colored regiment. i was with a white regiment. he left davis bend and want to vicksburg. his next trip was up the sunflower river. his next trip he went from there up here to de valls bluff. that is where he come free. that was the end of the fighting there--right there. "from there he come back to rodney. we all want to davis bend while pa was there. when he left and went to de valls bluff, ma went to rodney. i stayed with the soldiers two years and a half down there at natchez. that's as far as i went with them. when they left i stayed. "i went to rodney with my mother and stayed with her and the rest of the children till she died. my ma died in . my father died down here in pine bluff several years ago. after ma died, pa married another woman. he went back to pine bluff and was killed by a train when he was crossing a trestle. age and other masters "blount steward was the only master any of us ever had, outside of my ma's first master--the one in kentucky. i don't know anything about them. i was eight years old when the war began and twelve years old when it ended. i must have been older than that because i was twelve years old when i was serving them soldiers. and i had to come away from them before the war was over. slave work "the first work i ever did in slave time was dining-room service. when i left the dining-room table, i left carrying my young mistress to school six miles from fayette. they give me to lela, my young mistress. she was the young girl i was carrying to school when i got the whipping. when ol' mis' was whippin' me, i asked her what she was whipping me for, and she said, 'nothin', 'cause you're mine, and i can whip you if i want to.' she didn't think that i had done anything to the girl. she was just mad that day, and i was around; so she took it out on me. after that, i never did any more work as a slave, because the whole family ran away about that time. i don't reckon pa would ever have run off if ol' miss hadn't whipped me and if ol' massa hadn't struck him. they rats good till then; but it looked like the war made them mean. patrollers, jayhawkers, ku klux, and ku klux klan "they had pateroles going 'round watching the colored people to keep them from running off. that's all i know 'bout them. i don't remember hearin' anything about the jayhawkers. "i heard lots 'bout the ku klux. they were terrible. the white folks had one another goin' 'round watching and keeping them from runnin' off. the ku klux would whip people they caught out. they would whip them just because they could; because they called themselves bosses, because they was white and the colored people was niggers. they didn't do nothin' but just keep the slaves down. it was before the war that i knew 'bout the ku klux. there wasn't no difference between the pateroles and the ku klux that i knows of. if they'd ketch you, they all would whip you. i don't know nothin' about the ku klux klan after the war. i know they broke them up. slave houses, furniture, food, and work "before the war, we lived in a old log house. it had one window, one door, and one room. colored people didn't have no two or three-room houses before the war. i'll tell you that right now. all the furniture we had was bed stools and quilts. 'course we had them old stools that pa made. we kept food right there in the house where we was in one corner. we didn't have no drawers--nothing like that. the white folks fed us. they give us as much as they thought we ought to have. every saturday night you would go to the smokehouse and get your meat and meal and your molasses. didn't get no flour, no coffee, no sugar. pa was an ox driver and when he would go to rodney to carry cotton, he would buy sugar and coffee for himself. you see, they would slip a little something and make a little money off it. like they was goin' to rodney tomorrow, they would slip and kill a couple of hogs and carry them along with them. that was the only way they could get a little money. my pa's main work was shoemaking, but he worked in the field too. he was a driver chiefly when he was out in the field. he hoed and plowed. he was the leader of the gang. he never got a chance to make no money for hisself before the war. nope, the colored people didn't have no money 'tall lessen they slipped and got it. slave marriages "say i wanted this woman for my wife. we would just put down the broom and step over it and we would be married. that is all there was to it before emancipation. didn't have no matrimony read nor nothing. you were married when you stepped over the broom handle. that was your wife. a lincoln story "they say abe lincoln come down in this part of the country and asked for work. he had his little grip just like you got. the man said, 'wait till i go to dinner.' didn't say, 'come to dinner,' and didn't say nothin' 'bout, 'have dinner.' just said, 'wait till i go eat my dinner.' when he come back, abe lincoln was up there looking over his books. he'd done changed his clothes and everything. he had guards with him but they didn't see 'em. that is the story i heard them tell. what the slaves got "when the slaves got freed, they wasn't expecting to get nothing that i knows of 'cept what they worked for. they weren't spectin' no forty acres and a mule. who was goin' to give it to 'em? the rebs? they didn't give 'em nothin' but what they could put on their backs--i mean lashes. "blount had stocks that he used to put them in. the stocks had hinges on one side and latches on the other. the nigger would put his head in one hole and his arms through the others, and the old man would eat on the other end. your feet would be stretched out and you would be layin' on your belly. "blount whipped me once because i wouldn't go to the cow barns to get the milk to put in the coffee that morning. i didn't have time. they had given me to lela, and i had to take her to school. i was 'sponsible if she was late. he had give me to lela. next morning with her, and we didn't come back till friday evening. she went down to her aunt leona harrison's and carried me with her. she was mad because they whipped me when i belonged to her. "after slavery, we worked by the month on people's plantations. i did that kind of work till after a while the white people got so they rented the colored people land and selled them mules for their work. then some worked on shares and some rented and worked for theirselves. right after the war most of the farms were worked on shares. we were lucky to be able to get to work by the month. schooling "i went to school in natchaz, mississippi. my teacher came from the north, i suppose. but those i had in rodney, i know they come from the north. miss mary--that's all the name i knowed--and miss emma were my teachers in rodney. they come from chicago; i never went to school here. i didn't get no farther than the second grade. i stopped school to go work when the teacher went back to chicago. after that i went to work in the field and made me a living. i hadn't done but a little work in the field helping pa now and then before that. marriages "i married a long time ago in rodney. lord, it's been so long ago i couldn't tell you when. i been married four times. they all quit me for other men. i didn't quit none of them. present condition "i get along tolerably now for an old man. the welfare gives me a little help. but i have to pay five dollars for these two rooms every month. what's more, i got to eat, and i got to have somethin' to wear. washington won't allow me nothin' for my army service. they say i wasn't regular. i gets eight dollars from the welfare. opinions "the young people's terrible. they rather go to the penitentiary or the county farm or get killed than to do what is right. voting and vocational experiences "i used to vote. i never had no trouble about it. "they tried to whip me once since freedom, but not about votin'. a man tried to whip me down in stoneville because another man give me a drink. he tried to cut me with his knife. i knocked him down. i told him i could kill him, but i just didn't want to. while i was swearing out a warrant to get him arrested, he went and got a gun somewheres. he came right on in with his pistol and struck me with it. i knocked him down again, and he was dead for twenty-five minutes. they didn't have to go nowheres to serve the warrant on him. nobody did anything to me about it. "i come to little rock fifty years ago or more. i farmed as long as i was able. doctor stopped me when i began to fall out. "i cooked for dr. stone and his wife for ten years in greenville, mississippi. then i come to pine bluff on a vacation. the next time they give me a vacation, i stayed away for eleven years. i went to get some money dr. stone owed me for some work i had done for him once and he wanted me to come back and cook again. i didn't do that and he died without paying me for the work. he said it was his brother that owed me. but it was him that hired me. i 'tended to some mules for nine months at four dollars a week. i never got but one four dollars. the miles belonged to him and his brother both, but it was him that hired me. it wasn't captain stone, his brother. it was him, and i looked to the man that hired me for my money. i didn't have nothing to do with nobody but him. it was him promised to pay me." interviewer's comment throughout his story tims carefully avoided using his first name. never at any time did he let it slip. the capture of new orleans was effected in . if the troop with which he worked took part in the capture, he must have been twelve years old by , and his age must be at least eighty-eight. but this would be inconsistent with his statement that he served sergeant josephus for two years and a half. the detachment might have gone to new orleans later than ' . at any rate, tims is at least eighty-five, and possibly older. here again we have a definite conviction of the use of the word ku klux before the war. the way he talks of it, the term might have been a colloquial term applied to a jayhawker or a patroller. he doesn't mean ku klux klan when he says ku klux. the lincoln story is included on my part merely because it is at least legendary material. i don't know what basis of fact it could or might have. interviewer: s.s. taylor person interviewed: hannah travis, w. sixteenth, little rock, ark. age: occupation: housewife "the jay hawkers would travel at night. when they came to a cabin, they would go in and tell them that owned it they wanted something to eat and to get it ready quick. they stopped at one place and went in and ordered their dinner. they et the supper and went away and got sick after they left. they got up the next morning and examined the road and the horse tracks and went on. they all thought something had been given to them, but i don't guess there was. they caught my mother and brought her here and sold her. if they caught a nigger, they would carry him off and sell him. that's how my mother came to arkansas. "i don't know what year i was born in. i know the month and the day. it was february tenth. i have kinder kept up with my age. as near as i can figure, i am seventy-three years old. i was in when i married. i must have been born about , i was brought up under my step father; he was a very mean man. when he took a notion to he'd whip me and mother both. "my mother was born somewheres in missouri, but whereabouts i don't know. one of her masters was john goodet. his wife was named eva goodet. he was a very mean man and cruel, and his wife was too. my grandmother belonged to another slaveholder and they would allow her to go to see my mother. she was allowed to work and do things for which she was given old clothes and other little things. she would take em and bring em to my mother. as soon as she had gone, they would take them things away from my mother, and put em up in the attic and not allow her to wear them. they would let the clothes rot and mildew before they'd let my mother wear them. if my mother left a dish dirty--sometimes there would be butter or flour or something in the dish that would need to be soaked--they would wait till it was thoroughly soaked and then make her drink the old dirty dish water. they'd whip her if she didn't drink it. "her other master was named harrison. he was tolerable but nothing to bragg on. "after she was jayhawked and brought down south, they sold her to john kelly, a man in arkansas somewhere. she belonged to john kelly and his wife when freedom came. john kelly and his wife kept her working for them without pay for two years after she was free. they didn't pay her anything at all. they hardly gave her anything to eat and wear. they didn't tell her she was free. she saw colored people going and coming in a way they wasn't used to, and then she heard her mistress' youngest daughter tell her mother, 'you ought to pay hannah something now because you know she is free as we are. and you ought to give her something to eat and wear.' the mother said, 'you know i can't do that hard work; i'm not used to it.' after hearing this my mother talked to the colored people that would pass by and she learned for _shor_ enough she was free. "there was a colored man there that they were keeping too. one sunday, they were taking him to church and leaving my mother behind. she said to them, 'well, i will be gone when you come back, so you better leave bill here this morning.' her old mistress said to her, 'yes; and we'll come after you and whip you every step of the way back.' but she went while they were at church and they did not catch her either. "the saturday before that she made me a dress out of the tail of an old bonnet and a big red handkerchief. made waist, sleeves and all out of that old bonnet and handkerchief. she left right after they left for church, and she dressed me up in my new dress. she put the dress on me and went down the road. she didn't know which way to go. she didn't know the way nor which direction to take. she walked and she walked and she walked. then she would step aside and listen and ask the way. "it was near night when she found a place to stay. the people out in the yard saw her pass and called to her. it was the youngest daughter of mrs. kelly, the one she had overheard telling her mother she ought to set her free and pay her. she stayed with john kelly's daughter two or three days. i don't know what her name was, only she was a kelly. then she got out among the colored people and got to working and got some clothes for herself and me. from then on, she worked and taken care of me. "from there she went to pocahontas and worked and stayed there till i was about fifteen years old. meanwhile, she married in pocahontas. then she moved to newport. when i was fifteen, i married in newport. my mother supported herself by cooking and washing. then she got a chance to work on a small boat cooking and doing the boat washing, and there would be weeks that some of the deck hands would have to help her because they would have such a crowd of raftsmen. sometimes there would be twenty or thirty of them raftsmen--men who would cut the logs and raft them to go and bring them down the river. then the deck hands would have to help her. i too would have to wash the dishes and help out. "i went to school in pocahontas and met my future husband (travis). i brought many a waiter to serve when they had a crowd. i took travis to the boat and he was hired to wait on the men. when they had just the crew--captain, clerk, pilot, engineer, mate, and it seems there was another one--i waited on the table myself. i help peel the potatoes and turn the meat. when we had that big run, then mr. travis and some of the others would come down and help me. the boat carried freight, cotton, and nearly anything might neer that was shipped down to town. pocahontas was a big shipping place. "my mother said they used to jump over the broom stick and count that married. the only amusement my mother had was work. i don't know if she knowed there was such a thing as christmas. "mother's little house was a log cabin like all the other slaves had. "they didn't give her anything much to eat. they was farmers. they raised their own cattle and hogs. the niggers did the same--that is, the niggers raised everything and got a little to eat. they had one nigger man that was around the house and others for the field. they didn't allow the slaves to raise anything for themselves and they didn't give them much. "the slaves made their own clothes and their own cloth. they would not let the slaves have anything much. to keep them from being stark naked, they'd give them a piece to wear. "mama got to see her mother in . when i married she left and went to missouri and found her sister and half-sister and her mother and brother or cousin. she found her sister's oldest daughter. she was a baby laying in the cradle when mama ran through the field to get away from a young man that wanted to talk to her. "my grandmother was a full-blooded indian. her husband was a french negro. nancy cheatham was her name. "the ku klux never bothered us. they bothered some people about a mile from us. they took out the old man and whipped him. they made his wife get up and dance and she was in a delicate state. they made her get out of bed and dance, and after that they took her and whipped her and beat her, and she was in a delicate state too. "there was a man there in black rock though that stopped them from bothering anybody. he killed one of them. they went to the train. they was raging around there then. he got off the train and they tried to take him to jail. the jail was way out through the woods. he hadn't done anything at all. they just took hold of him to take him to the jail because he had just come into the town. they had tugged him down the road and when they got to the woods, he took out his gun and killed one of them, and the rest left him alone. the man who was killed had a wife and four or five children. they sent the nigger to the penitentiary. he stayed there about a year and come out. that broke up the ku klux around black rock and portia. they never seemed to get much enjoyment out of it after that. "i heard from different ones' talk that a big hogshead full of money was given to the negroes by the queen, but they never did get it. i think they said the queen sent that money. i reckon it was queen victoria, but i don't know. but the white folks got it and kept it for themselves. "didn't nobody have any rights then. they would just put em up on a block and auction them off. the one that give the most he would take em. didn't nobody have no schooling only white folks. the white children would go to school but they didn't allow her to go. "once there was a slave woman. they worked her day and night. she had a little log cabin of her own. the spirit used to come to her at night and tell her if she would follow them she wouldn't have to work all the rest of her life. at first she was scared. but finally, she got used to them and she listened to them. she got directions from them and followed them. she went up into the loft and found a whole lot of money hid there. she took it and built her a new house and used it. i heard my grandmother tell this. that was my step-grandmother named dilsey. "one of my bosses had a lot of money and he hid it in a cave. they tried to find it and to make my mother tell where it was hid, but she didn't know and couldn't tell. they came back several times and tried to find him at home but they couldn't catch him. that was in missouri before freedom came. "i hate my father. he was white. i never did have no use for him. i never seen him because mama was jayhawked from the place. i never heard my mother say much about him either, except that he was red-headed. he was my mother's master. my mother was just forced. i hate him." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mark c. trotter, edmondson, arkansas age: "my owners was miss betty and mr. luke trotter. i was born in tunica county, mississippi. i farmed all my whole life. i did like it. one thing they said about slavery, you couldn't get away. they had dogs and you get away and have no place to go, nothing to eat. travel was hard through the rough wilderness. one owner would notify another about a runaway. they would take him back or send him word to come get the runaway. some of 'em tried to stay in the woods. they said they never tried to get away. i wasn't born till after freedom. they said they felt sorry when somebody got beat but they couldn't help it. they had feeling for their color. "i come to arkansas in . i jus' can make it. i'm sickly. i made my part, three bales cotton, last year and prices was so low and provisions so high it is all gone. i don't get no help from the welfare. "i heard old folks set around the fire and spit and talk about them very things but i got here too late to know well enough to tell it. "i recollect when seed was a scarce thing. we had to save all our seed. the women would swap around. folks had to raise their own stock. "the ku klux didn't bother us. "i voted here in town. i don't bother the polls no more. i don't own nothing. "times and folks both been changing all my life. some things is better and some people as good as they always been." el dorado district folklore subjects name of interviewer: pernella anderson (colored) subject: negro folklore--uncle james tubbs story:--information "well ah wuz born second year after surrender. some say dat makes me years old. mah maw only had two boys. ah am de baby. my pa wuz name manger tubbs. i wuz a purty bad boy. when ah wuz one. ah use ter hunt. use ter catch six and eight possums in one night. ah use ter love ter fish. spunt er many a nite campin and fishin. an playin marbles wuz a wonderful game in mah days yo knows. fokes wuzen so wile den. "ah recollect one night we went coon huntin and de boys wuz wanderin roun and got lost. some of de boys wuz wanderin roun tryin to git out and couldn' so ah said: "dar de seben star yo all jes wait and let me fine de way out and dey say all right," "we gwina trus yo to fine out a way out." went on bout yards and struck our fiel'. we crawled under fence and went on, struck our coan (corn) fiel'. den dey all reconcile wha dey is and ah had a big laff. when ah wuz a boy ah use to drink a little whiskey. finally ah said that would be mah ruin. aftah ah got oldah ah jess decided ah'd quit. ah nevah did do no hahm tho. parents didn't raise me ter drink, ah jes taken up the habit mahself. ah use ter steal grandma's aigs, he! he! she use ter go ter church and tell us not to bother anything and fore she got out er sight we'd done gone in de hen house. we boys git dem eggs and git on out in our play thicket and roast em and eat em and you know grandma found out where we roast dem aigs at, and whooe if she didn' whup us. he! he! you know the wurst race ah evah had in mah life ah wuz comin on fum spearsville and two coach whipper wuz layin side de road and you know dem things run me ooo-eee till ah got tuh a stream and you know ifn hit had not bee fer dat watah dem things woulder caught me. "coase mah grandma and me had had some putty good races. she tryin' ter cotch me but ah loves her terday fer dose races we had. mah ma died when ah wuz one munt ole. mah pa married agin and mah step-ma wuz mean to me so mah grandma come an got me and raised me. ah hant nevah been in jail. haint nevah been rested er nothin. ah wish the chilluns of terday wuz like dey wuz when ah wuz a boy. we lived in er two room log house. our house had a double chimney and we cooked on dat. you know we'd put a big back stick uv wood on. mah pa loved his big back sticks of wood to hold the fire. wudden no stoves at that time. we cooked on chimney fires. we et ash cakes. hit sho wuz good too. granma say ash cake wuz healthy. ah bleve fokes ought ter eat a few of dem now. we had a putty good school house made outn logs. ah stop school when ah wuz in the third grade. ah learnt purty fair. we uster have ter take rocks an beat corn ter make meal. we wud have ter go sometime fifty mile to git ter a griss mill. an when we couldn't git coan mashed inter meal we wud make hominy and hit sho wuz good too. "ah use ter card fer granma while she wuz spinnin. we made our socks, gloves, and thread. we didn' have dat ter buy. when ah wuz a boy everybody farmed and we had a plenty. didn' have drouth in does days. "any kine of lan' would produce. ah use ter get a many lashin bout pickin cotton. ah couldn' pick until ah got dem lashins. some fokes say lashin don' help but ah clare dey do. "ah use ter pick cotton and sing. ah can recollect so well de song. hit went lak dis: me an' mah wife had a fallin out she wanted me ter work on de railroad track etc. (see enclosed song) "ah jes love ter talk bout when ah wuz a boy. we had a lop cabin fuh a church house. in dem days on meetin' sunday fokes would go ter church and carry de chillun but now not neither the chillun nor dey ma's go either. "fokes would serve the lord. dey would git happy in de fiel' and fall out choppin, choppin cotton. no sich times as hit wuz now. aftah all er mah youth and hardship and goodship the lord called me ter preach and when he called me ah answered. ah wuz comin cross de fiel about er'clock. ah tole him ah couldn' preach. den ah heard a voice above mah haid. ah stopped and wondahed and pondered wid mahself knowin' de condition uv mahself. ah said, "lord yo knows ah caint preach." den ah made a vow and ah stuck to hit but ah heard nother voice say, "go and preach" again. and ah heerd ah nother voice say "yo go in de mawnin and pray befo sunrise." ah goes thar and gits on mah knees and tried ter pray an ah heard dogs a barkin and chains rattlin an cats mewin and everthing. ah had heard ole fokes talk bout when yo go ter pray chains and things would track yer tenshun. the same happen ter me. ah want on and ended mah prayer and yo know ah wuz a glad soul. ah felt lak ah cud go an then an do whut the lawd said. ah gone on an stahted preachin. hit seemed the church wuz so crowded wid so many local preachers ah couldn' do whut de lawd wanted me ter so ah ask the pastor ifn ah could run prayer meetin and he said, "why chile yes," and ah went on wid de prayer meetin till ever'body quit his church and come to mah prayer meetin so den he called mah han', got jealous and made me move mah prayer meetin. so som good white fokes let me come ovah neah them and start a prayer meetin so de people followed me and we built a church and hit is yet dare terday." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mandy tucker e. th street, pine bluff, arkansas age: ? "i was here in slavery times but i don't know what year i was born. war? i was in it! "i member old master and old mistis too. i member i didn't know nothin' bout my mother and father cause it was night when they went to work and night when they come in and we chilluns would be under the bed asleep. "i know the white folks had a kitchen full of we chilluns. we went over to the kitchen to eat. "my mother belonged to the cockrills and my father belonged to the armstrongs. they were cousins and their plantations joined. "i was large enough to know when they took my parents to texas, but i didn't know how serious it was till they was gone. i member peepin' through the crack of the fence but i didn't know they was takin' em off. "they left me with the old doctor woman. she doctored both white and colored. i stayed there till i was fourteen years old. "i know we had our meals off a big wooden tray but we had wooden spoons to eat with. "i member when they was fightin' here at pine bluff. i was standin' at the overseer's bell house waitin' for a doll dress a girl had promised me and the guns was goin' just like pop guns. we didn't know what it was to take off our shoes and clothes for six months. we was ready to run if they broke in on us. "the yankees had their headquarters at the big house near the river. all this was in woods till i growed up. we used to have our picnic here. "i was standin' right at the post when they rung the bell in the bell house when peace declared. i heered the old folks sayin, 'we is free, we is free!' "i know before freedom they wouldn't let us burn a speck of light at night. had these little iron lamps. they'd twist wicks and put em in tallow. i don't know whether it was beef or sheep tallow but they had plenty of sheeps on the place. "colonel cockrill would have us come up to the big house every sunday mornin' and he'd give us a apple or a stick of candy. but them that was big enough to work wouldn't get any. they worked on sunday too--did the washin' every sunday evenin'. "oh lord, they had a big plantation. "after the war i went to school some. we had white teachers from the north. i didn't get to go much except on rainy days. other times i had to work. i got so i could read print but i can't read writin'. i used to could but since i been sick seems like my mind just hops off. "after freedom my parents rented land and farmed. i stayed with the old doctor woman till i was fourteen then i went to my parents. "i married when i was eighteen and had five chillun. when i worked for my father he'd let us quit when we got tired and sit under the shade bushes. but when i married i had to work harder than ever. my husband was just a run-around. he'd put in a crop and then go and leave it. sometimes he was a constable. finally he went off and took up with another woman. "i been here in arkansas all my life except eight months i lived in st. louis, but i didn't like it. when i was in st. louis i know it started to snow. i thought it was somebody pickin' geese. i said, 'what is that?' and my granddaughter said, 'gal, that's snow.' "i don't know what to think of the younger generation. i think they is just goin' out to nothin'. they say they are gettin' weaker and wiser but i think they are weaker and foolish--they are not wise in the right way. some are very good to their parents and some are not. "honey, i don't know how things is goin'--all i know is they is mighty tight right now." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: emma turner w. sixth avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes ma'am, i was born in slavery days. they never did tell me when i was born but i was ten the seventh day of august the same year we was freed. "no ma'am, i wasn't born in arkansas. i was born in georgia. i sent there and got my license to show my age. i was twenty years old when i married. "george jones was my old master. but, lawd, them folks is all dead now. old master and old missis, yes ma'am, all of 'em dead. "fight 'round us? no, they didn't fight there but they come through there. yes ma'am, they come through there. oh, chile, they got horses and mules. "used to give us the confederate money. wasn't no good though. they got the silver and gold. confederate money was white on one side and green on the other. yes'm, they was yankees. "oh, yes'am, old master was good to us. he didn't never marry. my grandmother was the cook. "my mother was born in virginia. i heerd her talk of the nat turner rebellion but i never did see him. "our folks stayed right on after freedom and hired by the month. and hired us children for our victuals and clothes. "i stayed there till i was married. then i come to vicksburg, mississippi. had nine children and all dead but two. "me? oh, i done washin' and ironin' mostly, cooked and most anything i could get to do. i'm all worked down now though. "we emigrated from georgia to mississippi. all my children born there. "i 'member the soldiers had guns and we was scared of 'em. we looked for 'em to come up the road but they come out of the woods and was around us right now. they didn't mind creeks or nothin', ridin' horseback or walkin'. i know they said, 'we ain't gwine hurt you.' "old master's mother and father was named sally and billy. 'member 'em? 'co'se i do--many times as i waited on that table. but they all dead 'fore i even thought about bein' grown. "oh, yes ma'am, we had a plenty to eat. that's the reason i misses it now. "i went to school one year but i had to work so hard i done forgot nearly everything i learned. i can read a little but my eyes ain't no good. "dem ku klux--you dassent be out after dark. you better not be out on the street after dark. but sunday night they didn't bother you when you went to church. "i was raised up with two white girls and their mother didn't 'low us to get out of the yard. "i used to pick peas and cotton. yes ma'am, that was when we was with the same old man, george jones. i used to huddle (herd) cows for miles and miles. my mother was the milk woman. i don't know how many she milked but she milked a heap of 'em. "used to climb up in trees and tear our clothes. then they'd whip us. old master say, 'don't you tell me no lie.' then old miss sally would get a stick and make out she gwine kill us, but she wouldn't touch us a lick. "younger generation? now you done asked me too soon. i set here and look at 'em. sometimes i don't know what gwine come of 'em. when we was young we didn't do nothin' like they doin' now. why we dassent raise our dresses. if we see a man comin' we pull down our skirts. yes, lawd." folklore subjects name of interviewer: watt mckinney subject: ex-slave and confederate soldiers story:--information this information given by: "uncle" henry turner (c) place of residence: turner, phillips county, arkansas occupation: plantation hand age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] i'm gettin' old and feeble now and cannot walk no more and i've laid the rusty-bladed hoe to rest. ole marster and ole missus are sleeping side by side and their spirits are a-roamin' with the blest. the above lines, had they been composed today, might well have been written with reference to "uncle" henry turner, ninety-three years of age, of turner, arkansas, in phillips county, and among the very few remaining ex-slaves, especially of those who were old enough at the time of their emancipation to have now a clear recollection of conditions, customs, events, and life during those days long past immediately proceeding and following the civil war. "uncle" henry's eyes have now grown dim and he totters slightly as, supported by his cane, he slowly shuffles along the path over a short distance between the clean, white-washed cabin where he lives with a daughter and the small, combination store and post office, on the porch of which he is accustomed to sit in an old cane-bottomed chair for a few hours each day and the white folks in passing stop to speak a few words and to buy for him candy, cold drinks, and tobacco. though "uncle" henry is approaching the century mark in age, his mind is remarkably clear and his recollection is unusually keen. he was born a slave in northern mississippi near the small towns of red banks and byhalia, was the property of his owner. edmond turner, and was brought to phillips county by "his white folks" some months before the war. turner, who owned some fifty other slaves besides henry, settled with his family on a large acreage of land that he had purchased about fifteen miles west of helena near trenton. both turner and his wife died soon after taking up residence in arkansas leaving their estate to their two sons, bart and nat, who were by that time grown young men, and being very capable and industrious soon developed their property into one of the most valuable plantations in the county. as "uncle" henry recalls, the turner place was, it might be said, a world within itself, in the confines of which was produced practically everything essential in the life of its inhabitants and the proper and successful conduct of its operations. large herds of cattle, hogs, sheep, and goats provided a bountiful supply of both fresh and salt meats and fats. cotton and wool was carded, spun and woven into cloth for clothes, fast colored dyes were made by boiling different kinds of roots and barks, various colored berries were also used for this purpose. medicine was prepared from roots, herbs, flowers, and leaves. stake and rider fences enclosed the fields and pastures and while most of the houses, barns and cribs were constructed of logs, some lumber was manufactured in crude sawmills in which was used what was known as a "slash saw". this was something like the crosscut saws of today and was operated by a crank that gave the saw an alternating up and down motion. wheat was ground into flour and corn into meal in mills with stone burrs similar to those used in the rural districts today, and power for this operation was obtained through the use of a treadmill that was given its motion by horses or mules walking on an inclined, endless belt constructed of heavy wooden slats. candles for lighting purposes were made of animal fats combined with beeswax. plows, harrows and cultivating implements were made on the plantation by those negroes who had been trained in carpentry and blacksmithing. plows for breaking the land were sometimes constructed with a metal point and a wooden moldboard and harrows made of heavy timbers with large, sharpened wooden pegs for teeth. hats of straw and corn shucks were woven by hand. small, crude cotton gins were powered by horses or mules hitched to a beam fastened to an upright shaft around which they traveled in a circle and to which was attached large cogwheels that multiplied the animal's power enormously and transmitted it by means of belt to the separating machinery where the lint was torn from the seed. no metal ties were available during this period and ropes of cotton were used to bind the bales of lint. about three bales was the daily capacity of a horse-powered plantation gin. it was often difficult to obtain the services of a competent doctor and except in cases of serious illness home remedies were administered. churches were established in different communities throughout the county and the negro slaves were allowed the privilege of attending the services, certain pews being set apart for them, and the same minister that attended the spiritual needs of the master and his family rendered like assistant to his slaves. no undertaking establishments existed here at this time and on the death of a person burial was made in crude caskets built of rough cypress planks unless the deceased was a member of a family financially able to afford the expensive metal caskets that were available no nearer than memphis. "uncle" henry turner recalls the death of dan wilborn's little six-year-old boy, abby, who was accidentally killed when crushed by a heavy gate on which he was playing, and his burial in what "uncle" henry described as a casket made of the same material as an old-fashioned door knob; and while i have no other authority than this on the subject, it is possible that in that day caskets were made of some vitrified substance, perhaps clay, and resembling the present day tile. the planters and slaveowners of this period obtained the greater share of their recreation in attendance at political rallies, horse races, and cock fights. jobe dean and gus abington who came to trenton from their home near la grange, tennessee were responsible for the popularity of these sports in phillips county and it was they who promoted the most spectacular of these sporting events and in which large sums of money were wagered on the horses and the game cocks. it is said that marve carruth once owned an irish grey cock on which he bet and won more than five thousand dollars one afternoon at trenton. no negro slave was allowed to go beyond the confines of his owner's plantation without written permission. this was described by "uncle" henry turner as a "pass"; and on this "pass" was written the name of the negro, the place he was permitted to visit, and the time beyond which he must not fail to return. it seems that numbers of men were employed by the county or perhaps by the slaveowners themselves whose duty it was to patrol the community and be on constant watch for such negroes who attempted to escape their bondage or overstayed the time limit noted on their "pass". such men were known then as "paddy rolls" by the negroes and in the southern states are still referred to by this name. punishment was often administered by them, and the very mention of the name was sufficient to cause stark terror and fear in the hearts of fugitive slaves. at some time during that period when slavery was a legal institution in this country, the following verse was composed by some unknown author and set to a tune that some of the older darkies can yet sing: run nigger run, the paddy roll will get you run nigger run, it's almost day. that nigger run, that nigger flew that nigger tore his shirt into. run nigger run, the paddy roll will get you run nigger run, it's almost day. both bart turner and his brother nat enlisted in the services of the confederacy. nat turner was a member of the first arkansas volunteers, a regiment organized at helena and of which patrick r. cleburne was colonel. dick berry and milt wiseman, friends and neighbors of the turners, also volunteered and enlisted in cleburne's command. these three stalwart young men from phillips county followed cleburne and fought under his battle flag on those bloody fields at shiloh, murfreesboro, ringgold gap, and atlanta; and they were with him that day in november in front of the old gin house at franklin as the regiment formed for another and what was to be their last charge. the dead lay in heaps in front of them and almost filled the ditch around the breastworks, but the command though terribly cut to pieces was forming as cooly as if on dress parade. above them floated a peculiar flag, a field of deep blue on which was a crescent moon and stars. it was cleburne's battle flag and well the enemy knew it; they had seen it so often before. "i tip my hat to that flag" said the federal general sherman years after the war. "whenever my men saw it they knew it meant fight." as the regiment rushed on the federal breastworks a gray clad figure on a chestnut horse rode across the front of the moving column and toward the enemy's guns. the horse went down within fifty yards of the breastworks. the rider arose, waved his sword, and led his men on foot to the very ramparts. then he staggered and fell, pierced with a dozen balls. it was cleburne, the peerless field-marshal of confederate brigade commanders. the southern cause suffered a crushing defeat at franklin and the casualty list recorded the names of nat turner, dick berry, and milt wiseman, who like their beloved commander had given their life for their country. there is an inscription on the stone base of the magnificent bronze statue of general n. b. forrest astride his war horse in forrest park in memphis that could well be placed above the graves of cleburne, turner, berry, and wiseman, those brave, heroic soldiers from phillips county. the inscription in verse is as follows: those hoof beats die not on fame's crimson sod but will live on in song and in story. he fought like a trojan and struck like a god his dust is our ashes of glory. interviewer: zillah cross peel information given by: seabe tuttle residence: washington county, seven miles east of fayetteville. seabe tuttle who was born in slavery in , belonged to james middleton tuttle of richland, which was about seven miles east of fayetteville. "i was just a baby when the war was but i do recollect a lot of things that my ma told me about the war. our folks all come from tennessee. my mother was named esther, she belonged to ole man tom smith who gived her to miss evaline, who was mister mid tuttle's wife. the tuttles and smiths lived joining farms." "you see, mister tuttle was a colonel in the confederate army and when he went off with the army he left all his slaves and stock in care of mr. lafe boone. miss mollie and miss nannie, and miss jim and another daughter i disrecolect her her name, all went in carriages and wagons down south following the confederate army. they took my pa, mark, and other servants, my mother's sister, americus and barbary. they told them they would bring them back home after the war. then my mother and me and the other darkies, men and women and children, followed them with the cattle and horses and food. but us didn't get no further than dardanelle when the federals captured us and took us back to the federal garrison at ft. smith, where they kept us six months. yes'm they were good to us there. we would get our food at the com'sary. but one day my ma and my sister, mandy, found a white man that said he would bring us back to fayetteville. no'm, i disremember his name." "we found us a cabin to live in here. didn't have to pay rent then likes they do now. we lived here but after a while my mother died. they had two battles 'round here, the battle of prairie grave and one was the battle of pea ridge, after we comed back but no soldiers bothered us. i remember that back from where the christian church is now, down to the town branch, there was a whole lot of federal soldiers staying, they called it then cato branch, cause a man by the name of cato owned all that land." "yes'm, i guess we had a purty good master and missus. we never did get treated much rough." "after the war, miss evaline brought back all the colored people that she took with her, but my father. he got married down there and didn't come back for a long time. then he did and died here. two of miss eveline's daughters married down there. they didn't have no boys 'tall, just four girls." "when peace was made the slaves all scattered. we none was givin' nothin' for as i know. i worked on a farm for $ . a month and my board, for a man down at oxford's bend, then i went down to van buren where i worked as a porter in a hotel then i went to morrilton and i married. we come back here and i worked all the time as a carpenter. i worked for mister a.m. byrnes. i helped build a lot of fine houses round here and i helped put a roof on the main building at the university." "yes'm, i own my home down by the school, i can't make much money these days. it kinda worries me. my folks all dead but three of my brothers children. one of these is blind. he lives on the old home my mother had. the county gives him a little food and a little money." "yes'm, my white folks were all good to us. purty good to us." "after peace was made though, we all jes' scattered, somehow." by the library of congress, manuscript division. [tr: ***] = transcriber note [hw: ***] = handwritten note [illustration: old slave] slave narratives a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project, - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress illustrated with photographs washington volume ii arkansas narratives part i prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of arkansas informants abbott, silas abernathy, lucian abromsom, laura adeline, aunt adway, rose aiken, liddie aldridge, mattie alexander, amsy o. alexander, diana alexander, fannie alexander, lucretia allen, ed allison, lucindy ames, josephine anderson, charles anderson, nancy anderson, r.b. anderson, sarah anderson, selie anderson, w.a. anthony, henry arbery, katie armstrong, campbell armstrong, cora baccus, lillie badgett, joseph samuel bailey, jeff baker, james baltimore, william banks, mose banner, henry barnett, john w.h. barnett, josephine ann barnett, lizzie barnett, spencer barr, emma barr, robert bass, matilda beal, emmett beard, dina beck, annie beckwith, j.h. beel, enoch belle, sophie d. bellus, cyrus benford, bob bennet, carrie bradley logan benson, george benton, kato bertrand, james biggs, alice billings, mandy birch, jane black, beatrice blackwell, boston blake, henry blakeley, adeline bobo, vera roy boechus, liddie bond, maggie (bunny) bonds, caroline boone, rev. frank t. boone, j.f. boone, jonas bowdry, john boyd, jack boyd, mal braddox, george bradley, edward bradley, rachel brannon, elizabeth brantley, mack brass, ellen bratton, alice briles, frank brooks, mary ann brooks, waters brown, casie jones brown, elcie brown, f.h. brown, george brown, j.n. brown, lewis brown, lewis brown, mag brown, mary brown, mattie brown, molly brown, peter brown, william brown, william broyles, maggie bryant, ida buntin, belle burgess, jeff burkes, norman burks, sr., will burris, adeline butler, jennie byrd, e.l. byrd, emmett augusta illustrations old slave _frontispiece_ interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: silas abbott r.f.d. brinkley, ark. age: "i was born in chickashaw county, mississippi. ely abbott and maggie abbott was our owners. they had three girls and two boys--eddie and johnny. we played together till i was grown. i loved em like if they was brothers. papa and mos ely went to war together in a two-horse top buggy. they both come back when they got through. "there was eight of us children and none was sold, none give way. my parents name peter and mahaley abbott. my father never was sold but my mother was sold into this abbott family for a house girl. she cooked and washed and ironed. no'm, she wasn't a wet nurse, but she tended to eddie and johnny and me all alike. she whoop them when they needed, and miss maggie whoop me. that the way we grow'd up. mos ely was 'ceptionly good i recken. no'm, i never heard of him drinkin' whiskey. they made cider and 'simmon beer every year. "grandpa was a soldier in the war. he fought in a battle. i don't know the battle. he wasn't hurt. he come home and told us how awful it was. "my parents stayed on at mos ely's and my uncle's family stayed on. he give my uncle a home and twenty acres of ground and my parents same mount to run a gin. i drove two mules, my brother drove two and we drove two more between us and run the gin. my auntie seen somebody go in the gin one night but didn't think bout them settin' it on fire. they had a torch, i recken, in there. all i knowed, it burned up and mos ely had to take our land back and sell it to pay for four or five hundred bales of cotton got burned up that time. we stayed on and sharecropped with him. we lived between egypt and okolona, mississippi. aberdeen was our tradin' point. "i come to arkansas railroading. i railroaded forty years. worked on the section, then i belong to the extra gang. i help build this railroad to memphis. "i did own a home but i got in debt and had to sell it and let my money go. "times is so changed and the young folks different. they won't work only nough to get by and they want you to give em all you got. they take it if they can. nobody got time to work. i think times is worse than they ever been, cause folks hate to work so bad. i'm talking bout hard work, field work. jobs young folks want is scarce; jobs they could get they don't want. they want to run about and fool around an get by. "i get $ . and provisions from the government." interviewer: watt mckinney person interviewed: lucian abernathy, marvell, arkansas age: "i was borned in de 'streme norf part of mississippi nigh de tennessee line. you mought say dat it was 'bout straddle of de state line and it wasn't no great piece from where us libed to moscow what was de station on de ole memfis en charston railroad. my white folks was de abernathys. you neber do hear 'bout many folks wid dat name these times, leastwise not ober in dis state, but dere sure used to be heap of dem abernathys back home where i libed and i spect dat mebbe some dere yit en cose it's bound to be some of the young uns lef' dar still, but de ole uns, mars luch en dem, dey is all gone. "mars luch, he was my young boss. though he name was lucian us all called him luch and dat was who i is named for. ole mars, he was name will and dat was mars luch's pa and my ole miss, she name miss cynthia and young miss, her name miss ellen. ole mars an' ole miss, dey just had de two chillun, mars luch and miss ellen; dat is what libed to be grown. mars luch, he 'bout two year older dan me and miss ellen, she 'bout two year older dan mars luch. miss ellen, she married er gentman from virginny and went dar to lib and mars luch, he married miss fannie keith. "miss fannie's folks, dey libed right nigh us on to 'j'ining place and dem was my ole man's peoples. yas sah, boss, dat ole man you see settin' right dar now in dat chere. she was ella keith, dats zackly what her named when us married and she named fer miss fannie's ma. dat she was. us neber did leave our folkses eben atter de war ober and de niggers git dey freedom, yit an' still a heap of de niggers did leave dey mars' and a heap of dem didn' an' us stayed on an farmed de lan' jus' like us been doin' 'cept dey gib us a contract for part de crop an' sell us our grub 'gainst us part of de crop and take dey money outen us part of de cotton in de fall just like de bizness is done yit and i reckon dat was de startin' of de sharecrop dat is still goin' on. "soon atter mars luch good and grown an' him an' miss fannie done married, ole mars and ole miss, dey bofe died and mars luch say he gwine sell out an' lebe 'cause de lan' gittin' so poor and wore out and it takin' three an' more acres to make a bale and he tell us all dat when we wind up de crop dat fall and say, 'you boys mebbe can stay on wid whoever i sell out to er if not den you can fin' you homes wid some one close if you wants to do dat.' and den he says dat he gwine fin' him some good lan' mebbe in arkansas down de riber from memfis. mighty nigh all de ole famblys lef' de place when mars luch sole it out. "my pappy and my mammy, dey went to memfis and me wid 'em. i was growed by den and was fixin' to marry ella just es soon es i could fin' a good home. i was a country nigger en liked de farm an' en cose wasn't satisfied in town, so 'twasn't long 'fore i heered 'bout han's beein' needed down de riber in mississippi and dats where i went en stayed for two years and boss, i sure was struck wid dat lan' what you could make a bale to a acre on an' i just knowed dat i was gwine git rich in a hurry an' so i writ er letter to ella en her peoples tellin' dem 'bout de rich lan' and 'vising dem to come down dere where i was and i was wantin' to marry ella den. boss, and you know what, 'twasn't long afore i gits er letter back an' de letter says dat ella an' her peoples is down de riber in arkansas from memfis at bledsoe wid mars luch an' miss fannie where mars luch had done moved him an' miss fannie to a big plantation dey had bought down dere. "dat was a funny thing how dat happened an' bledsoe, it was right 'cross de riber from where i was en had been for two years an' just soon es i git dat letter i 'range wid a nigger to take me 'cross da riber in er skift to de plantation where dey all was and 'bout fust folkses dat i see is ella an' her peoples en lots of de famblys from de ole home place back in tennessee an' i sure was proud to see mars luch en miss fannie. dey had built demselves a fine house at a p'int dat was sorter like a knoll where de water don' git when de riber come out on de lan' in case of oberflow and up de rode 'bout half mile from de house, mars luch had de store en de gin. dey had de boys den, dat is mars luch and miss fannie did, and de boys was named claude an' clarence atter miss fannie's two brudders. "dem was de finest boys dat one ever did see. at dat time claude, he 'bout two year old and clarence, he 'bout four er mebbe little less. ella, she worked in da house cooking for miss fannie an' nussin' de chillun and she plumb crazy 'bout de chillun an' dey just as satisfied wid her as dey was wid dere mama and ella thought more dem chillun dan she did anybody. she just crazy 'bout dem boys. mars luch, he gibe me job right 'way sort flunkying for him and hostling at de lot an' barn and 'twasn't long den 'fore ella and me, us git married an' libs in a cabin dat mars luch had built in de back of de big house. "us git 'long fine for more dan a year and mars luch, he raise plenty cotton an' at times us ud take trip up to memfis on de boat, on de phil allin what was 'bout de fineist boat on de riber in dem days and de one dat most frequent put in at us landin' wid de freight for mars luch and den he most ginally sont he cotton an' seed to memfis on dis same phil allin. "i jus' said, boss, dat us git 'long fine for more dan a year and us all mighty happy till miss fannie took sick an' died an' it mighty nigh killed mars luch and all of us and mars luch, he jus' droop for weeks till us git anxious 'bout him but atter while he git better and seam like mebbe he gwine git ober he sadness but he neber was like he used to be afore miss fannie died. "atter miss fannie gone, mars luch, he say, 'ella, you an' luch mus' mobe in de big house an' make you a bed in de room where de boys sleep, so's you can look atter 'em good, 'cause lots nights i gwine be out late at de gin an' store an' i knows you gwine take plumb good care of dem chillun.' an' so us fixed us bed in de big house an' de boys, dey sleeped right dar in dat room on dere bed where us could take care of 'em. "dat went on for 'bout two years an' den mars luch, he 'gun to get in bad health an' jus' wasted down like and den one night when he at de store he took down bad and dey laid him down on de bed in de back room where he would sleep on sich nights dat he didn' come home when he was so busy an' he sont a nigger on a mule for me to come up dar an' i went in he room an' mars luch, he say, 'lissen, luch, you is been a good faithful nigger an' ella too, an' i is gonna die tonight and i wants you to send er letter to miss ellen in virginny atter i is daid en tell her to come an' git de boys 'cause she is all de kin peoples dat dey habe lef' now cepn cose you an' ella an' it mought be some time afore she gits here so you all take good en faithful care dem till she 'rives an' tell her she habe to see dat all de bizness wind up and take de boys back wid her an' keep dem till dey is growed,' "well, boss, us done jus' like mars luch tell us to do an' us sure feel sorry for dem two little boys. dey jus' 'bout five an' seben year old den and day sure loved dere pa; day was plumb crazy 'bout mars luch and him 'bout dem too. "'bout two weeks from time dat mars luch daid, miss ellen come on de boat one night an' she stayed some days windin' up de bizness and den she lef' an' take de boys 'way wid her back to virginny where she libed. us sure did hate to 'part from dem chillun. dat's been nigh on to sixty years ago but us neber forgit dem boys an' us will allus lobe dem. dey used to sen' us presents an' sich every christmas for seberal years and den us started movin' 'bout an' i reckon dey don' know where we's at now. i sure would like to see dem boys ag'in. i betcha i'd know dem right today. mebbe i wouldn't, it's been so long since i seen 'em; but shucks, i know dat dey would know me." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: laura abromsom, r.f.d., holly grove, arkansas receives mail at clarendon, arkansas age: "my mama was named eloise rogers. she was born in missouri. she was sold and brought to three or four miles from brownsville, tennessee. alex rogers bought her and my papa. she had been a house girl and well cared for. she never got in contact wid her folks no more after she was sold. she was a dark woman. papa was a ginger cake colored man. mama talked like alex rogers had four or five hundred acres of land and lots of niggers to work it. she said he had a cotton factory at brownsville. "mistress barbara ann was his wife. they had two boys and three girls. one boy george went plumb crazy and outlived 'em all. the other boy died early. alex rogers got my papa in richmond, virginia. he was took outer a gang. we had a big family. i have eight sisters and one brother. "pa say they strop 'em down at the carriage house and give 'em five hundred lashes. he say they have salt and black pepper mixed up in er old bucket and put it all on flesh cut up with a rag tied on a stick (mop). alex rogers had a nigger to put it on the place they whooped. the lord puts up wid such wrong doings and den he comes and rectifies it. he does that very way. "pa say they started to whoop him at the gin house. he was a sorter favorite. he cut up about it. that didn't make no difference 'bout it. somehow they scared him up but he didn't git whooped thater time. "they fed good on alex rogers' place. they'd buy a barrel of coffee, a barrel molasses, a barrel sugar. some great big barrels. "alex rogers wasn't a good man. he'd tell them to steal a hog and git home wid it. if they ketch you over there they'll whoop you. he'd help eat hogs they'd steal. "one time papa was working on the roads. the neighbor man and road man was fixing up their eating. he purty nigh starved on that road work. he was hired out. "mama and papa spoke like they was mighty glad to get sat free. some believed they'd git freedom and others didn't. they had places they met and prayed for freedom. they stole out in some of their houses and turned a washpot down at the door. another white man, not alex rogers, tole mama and papa and a heap others out in the field working. she say they quit and had a regular bawl in the field. they cried and laughed and hollered and danced. lot of them run offen the place soon as the man tole 'em. my folks stayed that year and another year. "what is i been doing? ast me is i been doing? what ain't i been doing be more like it. i raised fifteen of my own children. i got four living. i living wid one right here in dis house wid me now. i worked on the farm purty nigh all my life. i come to dis place. wild, honey, it was! i come in . heap of changes since then. "present times--not as much union 'mongst young black and white as the old black and white. they growing apart. nobody got nothin' to give. no work. i used to could buy second-handed clothes to do my little children a year for a little or nothin'. won't sell 'em now nor give 'em 'way neither. they don't work hard as they used to. they say they don't git nothin' outen it. they don't want to work. times harder in winter 'cause it cold and things to eat killed out. i cans meat. we dry beef. in town this nickellodian playing wild wid young colored folks--these sea bird music boxes. they play all kind things. folks used to stay home saturday nights. too much running 'round, excitement, wickedness in the world now. this generation is worst one. they trying to cut the big apple dance when we old folks used to be down singing and praying, 'cause dis is a wicked age times is bad and hard." interviewer's comment mulatto, clean, intelligent. interviewer: mrs. zillah cross peel person interviewed: "aunt adeline" age: home: rock street, fayetteville, arkansas "i was born a slave about , in hickmon county, tennessee," said aunt adeline who lives as care taker in a house at rock street, fayetteville, arkansas, which is owned by the blakely-hudgens estate. aunt adeline has been a slave and a servant in five generations of the parks family. her mother, liza, with a group of five negroes, was sold into slavery to john p.a. parks, in tennessee, about . "when my mother's master come to arkansas about , looking for a country residence, he bought what was known as the old kidd place on the old wire road, which was one of the stage coach stops. i was about one year old when we came. we had a big house and many times passengers would stay several days and wait for the next stage to come by. it was then that i earned my first money. i must have been about six or seven years old. one of mr. parks' daughters was about one and a half years older than i was. we had a play house back of the fireplace chimney. we didn't have many toys; maybe a doll made of a corn cob, with a dress made from scraps and a head made from a roll of scraps. we were playing church. miss fannie was the preacher and i was the audience. we were singing "jesus my all to heaven is gone." when we were half way through with our song we discovered that the passengers from the stage coach had stopped to listen. we were so frightened at our audience that we both ran. but we were coaxed to come back for a dime and sing our song over. i remember that miss fannie used a big leaf for a book. "i had always been told from the time i was a small child that i was a negro of african stock. that it was no disgrace to be a negro and had it not been for the white folks who brought us over here from africa as slaves, we would never have been here and would have been much better off. "we colored folks were not allowed to be taught to read or write. it was against the law. my master's folks always treated me well. i had good clothes. sometimes i was whipped for things i should not have done just as the white children were. "when a young girl was married her parents would always give her a slave. i was given by my master to his daughter, miss elizabeth, who married mr. blakely. i was just five years old. she moved into a new home at fayetteville and i was taken along but she soon sent me back home to my master telling him that i was too little and not enough help to her. so i went back to the parks home and stayed until i was over seven years old. [ ]my master made a bill of sale for me to his daughter, in order to keep account of all settlements, so when he died and the estate settled each child would know how he stood. "i was about years old when the civil war ended and was still living with mrs. blakely and helped care for her little children. her daughter, miss lenora, later married h.m. hudgens, and i then went to live with her and cared for her children. when her daughter miss helen married professor wiggins, i took care of her little daughter, and this made five generations that i have cared for. "during the civil war, mr. parks took all his slaves and all of his fine stock, horses and cattle and went south to louisiana following the southern army for protection. many slave owners left the county taking with them their slaves and followed the army. "when the war was over, mr. parks was still in the south and gave to each one of his slaves who did not want to come back to arkansas so much money. my uncle george came back with mr. parks and was given a good mountain farm of forty acres, which he put in cultivation and one of my uncle's descendants still lives on the place. my mother did not return to arkansas but went on to joplin, missouri, and for more than fifty years, neither one of us knew where the other one was until one day a man from fayetteville went into a restaurant in joplin and ordered his breakfast, and my mother who was in there heard him say he lived in fayetteville, arkansas. he lived just below the hudgens home and when my mother enquired about the family he told her i was still alive and was with the family. while neither of us could read nor write we corresponded through different people. but i never saw her after i was eleven years old. later mr. hudgens went to joplin to see if she was well taken care of. she owned her own little place and when she died there was enough money for her to be buried. "civil war days are vivid to me. the courthouse which was then in the middle of the square was burned one night by a crazy confederate soldier. the old men in the town saved him and then put him in the county jail to keep him from burning other houses. each family was to take food to him and they furnished bedding. the morning i was to take his breakfast, he had ripped open his feather bed and crawled inside to get warm. the room was so full of feathers when i got there that his food nearly choked him. i had carried him ham, hot biscuits and a pot of coffee. "after the war many soldiers came to my mistress, mrs. blakely, trying to make her free me. i told them i was free but i did not want to go anywhere, that i wanted to stay in the only home that i had ever known. in a way that placed me in a wrong attitude. i was pointed out as different. sometimes i was threatened for not leaving but i stayed on. "i had always been well treated by my master's folks. while we lived at the old kidd place, there was a church a few miles from our home. my uncle george was coachman and drove my master's family in great splendor in a fine barouche to church. after the war, when he went to his own place, mr. parks gave him the old carriage and bought a new one for the family. "i can remember the days of slavery as happy ones. we always had an abundance of food. old aunt martha cooked and there was always plenty prepared for all the white folks as well as the colored folks. there was a long table at the end of the big kitchen for the colored folks. the vegetables were all prepared of an evening by aunt martha with someone to help her. "my mother seemed to have a gift of telling fortunes. she had a brass ring about the size of a dollar with a handwoven knotted string that she used. i remember that she told many of the young people in the neighborhood many strange things. they would come to her with their premonitions. "yes, we were afraid of the patyroles. all colored folks were. they said that any negroes that were caught away from their master's premises without a permit would be whipped by the patyroles. they used to sing a song: 'run nigger run, the patyroles will get you.' "yes'm, the war separated lots of families. mr. parks' son, john c. parks, enlisted in colonel w.h. brooks' regiment at fayetteville as third lieutenant. mr. jim parks was killed at the battle of getysburg. "i do remember it was my mistress, mrs. blakely, who kept the masonic building from being burned. the soldiers came to set it on fire. mrs. blakely knew that if it burned, our home would burn as it was just across the street. mrs. blakely had two small children who were very ill in upstairs rooms. she told the soldiers if they burned the masonic building that her house would burn and she would be unable to save her little children. they went away." while aunt adeline is nearing ninety, she is still active, goes shopping and also tends to the many crepe myrtle bushes as well as many other flowers at the hudgens place. she attends to the renting of the apartment house, as caretaker, and is taken care of by members of the blakely-hudgens families. aunt adeline talks "white folks language," as they say, and seldom associates with the colored people of the town. [footnote : this statement can be verified by the will made by john p.a. parks, and filed in probate court in the clerk's office in washington county.] interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: rose adway w. pullen, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born three years 'fore surrender. that's what my people told me. born in mississippi. let me see what county i come out of. smith county--that's where i was bred and born. "i know i seen the yankees but i didn't know what they was. my mama and papa and all of 'em talked about the war. "my papa was a water toter in durin' the war. no, he didn't serve the army--just on the farm. "mama was the cook for her missis in slavery times. "i think my folks went off after freedom and then come back. that was after they had done been sot free. i can remember dat all right. "i registered down here at the welfare and i had to git my license from mississippi and i didn't remember which courthouse i got my license, but i sent letters over there till i got it up. i got all my papers now, but i ain't never got no pension. "i been through so much i can't git much in my remembrance, but i was _here_--that ain't no joke--i _been_ here. "my folks said their owners was all right. you know they was 'cause they come back. i remember dat all right. "i been farmin' till i got disabled. after i married i went to farmin'. and i birthed fourteen head of chillun by dat one man! fourteen head by dat one man! stayed at home and took care of 'em till i got 'em up some size, too. all dead but five out of the fourteen head. "my missis' name was miss catherine and her husband named abe carr. "i went to school a little bit--mighty little. i could read but i never could write. "and i'm about to go blind in my old age. i need help and i need it bad. chillun ain't able to help me none 'cept give me a little bread and give me some medicine once in a while. but i'm thankful to the lord i can get outdoors. "i don't know what to think of this young race. that baby there knows more than i do now, nearly. back there when i was born, i didn't know nothin'. "i know they said it was bad luck to bring a hoe or a ax in the house on your shoulder. i heard the old folks tell dat--sure did. "and i was told dat on old christmas night the cows gets down on their knees and gives thanks to the lord. "i 'member one song: 'i am climbin' jacob's ladder i am climbin' jacob's ladder i am climbin' jacob's ladder for the work is almost done. 'every round goes higher and higher every round goes higher and higher every round goes higher and higher for my work is almost done. 'sister, now don't you get worried sister, now don't you get worried sister, now don't you get worried for the work is almost done.' my mother used to sing dat when she was spinnin' and cardin'. they'd spin and dye the thread with some kind of indigo. oh, i 'member dat all right." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: liddie aiken, wheatley, arkansas age: "my mother was born in southwest georgia close to the alabama line. her mother come from virginia. she was sold with her mother and two little brothers. her mother had been sold and come in a wagon to southwest georgia. they was all field hands. they cleaned out new ground. they was afraid of hoop-snakes. she said they look like a hoop rolling and whatever they stuck a horn or their tail in it died. they killed trees. "mama said she druther plough than chop. she was a big woman and they let her plough right along by her two little brothers, henry and will keller. will et so many sweet potatoes they called him 'tater keller.' after he got grown we come out here. folks called him 'tate keller.' henry died. i recollect uncle tate. "i was born close to mobile, alabama. mama was named sarah keller. grandma was called mariah. banks tillman sold her the first time. bill keller bought them all the last time. his wife was named ada keller. they had a great big family but i forgot what they said about them. mack clem up in a persimmon tree one day and the old man hollered at him, 'get out of that tree 'fore you fall.' 'bout then the boy turned 'loose and fell. it knocked the breath out him. it didn't kill him. three or four of miss ada's children died with congestive chills. mama said the reason they had them chills they played down at the gin pond all the time. it was shady and a pretty place and they was allowed to play in the pond. three or four of them died nearly in a heap. "one of the boys had a pet billy-goat. it got up on top mama's house one time. it would bleat and look down at them. they was afraid it would jump down on them if they went out. it chewed up things aunt beanie washed. she had them put out on bushes and might had a line too. they fattened it and killed it. mama said mr. bill keller never had nothing too good to divide with his niggers. i reckon by that they got some of the goat. "they lived like we live now. every family done his own cooking. i don't know how many families lived on the place. "i know about the yankees. they come by and every one of the men and boys went with them but uncle cal. he was cripple and they advised him not to start. didn't none of the women go. mama said she never seen but one ever come back. she thought they got killed or went on some place else. "mr. keller died and miss ada went back to her folks. they left everything in our care that they didn't move. she took all her house things. they sold or took all their stock. they left us a few cows and pigs. i don't know how long they stayed after the old man died. his children was young; he might not been so old. "i recollect grandma. she smoked a pipe nearly all the time. my papa was a livery stable man. he was a fine man with stock. he was a little black man. mama was too big. grandma was taller but she was slick black. he lived at mobile, alabama. i was the onliest child mama had. uncle 'tate keller' took grandma and mama to mobile. he never went to the war. he was a good carpenter and he worked out when he didn't have a lot to do in the field. he was off at work when all the black men and boys left mr. bill. he never went back after they left till freedom. "they didn't know when freedom took place. they was all scattering for two years about to get work and something to eat. tate come and got them. they went off in a wagon that tate made for his master, bill keller. we come to tupelo, mississippi from mobile when i was a little bit of a girl. then we made one crop and come to helena. uncle tate died there and mama died at crocketts bluff. my papa died back in mobile, alabama. he was breaking a young horse and got throwed up side a tree. he didn't live long then. "i got three boys now and i had seben--all boys. they farms and do public work. tom is in memphis. pete is in helena and i live wid macon between here (wheatley) and cotton plant. we farm. i done everything could be thought of on a farm. i ploughed some less than five year ago. i liked to plough. my boy ploughs all he can now and we do the chopping. we all pick cotton and get in the corn. we work day laborers now. "if i was young the times wouldn't stand in my way. i could make it. i don't know what is the trouble lessen some wants too much. they can't get it. we has a living and thankful for it. i never 'plied for no help yet. "i still knits my winter stockings. i got knitting needles and cards my own mother had and used. i got use for them. i wears clothes on my body in cold weather. one reason you young folks ain't no 'count you don't wear enough clothes when it is cold. i wear flannel clothes if i can get holt of them. "education done ruint the world. i learnt to read a little. i never went to school. i learnt to work. i learnt my boys to go with me to the field and not to be ashamed to sweat. it's healthy. they all works." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mattie aldridge age: ? hazen, arkansas "my mother's old owner named master sanders. she born somewhere in tennessee. i heard her say she lived in mississippi. i was born in tennessee. my pa was born in mississippi. i know he belong to the duncans. his name george washington duncan. there ain't nary drap white blood in none us. i got four brothers. i do remembers grandma. she set and tell us tales bout old times like you want to know. been so long i forgotten. ma was a house girl and pa a field hand. way grandma talked it must of been hard to find out what white folks wanted em to do, cause she couldn't tell what you say some times. she never did talk plain. "they was glad when freedom declared. they said they was hard on em. whoop em. pa was killed in crittenden county in arkansas. he was clearin' new ground. a storm come up and a limb hit him. it killed him. grandma and ma allus say like if you build a house you want to put all the winders in you ever goin' to want. it bad luck to cut in and put in nother one. sign of a death. i ain't got no business tellin' you bout that. white folks don't believe in signs. "i been raisin' up childern--'dopted childern, washin', ironin', scourin', hoein', gatherin' corn, pickin' cotton, patchin', cookin'. they ain't nothin' what i ain't done. "no'm, i sure ain't voted. i don't believe in women votin'. they don't know who to vote for. the men don't know neither. if folks visited they would care more bout the other an wouldn't be so much devilment goin' on." interviewer: samuel s. taylor. person interviewed: amsy o. alexander center street, little rock, arkansas age: [hw: helps build railroad] "i was born in the country several miles from charlotte in macklenberg, county, north carolina in . "my father's name was john alexander and my mother was esther mccolley. that was her maiden name of course. "my father's master was named silas alexander and my mother belonged to hugh reed. i don't know just how she and my father happened to meet. these two slaveholders were adjoining neighbors, you might say. "my father and my mother married during the war. i was the first child. i had three half brothers and three half sisters from the father's side. i didn't have no whole brothers and sisters. i am the only one on my mother's side. my father was not in the war. "i don't know that the pateroles bothered him very much. my father and mother were well treated by our master and then both she and my father were quiet and their masters were good to them naturally. "during slavery times, my father was a farmer. my mother farmed too. she was a hand in the field. they lived in a little log cabin, one room. they had a bed in there, a few chairs and a homemade table. they had a plank floor. i only know what i heard my people speak of. i don't know what was what for myself because i was too young. "from what i can understand they had a big room at the house and the slaves came there and ate there. they had a colored woman who prepared their meals. the children mostly were raised on pot liquor. while the old folk were working the larger young uns mongst the children would take care of the little ones. "their masters never forced any breeding. i have heard of that happening in other places but i never heard them speak of it in connection with our master. "when the master came back from the war, they told the slaves they were free. after slavery my people stayed on and worked on the old plantation. they didn't get much. something like fifty cents a day and one meal. my folks didn't work on shares. "back there in north carolina times got tight and it seemed that there wasn't much doing. agents came from arkansas trying to get laborers. so about seven or eight families of us emigrated from north carolina. that is how my folks got here. "the ku klux were bad in north carolina too. my people didn't have any trouble with them in arkansas, though. they weren't bothered so much in north carolina because of their owners. but they would come around and see them. they came at night. we came to arkansas in the winter of . "i went to public school after the war, in north carolina. i didn't get any further than the eighth grade. my father and mother didn't get any schooling till after the war. they could read a little but they picked it up themselves during slavery. i suppose their master's children learned it to them. "my father never did see any army service. i have heard him speak of seeing soldiers come through though. they looted the place and took everything they wanted and could carry. "when i first come to this state, i settled in drew county and farmed. i farmed for three years. during the time i was there, i got down sick with slow fever. when i got over that i decided that i would move to higher ground. there was a man down there who recommended little rock and so i moved here. i have been here forty-nine years. that is quite a few days. "i belong to the presbyterian church and have been a member of that church for fifty-five years. i have never gotten out publicly, but i even do my little preaching round in the house here. "when i came to little rock, i came in a very dull season. there wasn't even a house to be rented. it was in the winter. i had to rent a room at "jones" hall on ninth and gaines streets and paid one dollar a day for it. i stayed there about a month. finally there was a vacant house over on nineteenth street and common and i moved there. then i commenced to look for work and i walked the town over daily. no results whatever. finally i struck a little job with the contractor here digging ditches, grubbing stumps, grading streets and so forth. i worked with him for three years and finally i got a job with the street car company, as laborer in the parks. i worked at that job two years. finally i got a job as track laborer. i worked there a year. then i was promoted to track foreman. i held that seven years. "i quit that then and went to the railroads. i helped to build the choctaw oklahoma and gulf railway. when the road was completed, i made the first trip over it as porter. i remained there till august , . during that time i was operated on for prostatitis and doctors rendered me unfit for work, totally disabled; so that is my condition today. "i think the future looks bright. i think conditions will get better. i believe that all that is necessary for betterment is cooperation. "i believe the younger generation--the way it looks--is pretty bad. i think we haven't done anything like as much as we could do in teaching the youngsters. we need to give them an idea of things. they don't know. our future depends on our children if their minds aren't trained, the future will not be bright. our leaders should lecture to these young people and teach them. we have young people who dodge voting because of the poll tax. that is not the right attitude. i don't know what will become of us if our children are not better instructed. the white people are doing more of this than we are. "there was a time when children didn't know but what the foot was all there was of a chicken. the foot was all they had ever seen. but young folks nowaday should be taught everything." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: diana alexander, brinkley, arkansas age: "i was born in mississippi close to bihalia. our owner was myers(?) bogan. he had a wife and children. mama was a field woman. her name was sarah bogan and papa's name was hubberd bogan. "i heard them talk about setting the pot at the doors and having singing and prayer services. they all sung and prayed around the room. i forgot all the things they talked about. my parents lived on the same place after freedom a long time. they said he was good to them. "dr. bogan in forrest city, arkansas always said i was his brother's child. he was dead years ago, so i didn't have no other way of knowing. "the only thing i can recollect about the war was once my mistress took me and her own little girl upstairs in a kind of ceiling room (attic). they had their ham meat and jewelry locked up in there and other fine stuff. she told us to sit down and not move, not even grunt. me and fannie had to be locked up so long. it was dark. we both went to sleep but we was afraid to stir. the yankees come then but i didn't get to see them. i didn't want to be took away by 'em. i was big enough to know that. i heard 'em say we was near 'bout eat out at the closing of the war. i thought it muster been the yankees from what they was talking about, eating us out. "i been washing and ironing and still doing it. all my life i been doing that 'ceptin' when i worked in the field. "me and my daughter is paying on this house (a good house). i been making my own living--hard or easy. i don't get no relief aid. never have. i 'plied for the old people's pension. don't get it." interviewer's comment this must be myers bogan, yet she told me bogan myers. later she said dr. bogan of forrest city was thus and so. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: fannie alexander, helena, arkansas age: "i was an orphant child. my mother-in-law told me during slavery she was a field hand. one day the overseer was going to whoop one of the women 'bout sompin or other and all the women started with the hoes to him and run him clear out of the field. they would killed him if he hadn't got out of the way. she said the master hadn't put a overseer over them for a long time. some of 'em wouldn't do their part and he put one of the men on the place over the women. he was a colored foreman. the women worked together and the men worked together in different fields. my mother-in-law was named alice drummond. she said they would cut the hoecakes in half and put that in your pan, then pour the beef stew on top. she said on christmas day they had hot biscuits. they give them flour and things to make biscuit at home on sundays. when they got through eating they take their plate and say, 'thank god for what i received.' she said they had plenty milk. the churns was up high--five gallon churns. some churns was cedar wood. the children would churn standing on a little stool. it would take two to churn. they would change about and one brushed away the flies. she lived close to meridian and canton. "my mother talked the bright side to her children. she was born in tennessee. she had two older sisters sold from her. she never seen them no more. they was took to missouri. mother was never sold. she was real bright color. she died when i was real little. from what i know i think my parents was industrious. papa was a shoemaker. he worked on sunday to make extra money to buy things outside of what his master give them for his family. now i can remember that much. my papa was a bright color like i am but not near as light as mama. he had a shop when i was little but he wasn't 'lowed to keep it open on sunday. i heard him tell about working on sundays during slavery and how much he made sometimes. he tanned his own leather. "i went to mississippi and married. folks got grown earlier than they do now and i married when i was a young girl 'bout seventeen. we come to arkansas. i sewed for white and colored. i cooked some. i taught school in the public schools. i taught opportunity school two years. i had a class at the church in day and at the schoolhouse at night. i had two classes. "john hays was mama's owner in tennessee." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: lucretia alexander high street. little rock, arkansas age: "i been married three times and my last name was lucretia alexander. i was twelve years old when the war began. my mother died at seventy-three or seventy-five. that was in august --august the ninth. she was buried august twelfth. the reason they kept her was they had refugeed her children off to different places to keep them from the yankees. they couldn't get them back. my mother and her children were heir property. her first master was toliver. my mother was named agnes toliver. she had a boy and a girl both older than i were. my brother come home in ' . i never got to see my sister till . "my father died in and some say he was one hundred twelve and some say one hundred six. his name was beasley, john beasley, and he went by john beasley till he died. "my mother died and left four living children. i was the youngest. "i got religion in . i was baptized seventy-three years ago this august. "i ain't got nary living child. my oldest child would have been sixty-four if he were living. they claim my baby boy is living, but i don't know. i have four children. "the first overseer i remember was named kurt johnson. the next was named mack mckenzie. the next one was named pink womack. and the next was named tom phipps. mean! liked meanness! mean a man as he could be. i've seen him take them down and whip them till the blood run out of them. "i got ten head of grandchildren. and i been grandmother to eleven head. i been great-grandmother to twelve head of great-grandchildren. i got one twenty-three and another nineteen or twenty. her father's father was in the army. she is the oldest. lotas robinson, my granddaughter, has four children that are my great-grandchildren. gayden jenkins, my grandson, has two girls. i got a grandson named dan jenkins. he is the father of three boys. he lives in cleveland. he got a grandson named mark jenkins in memphis who has one boy. the youngest granddaughter--i don't remember her husband's name--has one boy. there are four generations of us. "i been here. you see i took care of myself when i was young and tried to do right. the lord has helped me too. yes, i am going on now. i been here a long time but i try to take care of myself. i was out visiting the sick last time you come here. that's the reason i missed you. i tries to do the best i can. "i am stricken now with the rheumatism on one side. this hip. "my mother was treated well in slavery times. my father was sold five times. wouldn't take nothin'. so they sold him. they beat him and knocked him about. they put him on the block and they sold him 'bout beatin' up his master. he was a native of virginia. the last time they sold him they sold him down in claiborne county, mississippi. just below where i was born at. i was born in copiah county near hazlehurst, about fifteen miles from hazlehurst. my mother was born in washington county. virginia. her first master was qualls tolliver. qualls moved to mississippi and married a woman down there and he had one son, peachy toliver. after he died, he willed her to peachy. then peachy went to the rebel army and got killed. "my mother's father was a free indian named washington. her mother was a slave. i don't know my father's father. he moved about so much and was sold so many times he never did tell me his father. he got his name from the white folks. when you're a slave you have to go by your owner's name. "my master's mother took me to the house after my mother died. and the first thing i remember doing was cleaning up. bringing water, putting up mosquito-bars, cooking. my master's mother was susan reed. i have done everything but saw. i never sawed in my life. the hardest work i did was after slavery. i never did no hard work during slavery. i used to pack water for the plow hands and all such as that. but when my mother died, my mistress took me to the house. "but lawd! i've seen such brutish doin's--runnin' niggers with hounds and whippin' them till they was bloody. they used to put 'em in stocks. when they didn't put 'em in stocks, used to be two people would whip 'em--the overseer and the driver. the overseer would be a man named elijah at our house. he was just a poor white man. he had a whip they called the black snake. "i remember one time they caught a man named george tinsley. they put the dogs on him and they bit 'im and tore all his clothes off of 'im. then they put 'im in the stocks. the stocks was a big piece of timber with hinges in it. it had a hole in it for your head. they would lift it up and put your head in it. there was holes for your head, hands and feet in it. then they would shut it up and they would lay that whip on you and you couldn't do nothin' but wiggle and holler, 'pray, master, pray!' but when they'd let that man out, he'd run away again. "they would make the slaves work till twelve o'clock on sunday, and then they would let them go to church. the first time i was sprinkled, a white preacher did it; i think his name was williams. "the preacher would preach to the white folks in the forenoon and to the colored folks in the evening. the white folks had them hired. one of them preachers was named hackett; another, williams; and another, gowan. there was five of them but i just remember them three. one man used to hold the slaves so late that they had to go to the church dirty from their work. they would be sweaty and smelly. so the preacher 'buked him 'bout it. that was old man bill rose. "the niggers didn't go to the church building; the preacher came and preached to them in their quarters. he'd just say, 'serve your masters. don't steal your master's turkey. don't steal your master's chickens. don't steal your master's hawgs. don't steal your master's meat. do whatsomeever your master tells you to do.' same old thing all the time. "my father would have church in dwelling houses and they had to whisper. my mother was dead and i would go with him. sometimes they would have church at his house. that would be when they would want a real meetin' with some real preachin'. it would have to be durin' the week nights. you couldn't tell the difference between baptists and methodists then. they was all christians. i never saw them turn nobody down at the communion, but i have heard of it. i never saw them turn no pots down neither; but i have heard of that. they used to sing their songs in a whisper and pray in a whisper. that was a prayer-meeting from house to house once or twice--once or twice a week. "old phipps whipped me once. he aimed to kill me but i got loose. he whipped me about a colored girl of his'n that he had by a colored woman. phipps went with a colored woman before he married his wife. he had a girl named martha ann phipps. i beat martha 'bout a pair of stockings. my mistress bought me a nice pair of stockings from the store. you see, they used to knit the stockings. i wore the stockings once; then i washed them and put them on the fence to dry. martha stole them and put them on. i beat her and took them off of her. she ran and told her father and he ran me home. he couldn't catch me, and he told me he'd get me. i didn't run to my father. i run to my mistress, and he knew he'd better not do nothin' then. he said, 'i'll get you, you little old black some thin'.' only he didn't say 'somethin'.' he didn't get me then. "but one day he caught me out by his house. i had gone over that way on an errand i needn't have done. he had two girls hold me. they was angeline and nancy. they didn't much want to hold me anyhow. some niggers would catch you and kill you for the white folks and then there was some that wouldn't. i got loose from them. he tried to hold me hisself but he couldn't. i got away and went back to my old mistress and she wrote him a note never to lay his dirty hands on me again. a little later her brother, johnson chatman, came there and ran him off the place. my old mistress' name was susan chatman before she married. then she married toliver. then she married reed. she married reed last--after toliver died. "one old lady named emily moorehead runned in and held my mother once for phipps to whip her. and my mother was down with consumption too. i aimed to git old phipps for that. but then i got religion and i couldn't do it. religion makes you forgit a heap of things. "susan reed, my old mistress, bought my father and paid fifteen hundred dollars for him and she hadn't never seen 'im. advertising. he had run away so much that they had to advertise and sell 'im. he never would run away from miss susan. she was good to him till she got that old nigger beater phipps. her husband, reed, was called a nigger spoiler. my father was an old man when phipps was on overseer and wasn't able to fight much then. "phipps sure was a bad man. he wasn't so bad neither; but the niggers was scared of him. you know in slave times, sometimes when a master would git too bad, the niggers would kill him--tote him off out in the woods somewheres and git rid of him. two or three of them would git together and scheme it out, and then two or three of them would git him way out and kill 'im. but they didn't nobody ever pull nothin' like that on phipps. they was scared of him. "one time i saw the yankees a long way off. they had on blue uniforms and was on coal black horses. i hollered out, 'oh, i see somethin'.' my mistress said, 'what?' i told her, and she said, 'them's the yankees.' she went on in the house and i went with her. she sacked up all the valuables in the house. she said, 'here,' and she threw a sack of silver on me that was so heavy that i went right on down to the ground. then she took hold of it and holp me up and holp me carry it out. i carried it out and hid it. she had three buckskin sacks--all full of silver. that wasn't now; that was in slavery times. during the war, jeff davis gave out confederate money. it died out on the folks' hands. about twelve hundred dollars of it died out on my father's hands. but there wasn't nothin' but gold and silver in them sacks. "i heard them tell the slaves they were free. a man named captain barkus who had his arm off at the elbow called for the three near-by plantations to meet at our place. then he got up on a platform with another man beside him and declared peace and freedom. he p'inted to a colored man and yelled, 'you're free as i am.' old colored folks, old as i am now, that was on sticks, throwed them sticks away and shouted. "right after freedom i stayed with that white woman i told you about. i was with her about four years. i worked for twelve dollars a month and my food and clothes. then i figured that twelve dollars wasn't enough and i went to work in the field. it was a mighty nice woman. never hit me in her life. i never have been whipped by a white woman. she was good to me till she died. she died after i had my second child--a girl child. "i have been living in this city fifteen years. i come from chicot county when i come here. we come to arkansas in slavery times. they brought me from copiah county when i was six or eight years old. when mrs. toliver married she came up here and brought my mother. my mother belonged to her son and she said, 'agnes (that was my mother's name), will you follow me if i buy your husband?' her husband's name was john beasley. she said, 'yes.' then her old mistress bought beasley and paid fifteen hundred dollars to get my mother to come with her. then peachy went to war and was shot because he come home of a furlough and stayed too long. so when he went back they killed him. my mother nursed him when he was a baby. old man toliver said he didn't want none of us to be sold; so they wasn't none of us sold. maybe there would have been if slavery had lasted longer; but there wasn't. "mother really belonged to peachy, but when peachy died, then she fell to her mistress. "i have been a widow now for thirty years. i washed and ironed and plowed and hoed--everything. now i am gittin' so i ain't able to do nothin' and the relief keeps me alive. i worked and took care of myself and my last husband and he died, and i ain't married since. i used to take a little boy and make ten bales of cotton. i can't do it now. i used to be a woman in my day. i am my mother's seventh child. "i don't buy no hoodoo and i don't believe in none, but a seventh child can more or less tell you things that are a long way off. if you want to beat the devil you got to do right. god's got to be in the plan. i tries to do right. i am not perfect but i do the best i can. i ain't got no bottom teeth, but my top ones are good. i have a few bottom ones. the lawd's keepin' me here for somepin. i been with 'im now seventy-three years." interviewer's comment i'll bet the grandest moment in the life of sister alexander's mother was when her mistress said, "agnes, will you follow me if i buy your husband?" fifteen hundred dollars to buy a rebellious slave in order to unite a slave couple. it's epic. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: ed allen, des arc, ark. age: ? "i know that after freedom they took care of my pa and ma and give em a home long as they lived. ma died wid young mistress here in des arc. "the present generation is going to the bad. have dealings wid em, not good to you. young folks ain't nice to you like they used to be. "white boys and colored boys, whole crowd of us used to go in the river down here all together, one got in danger help him out. they don't do it no more. we used to play base ball together. all had a good time. we never had to buy a ball or a bat. always had em. the white boys bought them. i don't know as who to blame but young folk changed." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lucindy allison, marked tree, arkansas with children at biscoe, arkansas age: "ma was a slave in arkansas. she said she helped grade a hill and help pile up a road between wicksburg and wynne. they couldn't put the road over the hill, so they put all the slaves about to grade it down. they don't use the road but it's still there to show for itself. "she was a tall rawbony woman. ma was a hillis and pa's name was adam hillis. he learned to trap in slavery and after freedom he followed that for a living. ma was a sure 'nough field hand. mama had three sets of children. i don't know how many she did have in all. i had eleven my own self. grandma was named tempy and i heard them tell about when she was sold. she and mama went together. they used to whoop the slaves when they didn't work up peart. "when the 'old war' come on and the yankees come they took everything and the black men folks too. they come by right often. they would drive up at mealtime and come in and rake up every blessed thing was cooked. have to go work scrape about and find something else to eat. what they keer 'bout you being white or black? thing they was after was filling theirselves up. they done white folks worse than that. they burned their cribs and fences up and their houses too about if they got mad. things didn't suit them. if they wanted a colored man to go in camp with them and he didn't go, they would shoot you down like a dog. ma told about some folks she knowd got shot in the yard of his own quarters. "us black folks don't want war. they are not war kind of folks. slavery wasn't right and that 'old war' wasn't right neither. "when my children was all little i kept aunt mandy buford till she died. she was a old slave woman. me and my husband and the biggest children worked in the field. she would sit about and smoke. my boys made cob pipes and cut cane j'ints for 'er to draw through. red cob pipes was the prettiest. aunt mandy said her master would be telling them what to do in the field and he say to her, 'i talking to you too.' she worked right among the men at the same kind of work. she was tall but not large. she carried children on her right hip when she was so young she dragged that foot when she walked. the reason she had to go with the men to the field like she did was 'cause she wasn't no multiplying woman. she never had a chile in all her lifetime. she said her mother nearly got in bad one time when her sister was carrying a baby. she didn't keep up. said the riding boss got down, dug a hole with the hoe to lay her in it 'cause she was so big in front. her mother told him if he put her daughter there in that hole she'd cop him up in pieces wid her hoe. he found he had two to conquer and he let her be. but he had to leave 'cause he couldn't whoop the niggers. "if i could think of all she tole i'd soon have enough to fill up that book you're getting up. i can't recollect who she belong to, and her old talk comes back to me now and then. she talked so much we'd get up and go on off to keep from hearing her tell things over so many times. "folks like me what got children think the way they do is all right. i don't like some of my children's ways but none of us perfect. i tells 'em right far as i knows. times what makes folks no 'count. times gets stiff around biscoe. heap of folks has plenty. some don't have much--not enough. some don't have nothing. "i don't believe in women voting. that ruined the country. we got along very well till they got to tinkering with the government." name of interviewer: pernella anderson subject: early days in caledonia--early days in el dorado name: josephine ames occupation: domestic resident: fordville age: not given. [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] ah wuz bo'n de first year niggers wuz free. wuz born in caledonia at de primm place. mah ma belonged tuh george thompson. after mah ma died ah stayed wid de wommacks, a while. aftuh dat mah pa taken me home. pa's name wuz jesse flueur. ah worked lak er slave. ah cut wood, sawed logs, picked pounds uv cotton evah day. ah speck ah married de first time ah wuz about fo'teen years ole. ah been mahrid three times. all mah husband's is daid. ole man england and ole man cullens run business places and ole man wooley. his name wuz reason wooley. de woolies got cemetery uv dey own right dar near de cobb place. no body is buried in dar but de fambly uv wooleys. ole man allen hale, he run er store dar too. he is yet livin right dar. he is real ole. de ole warren mitchell place whar ah use tuh live is guvment land. warren mitchell, he homesteaded the place. we lived dar and made good crops. de purtiest dar wuz eround, but not hit's growed up. don lived dar and made good crops. de purtiest dar wuz eround. dar is whah all mah chillun wuz bo'n. ah use tuh take mah baby an walk tuh el dorado to sevice. ah use tuh come tuh el dorado wid a oman by de name of sue foster. nothin but woods when dey laid de railroad heah. dey built dem widh horses and axes. ah saw em when dey whoop de hosses and oxen till dey fall out working dem when dey laid dat steel. ah wuz at de first buryin uv de fust pussen buried in caledonia graveyard. huh name wuz joe ann polk. we set up wid huh all night and sing and pray. an when we got nearly tuh de church de bells started tolling and de folks started tuh singin. when evah any body died dey ring bells tuh let yo know some body wuz daid. a wuz born on christmas day, an ah had two chilluns born on christmas day. dey wuz twins and one uv em had two teeth and his hair hung down on her shoulders when hit wuz born but hit did not live but er wek. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: charles anderson. helena, arkansas age: or , not sure "i was born in bloomfield, kentucky. my parents had the same owners. mary and elgin anderson was their names. they was owned by isaac stone. davis stone was their son. they belong to the stones as far back as they could remember. mama was darker than i am. my father was brighter than i am. he likely had a white father. i never inquired. mama had colored parents. master stone walked with a big crooked stick. he nor his son never went to war. masters in that country never went. two soldiers were drafted off our place. i saw the soldiers, plenty of them and plenty times. there never was no serious happenings. "the federal soldiers would come by, sleep in the yard, take our best horses and leave the broken down ones. very little money was handled. i never seen much. master stone would give us money like he give money to davis. they prized fine stock mostly. they needed money at wheat harvest time only. when a celebration or circus come through he give us all twenty-five or thirty cents and told us to go. there wasn't many slaves up there like down in this country. the owners from all i've heard was crueler and sold them off oftener here. "weaving was a thing the women prided in doing--being a fast weaver or a fine hand at weaving. they wove pretty coverlets for the beds. i see colored spreads now makes me think about my baby days in kentucky. "freedom was something mysterious. colored folks didn't talk it. white folks didn't talk it. the first i realized something different, master stone was going to whip a older brother. he told mama something i was too small to know. she said, 'don't leave this year, son. i'm going to leave.' master didn't whip him. "master stone's cousin kept house for him. i remember her well. they were all very nice to us always. he had a large farm. he had twenty servants in his yard. we all lived there close together. my sister and mama cooked. we had plenty to eat. we had beef in spring and summer. mutton and kid on special occasions. we had hog in the fall and winter. we had geese, ducks, and chickens. we had them when we needed them. we had a field garden. he raised corn, wheat, oats, rye, and tobacco. "once a year we got dressed up. we got shirts, a suit, pants and shoes, and what else we needed to wear. then he told them to take care of their clothes. they got plenty to do a year. we didn't have fine clothes no time. we didn't eat ham and chicken. i never seen biscuit--only sometimes. "i seen a woman sold. they had on her a short dress, no sleeves, so they could see her muscles, i reckon. they would buy them and put them with good healthy men to raise young slaves. i heard that. i was very small when i seen that young woman sold and years later i heard that was what was done. "i don't know when freedom came on. i never did know. we was five or six years breaking up. master stone never forced any of us to leave. he give some of them a horse when they left. i cried a year to go back. it was a dear place to me and the memories linger with me every day. "there was no secret society or order of ku klux in reach of us as i ever heard. "i voted republican ticket. we would go to jackson to vote. there would be a crowd. the last i voted was for theodore roosevelt. i voted here in helena for years. i was on the petit jury for several years here in helena. "i farmed in your state some (arkansas). i farmed all my young life. i been in arkansas sixty years. i come here february with distant relatives. they come south. when i come to helena there was but one set of mechanics. i started to work. i learned to paint and hang wall paper. i've worked in nearly every house in helena. "the present times are gloomy. i tried to prepare for old age. i had a apartment house and lost it. i owned a home and lost it. they foreclosed me out. "the present generation is not doing as well as i have. "my health knocked me out. my limbs swell, they are stiff. i have a bad bladder trouble. "i asked for help but never have got none. if i could got a little relief i never would lost my house. they work my wife to death keeping us from starving. she sewed till they cut off all but white ladies. when she got sixty-five they let her go and she got a little job cooking. they never give us no relief." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: nancy anderson street h, west memphis, arkansas age: "i was born at sanitobia, mississippi. mother died when i was a child. i was three months old, they said, when i lost her. father lived to be very old. my mother was ella geeter and my stepmother was lucy evans. my father's name was si hubbard. my parents married after the war. i remembers grandma harriett hubbard. she said she was sold. she was a cook and she raised my papa up with white folks. her children was sold with her. papa was sold too at the same time. papa fired a steam gin. they ground corn and ginned cotton. "i stayed with sam hall's family. she was good to me. i had a small bed by the fireplace. she kept me with two of her own children. some of the girls and boys i was raised up with live at sanitobia now and have fine homes. when we would be playing they would take all the toys from me. miss fannie would say, 'poor nancy ain't got no toys.' then they would put them on the floor and we would all play. they had a little table. we all eat at it. we had our own plates. we all eat out of tin plates and had tin cups. "they couldn't keep me at home when papa married. i slipped off across the pasture. there was cows and hogs in there all the time. i wasn't afraid of them. i would get behind miss fannie and hide in her dress tail when they come after me. they let me stay most of the time for about five years. sam hall was good to my father and miss fannie about raised me after my mother died. she made me mind but she was good to me. "grandma lived with papa. she was part indian. as long as papa lived he share cropped and ginned. he worked as long as he was able to hit a lick. he died four miles east out from sanitobia on mr. hayshaws place. what i told you is what i know. he said he was sold that one time. hubbards had plenty to eat and wear. he was a boy and they didn't want to stunt the children. papa was a water boy and filed the hoes for the chopping hands. he carried a file along with them hoeing and would sharpen their hoes and fetch 'em water in their jugs. aunt sallie, his sister, took keer of the children. "papa went to the war. he could blow his bugle and give all the war signals. he got the military training. him and his friend charlie grim used to step around and show us how they had to march to orders. his bugle had four joints. i don't know what went with it. from what they said they didn't like the war and was so glad to get home. "between the big farms they had worm fences (rail fences) and gates. you had to get a pass from your master to go visiting. the gates had big chains and locks on them. some places was tollgates where they traveled over some man's land to town. on them roads the man owned the place charged. he kept some boy to open and shut the gate. they said the gates was tall. "some of the slaves that had hard masters run off and stay in the woods. they had nigger dogs and would run them--catch 'em. he said one man (negro) was hollowing down back of the worm fence close to where they was working. they all run to him. a great long coachwhip snake was wrapped 'round him, his arms and all, and whooping him with its tail. it cut gashes like a knife and the blood poured. the overseer cut the snake's head off with his big knife and they carried him home bleeding. his master didn't whoop him, said he had no business off in the woods. he had run off. his master rubbed salt in the gashes. it nearly killed him. it burnt him so bad. that stopped the blood. they said sut (soot) would stopped the blood but it would left black mark. the salt left white marks on him. the salt helped kill the pison (poison). some masters and overseers was cruel. when they was so bad marked they didn't bring a good price. they thought they was hard to handle. "aunt jane peterson, old friend of mine, come to visit me nearly every year after she got so old. she told me things took place in slavery times. she was in virginia till after freedom. she had two girls and a boy with a white daddy. she told me all about how that come. she said no chance to run off or ever get off, you had to stay and take what come. she never got to marry till after freedom. then she had three more black children by her husband. she said she was the cook. old master say, 'jane, go to the lot and get the eggs.' she was scared to go and scared not to go. he'd beat her out there, put her head between the slip gap where they let the hogs into the pasture from the lot down back of the barn. she say, 'old missis whip me. this ain't right.' he'd laugh. said she bore three of his children in a room in the same house his family lived in. she lived in the same house. she had a room so as she could build fires and cook breakfast by four o'clock sometimes, she said. she was so glad freedom come on and soon as she heard it she took her children and was gone, she said. she had no use for him. she was scared to death of him. she learned to pray and prayed for freedom. she died in cold water, mississippi. she was so glad freedom come on before her children come on old enough to sell. part white children sold for more than black children. they used them for house girls. "i don't know ku klux stories enough to tell one. these old tales leave my mind. i'm and all that was before my time. "times is strange--hard, too. but the way i have heard they had to work and do and go i hardly ever do grumble. i've heard so much. i got children and i do the best i can by them. that is all i can do or say." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: r.b. anderson route , box (near granite) little rock, arkansas age: [hw: the brooks-baxter war] "i was born in little rock along about seventeenth and arch streets. there was a big plantation there then. dr. wright owned the plantation. he owned my mother and father. my father and mother told me that i was born in . they didn't know the date exactly, so i put it the last day in the year and call it december , . "my father's name was william anderson. he didn't go to the war because he was blind. he was ignorant too. he was colored. he was a pretty good old man when he died. "my mother's name was minerva anderson. she was three-fourths indian, hair way down to her waist. i was in hot springs blacking boots when my mother died. i was only about eight or ten years old then. i always regretted i wasn't able to do anything for my mother before she died. i don't know to what tribe her people belonged. "dr. wright was awful good to his slaves. "i don't know just how freedom came to my folks. i never heard my father say. they were set free, i know. they were set free when the war ended. they never bought their freedom. "we lived on tenth and near to center in a one-room log house. that is the earliest thing i remember. when they moved from there, my father had accumulated enough to buy a home. he bought it at seventh and broadway. he paid cash for it--five hundred and fifty dollars. that is where we all lived until it was sold. i couldn't name the date of the sale but it was sold for good money--about three thousand eight hundred dollars, or maybe around four thousand. i was a young man then. "i remember the brooks-baxter war. "i remember the king white fooled a lot of niggers and armed them and brought them up here. the niggers and republicans here fought them and run them back where they come from. "i know hot springs when the main street was a creek. i can't remember when i first went there. the government bath-house was called 'ral hole', because it was mostly people with bad diseases that went there. "after the war, my father worked for a rich man named hunter. he was yardman and took care of the horse. my mother was living then. "scipio jones and i were boys together. we slept on pool tables many a time when we didn't have no other place to sleep. he was poor when he was a boy and glad to get hold of a dime, or a nickel. he and i don't speak today because he robbed me. i had a third interest in my place. i gave him money to buy my place in for me. it was up for sale and i wanted to get possession. he gave me some papers to sign and when i found out what was happening, he had all my property. my wife kept me from killing him." interviewer's comment occupation: grocer, bartender, porter, general work interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: sarah anderson w. second avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: ? "i don't know when i was born. when the civil war ended, i was bout four or five years old. "i jes' remember when the people come back--the soldiers--when the war ended. we chillun run under the house. that was the yankees. "i was born in bibb county, georgia. that's where i was bred and born. "i been in arkansas ever since i was fourteen. that was shortly after the civil war, i reckon. we come here when they was emigratin' to arkansas. i'm tellin' you the truth, i been here a long time. "i member when the soldiers went by and we chillun run under the house. it was the yankee cavalry, and they made so much noise. dat's what the old folks told us. i member dat we run under the house and called our self hidin'. "my master was madison newsome and my missis was sarah newsome. named after her? must a done it. ma and her chillun was out wallowin' in the dirt when the yankees come by. sometimes i stayed in the house with my white folks all night. "my mother and father say they was well treated. that's what they say. "old folks didn't low us chillun round when they was talkin' bout their business, no ma'am. "we stayed with old master a good while after freedom--till they commenced emigratin' from georgia to arkansas. yes ma'am! "i'm the mother of fourteen chillun--two pairs of twins. i married young--bout fifteen or sixteen, i reckon. i married a young fellow. i say we was just chaps. after he died, i married a old settled man and now he's dead. "i been livin' a pretty good life. seems like the white folks just didn't want me to get away from their chillun. "all my chillun dead cept one son. he was a twin." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: selie anderson, holly grove, arkansas age: "i was born near decatur, alabama and lived there till i was fifteen years old. course i members hearin' em talk bout mars newt. i named fur my ma's old mistress--miss selie thompson and mars newt thompson. pa died when i was three years old. he was a soldier. ma had seven children. they have bigger families then than they have now. ma name emmaline thompson. pa name sam adair. i can't tell you about him. i heard em say his pa was a white man. he was light skinned. old folks didn't talk much foe children so i don't know well nough to tell you bout him. ma was a cook and a licensed midwife in alabama. she waited on both black and white. ma never staid at home much. she worked out. i come to mississippi after i married and had one child. ma and all come. ma went to tom mcgehee's to cook after freedom. she married old man named lewis chase and they worked on where he had been raised. his name was lewis sprangle. he looked after the stock and drove the carriage. daniel sprangle had a store and a big farm. he had three girls and three boys, i was their house girl. mama lived on the place and give me to em cause they could do better part by me than she could. i was six years old when she give me to em. they lernt me to sweep, knit, crochet, piece quilts. she lernt her children thater way sometimes. miss nancy sprangle didn't treat me no different from her own girls. miss dora married mr. pitt loney and i was dressed up and held up her train (long dress and veil). i stayed with miss dora after she married. one of the girls married mr. john galbreth. i married and went home then come to mississippi. mrs. gables, mr. gables was old people but they had two adopted boys. i took them boys to the field to work wid my children. she sewed for me and my children. her girls cooked all we et in busy times. they done work at the house but they didn't work in the field. "i been married five times. every time i married i married at home. mighty little marryin' goin' on now--mighty little. mama stayed wid mr. sprangle till we all got grown. miss nancy's girls married so that all the way i knowd how to do. i had a good time. i danced every chance i got. i been well blessed all my life till i'm gettin' feeble now. "papa run the gin on mr. sprangle's place, then he went to war, come back foe he died. i recken he come home sick cause he died pretty soon. "i jess can member this ku klux broke down our door wid hatchets. it scared us all to death. they didn't do nuthin' to us. they was huntin' uncle jeff. he wasn't bout our house. he was ox driver fer mr. sprangle. him and a family of pore white folks got to fussin' bout a bridle. some of em was dressed up when they come to our house ma said. after that mr. kirby killed him close to his home startin' out one mornin' to work. his name was uncle jeff saxon. ma knowd it was some of the men right on mr. sprangle's place whut come to our house. "i live wid my daughter. i get $ from the welfare. "if they vote for better it be all right. i never seen no poles. i don't know how they vote. i'm too old to start up votin'. "lawd you got me now. the times changed and got so fast. it all beyond me. i jes' listens. i don't know whut goner happen to this young generation." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: w.a. anderson (dark brown) w. th street, little rock, arkansas age: occupation: house and yard man [hw: serves the "lawd"] "i don't know nothin' about slavery. you know i wouldn't know nothin' bout it cause i was only four years old when the war ended. all i know is i was born in slavery; but i don't know nothin' bout it. "i don't remember nothin' of my parents. times was all confused and old folks didn't talk before chilun. they didn't have time. besides, my mother and father were separated. "i was born in arkansas and have lived here all my life. but i don't gossip and entertain. i just moved in this house last week. took a wheelbarrow and brought all these things here myself. "those boys out there jus' threw a stone against the house. i thought the house was falling. i work all day and when night comes, i'm tired. "i don't have no wife, no children, nothin'; nobody to help me out. i don't ask the neighbors nothin' cept to clear out this junk they left here. "i ain't goin' to talk about the ku klux. i got other things to think about. it takes all my time and strength to do my work and live a christian. folks got so nowadays they don't care bout nothin'. i just live here and serve the lawd." interviewer's comments anderson is separated from his wife who left him. he lost his home a short time ago. a few months ago, he was so sick he was expected to die. he supports himself through the friendliness of a few white people who give him odds and ends of work to do. i made three calls on him, helped him set up his stoves and his beds and clear up his house a little bit since he had just moved into it and had a good deal of work to do. his misfortunes have made him unwilling to talk just now, but he will give a good interview later i am certain. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: henry anthony; r.f.d. # biscoe, arkansas age: "i was born at jackson, north carolina. my master and mistress named betsy and jason williams but my pa's name was anthony. my young master was a orderly seargent. he took me wid him to return some mules and wagons. he showed me what he want done an i followed him round wid wagons. the wagons hauled ammunition and provisions. pa worked for the master and ma cooked. they got sold to lausen capert. when freedom come they went back and stayed a month or two at williams then we all went back to john odom. we stayed round close and farmed and worked till they died. i married and when i had four or five children i heard ob dis country. i come on immigration ticket to mr. aydelott here at biscoe. train full of us got together and come. one white man got us all up and brought us here to biscoe. i farmed for mr. aydelott four or five years, then for mr. bland, mr. scroggin. "i never went to school a day in my life. i used to vote here in biseoe right smart. i let the young folks do my votin. they can tell more about it. i sho do not think it is the woman's place to vote an hold all the jobs from the men. iffen you don't in the primary cause you don't know nuf to pick out a man, you sho don't know nuthin er tall bout votin in the general lection. in fact it ain't no good to our race nohow. "the whole world gone past my judgment long ago. i jess sets round to see what they say an do next. it is bad when you caint get work you able to do on that's hard on the old folks. i could saved. i did save right smart. sickness come on. sometimes you have a bad crop year, make nuthin, but you have to live on. young folks don't see no hard times if they keep well an able to work. "i get commodities and $ a month. i do a little if i can. "one time my son bought a place fo me and him. he paid all cept $ . i don't know whut it cost now. it was acres. i worked on it three years. he sold it and went to the sawmill. he say he come out square on it. i didn't wanter sell it but he did." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: katie arbery w. thirteenth, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i am eighty years old. my name 'fore i was a arbery was baxter. my mother was a baxter. born in union county. "my mother's first people was baxter and my grandmother was a baxter and they just went by that name; she never did change her name. "the boss man--that was what they called our master--his name was paul mccall. he was married twice. his oldest son was jim mccall. he was in the war. yes ma'am, the civil war. "paul mccall raised me up with his chillun and i never did call him master, just called him pappy, and jim mccall, i called him brother jim. just raised us all up there in the yard. my grandmother was the cook. "there wasn't no fightin' in union county but i 'member when the yankees was goin' through and singin' 'the union forever, hurrah, boys, hurrah we'll rally 'round the flag, boys, shouting the battle cry of freedom.' (she sang this--ed.) and i 'member this one good: 'old buckwheat cakes and good strong butter to make your lips go flip, flip, flutter. look away, look away, look away, dixie land.' "pappy used to play that on his fiddle and have us chillun tryin' to dance. used to call us chillun and say, 'you little devils, come up here and dance' and have us marchin'. "my cousin used to be a quill blower. brother jim would cut fishin' canes and plat 'em together--they called 'em a pack--five in a row, just like my fingers. anybody that knowed how could sure make music on 'em. tom rollins, that was my baby uncle, he was a banjo picker. "i can remember a heap a things that happened, but 'bout slavery, i didn't know one day from another. they treated us so nice that when they said freedom come, i thought i was always free. "i heered my grandmother talk about sellin' 'em, but i was just a little kid and i didn't know what they was talkin' about. i heered 'em say, 'did you know they sold aunt sally away from her baby?' i heered 'em talkin', i know that much. "after freedom, our folks stayed right on paul mccall's place. my grandmother cooked for the mccalls till i was eight or nine years old, then she cooked for the mccrays--they was all relatives--till i was twenty-one. then i married. "paul mccall first married in the baxter family and then he married into the mccray family. i lived on the mccall place till i was grown. they all come from alabama. yes'm, they come befo' the war was. "chillun in dem days paid attention. people _raised_ chillun in dem days. folks just feeds 'em now and lets 'em grow up. "i looks at the young race now and they is as wise as rabbits. "i never went to school but three months, but i never will forget that old blue back mcguffey's. sam porter was our teacher and i was scared of him. i was so scared i couldn't learn nothin'. "as far as i can remember i have been treated nice everywhere i been. ain't none of the white folks ever mistreated me. "lord, we had plenty to eat in slavery days--and freedom days too. "one time when my mother was cookin' for colonel morgan and my oldest brother was workin' some land, my mother always sent me over with a bucket of milk for him. so one day she say. 'snooky, come carry your brother's milk and hurry so he can have it for dinner.' i was goin' across a field; that was a awful deer country. i had on a red dress and was goin' on with my milk when i saw a old buck lookin' at me. all at once he went 'whu-u-u', and then the whole drove come up. there was mosely trees (i think she must have meant mimosa--ed.) in the field and i run and climbed up in one of 'em. a mosely tree grows crooked; i don't care how straight you put it in the ground, it's goin' to grow crooked. so i climb up in the mosely tree and begin to yell. my brother heard me and come 'cause he knowed what was up. he used to say, 'now, snipe, when you come 'cross that mosely field, don't you wear that old red dress 'cause they'll get you down and tear that dress off you.' i liked the dress 'cause he had give it to me. i had set the milk down at the foot of the tree and it's a wonder they didn't knock it over, but when my brother heard me yell he come a runnin', with a gun and shot one of the deer. i got some of the venison and he give some to colonel morgan, his boss man. colonel morgan had fought in the war. "the reason i can't tell you no more is, since i got old my mind goes this and that a way. "but i can tell you all the doctors that doctored on me. they give me up to die once. i had the chills from the first of one january to the next we had dr. chester and dr. mccray and dr. lewis--his name was perry--and dr. green and dr. smead. took quinine till i couldn't hear, and finally dr. green said, 'we'll just quit givin' her medicine, looks like she's goin' to die anyway.' and then dr. lewis fed me for three weeks steady on okra soup cooked with chicken. just give me the broth. then i commenced gettin' better and here i am. "but i can't work like i used to. when i was young i could work right along with the men but i can't do it now. i wish i could 'cause they's a heap a things i'd like that my chillun and grandchillun can't get for me. "well, good-bye, come back again sometime." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: campbell armstrong schiller street, little rock, arkansas age: [hw: boys liked corn shuckings] "i couldn't tell you when i was born. i was born a good while before freedom. i was a boy about ten years old in the time of the civil war. that would make me about eighty-five or six years old. "my father's name was cy armstrong. my mother's name was gracie armstrong. i don't know the names of my grandparents. they was gone when i got here. my sister died right there in the corner of the next room. house and furniture "i used to live in an old log house. take dirt and dob the cracks. the floors were these here planks. we had two windows and one door. that was in georgia, in houston county, on old dempsey brown's place. i know him--know who dug his grave. "they had beds nailed up to the side of the house. people had a terrible time you know. white folks had it all. when i come along they had it and they had it ever since i been here. you didn't have no chance like folks have nowadays. just made benches and stools to sit on. made tables out of planks. i never saw any cupboards and things like that. them things wasn't thought about then. the house was like a stable then. but them log houses was better than these 'cause the wind couldn't get through them. work as a boy "i wasn't doin' nothin' but totin' water. i toted water for a whole year when i was a boy about eight years old. i was the water boy for the field hands. later i worked out in the fields myself. they would make me sit on my mammy's row to help keep her up. free negroes "you better not say you were free them days. if you did, they'd tell you to get out of there. you better not stop on this side of the mason dixie line either. you better stop on the other side. whenever a nigger got so he couldn't mind, they'd take him down and whip him. they'd whip the free niggers just the same as they did the slaves. marriage "you see that broom there? they just lay that broom down and step over it. that was all the marriage they knowed about. corn shuckings "the boys used to just get down and raise a holler and shuck that corn. man, they had fun! they sure liked to go to those corn shuckings. they danced and went on. they'd give 'em whiskey too. that's all i know about it. rations "they'd weigh the stuff out and give it to you and you better not go back. they'd give you three pounds of meat and a quart of meal and molasses when they'd make it. sometimes they would take a notion to give you something like flour. but you had to take what they give you. they give out the rations every saturday. that was to last you a week. patrollers "i was at a ball one night. they had fence rails in the fire. patroller knocked at the door, stepped in and closed it behind him. nigger pulled a rail out of the fire and stuck it 'gainst the patroller and that patroller stepped aside and let that nigger get by. niggers used to tie ropes across the road so that the patrollers' horses would trip up. mulattoes "i never seed any mulattoes then. that thing is something that just come up. old dempsey brown, if he seed a white man goin' 'round with the nigger women on his place, he run him away from there. but that's gwine on in the full now. "that ought not to be. if god had wanted them people to mix, he'd have mixed 'em. god made 'em red and white and black. and i'm goin' to stay black. i ain't climbed the fence yet and i won't climb it now. i don't know. i don't believe in that. if you are white be white, and if you are black be black. children need to go out and play but these boys ought not to be 'lowed to run after these girls. whippings "your overseer carried their straps with them. they had 'em with 'em all the time. just like them white folks do down to the county farm. used to use a man just like he was a beast. they'd make him lay down on the ground and whip him. they'd had to shoot me down. that is the reason i tend to my business. if he wouldn't lay down they'd call for help and strap him down and stretch him out. put one man on one arm and another on the other. they'd pull his clothes down and whip the blood out of him. them people didn't care what they done since they didn't do right. freedom "when i first heard them talking about freedom, i didn't know what freedom was. i was there standin' right up and looking at 'em when they told us we was free. and master said, 'you all free now. you can go where you want to.' "they never give you a thing when they freed you. they give you some work to do. they never looked for nothin' only to go to work. the white folks always had the best of it. "when abe lincoln first freed 'em, they all stood together. if this one was ill the others went over and sit up with him. if he needed something they'd carry it to him. they don't do that now. they done well then. as soon as they quit standing together then they had trouble. wages then "fellow said to me, 'campbell, i want you to split up them blocks and pile 'em up for me.' i said, 'what you goin' to pay me?' he said, 'i'll pay you what is right.' i said, 'that won't do; you have to tell me what you goin' to give me before i start to work.' and he said to me, 'you can git to hell out of here.' selling and buying slaves "they'd put you up on the block and sell you. that is just what they'd do--sell you. these white folks will do anything,--anything they want to do. they'd take your clothes off just like you was some kind of a beast. "you used to be worth a thousand dollars then, but you're not worth two bits now. you ain't worth nothin' when you're free. refugees--jeff davis "they used to come to my place in droves. wagons would start coming in in the morning and they wouldn't stop coming in till two or three in the evening. they'd just be travelin' to keep out the way of the yankees. they caught old jeff davis over in twiggs county. that's in georgia. caught him in buzzard's roost. that was only about four or five miles from where i was. i was right down yonder in houston county. twigg county and houston county is adjoinin'. i never saw any of the soldiers but they was following them though. voters "i have seen plenty of niggers voting. i wasn't old enough to vote in georgia. i come in arkansas and i found out how the folks used themselves and i come out that business. they was selling themselves just like cattle and i wouldn't have nothing to do with that. "i knew jerry lawson, who was justice of peace. he was a nigger, a low-down devil. man, them niggers done more dirt in this city. the republicans had this city and state. i went to the polls and there was very few white folks there. i knew several of them niggers--mack armstrong, he was justice of peace. i can't call the rest of them. nothing but old thieves. if they had been people, they'd been honest. wouldn't sell their brother. it is bad yet. they still stealin' yet. ku klux "that's another devil. man, i'll tell you we seen terrible times. i don't know nothing much about 'em myself. i know one thing. abe lincoln said, 'kill him wherever you see him.' self-support and support of aged slaves in slave times "a white man asked me how much they givin' me. i said, 'eight dollars.' he said, 'you ought to be gittin' twenty-five.' i said, 'maybe i ought to be but i ain't.' "i ain't able to do no work now. i ain't able to tote that wood hardly. i don't git as much consideration as they give the slaves back yonder. they didn't make the old people in slavery work when they was my age. my daddy when he was my age, they turned him out. they give him a rice patch where he could make his rice. when he died, he had a whole lot of rice. they stopped putting all the slaves out at hard labor when they got old. that's one thing. white folks will take care of their old ones. our folks won't do it. they'll take a stick and kill you. they don't recognize you're human. their parents don't teach them. folks done quit teaching their children. they don't teach them the right thing no more. if they don't do, then they ought to make them do. little rock "i been here about twenty years in little rock. i went and bought this place and paid for it. somebody stole seventy-five dollars from me right here in this house. and that got me down. i ain't never been able to git up since. "i paid a man for what he did for me. he said, 'well, you owe me fifteen cents.' when he got done he said, 'you owe me fifty cents.' you can't trust a man in the city. "i was living down in england. that's a little old country town. i come here to little rock where i could be in a city. i done well. i bought this place. "i reckon i lived in arkansas about thirty years before i left and come here to little rock. when i left georgia, i come to arkansas and settled down in lonoke county, made crops there. i couldn't tell you how long i stayed there. i didn't keep no record of it at all. i come out of lonoke county and went into jefferson. "man, i was never in such shape as i am in now. that devilish stock law killed me. it killed all the people. nobody ain't been able to do nothin' since they passed the stock law. i had seventy-five hogs and twenty cows. they made a law you had to keep them chickens up, keep them hogs up, keep them cows up. they shoots at every right thing, and the wrong things they don't shoot at. god don't uphold no man to set you up in the jail when you ain't done nothin'. you didn't have no privilege then (slave time), and you ain't got none now." interviewer: pernella anderson, colored. el dorado division federal writers' project union county. arkansas _ex-slave and riddles_ "i was born in the junction city community and belonged to the cooks. i was ten years old at surrender. mother and father had children and we lived in a one room log cabin and cooked on a fireplace and oven. mos and miss cook did not allow ma and pa to whip me. when ever i do something and i knew i was going to get a whipping i would make it to old miss. she would keep me from getting that whipping. i was a devilish boy. i would do everything in the world i could think of just for devilment. old mos was sure good to his slaves. i never went to school a day in my life. old miss would carry me to church sometimes when it was hot so we could fan for her. we used palmeter fan leaves for fans. we ate pretty good in slavery time, but we did not have all of this late stuff. some of our dishes was possum stew, vegetables, persimmon pie and tato bread. ma did not allow us to sit around grown folks. when they were talking she always made us get under the bed. our bed was made from pine poles. we children slept on pallets on the floor. the way slaves married in slavery time they jumped over the broom and when they separated they jumped backward over the broom. times were better in slavery time to my notion than they are now because they did not go hungry, neither necked. they ate common and wore one kind of clothes." a duck, a bullfrog and a skunk went to a circus, the duck and the bullfrog got in, why didn't the skunk get in? (answer). the duck had a bill, the bullfrog had a greenback but the skunk had nothing but a scent. if your father's sister is not your aunt what kin is she to you? (your mother). what is the difference between a four quart measure and a side saddle? (answer). they both hold a gallon. (a gal on) --cora armstrong, colored. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lillie baccus, madison, arkansas age: "i'll tell you what i heard. i was too little to remember the civil war. mama's owner was ---- dillard. she called him 'master' dillard. papa's owner was ---- smith. he called him 'master' smith. mama was named ann and papa arthur smith. i was born at west point, mississippi. i heard ma say she was sold. she said pattick sold her. she had to leave her two children cherry and ann. mama was a field hand. so was grandma yet she worked in the house some she said. after freedom cherry and ann come to mama. she was going to be sold agin but was freed before sold. "mama didn't live only till i was about three years old, so i don't know enough to tell you about her. grandma raised us. she was sold twice. she said she run out of the house to pick up a star when the stars fell. they showered down and disappeared. "the yankees camped close to where they lived, close to west point, mississippi, but in the country close to an artesian well. the well was on their place. the yankees stole grandma and kept her at their tent. they meant to take her on to wait on them and use but when they started to move old master spicioned they had her hid down there. he watched out and seen her when they was going to load her up. he went and got the head man to make them give her up. she was so glad to come home. glad to see him cause she wanted to see him. they watched her so close she was afraid they would shoot her leaving. she lived to be years old. she raised me. she used to tell how the overseer would whip her in the field. they wasn't good to her in that way. "i have three living children and eleven dead. i married twice. my first husband is living. my second husband is dead. i married in day time in the church the last time. all else ever took place in my life was hard work. i worked in the field till i was too old to hit a tap. i live wid my children. i get $ and commodities. "i come to arkansas because they said money was easy to get--growed on bushes. i had four little children to make a living for and they said it was easier. "i think people is better than they was long time ago. times is harder. people have to buy everything they have as high as they is, makes money scarce nearly bout a place as hen's teeth. hens ain't got no teeth. we don't have much money i tell you. the welfare gives me $ ." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: joseph samuel badgett wright avenue, little rock, arkansas age: [hw: mother was a fighter] "my mother had indian in her. she would fight. she was the pet of the people. when she was out, the pateroles would whip her because she didn't have a pass. she has showed me scars that were on her even till the day that she died. she was whipped because she was out without a pass. she could have had a pass any time for the asking, but she was too proud to ask. she never wanted to do things by permission. birth "i was born in . i was born right here in dallas county. some of the most prominent people in this state came from there. i was born on thursday, in the morning at three o'clock, may the twelfth. my mother has told me that so often, i have it memorized. persistence of slave customs "while i was a slave and was born close to the end of the civil war, i remember seeing many of the soldiers down here. i remember much of the treatment given to the slaves. i used to say 'master' myself in my day. we had to do that till after ' or ' . i remember the time when i couldn't go nowhere without asking the 'white folks.' i wasn't a slave then but i couldn't go off without asking the white people. i didn't know no better. "i have known the time in the southern part of this state when if you wanted to give an entertainment you would have to ask the white folks. didn't know no better. for years and years, most of the niggers just stayed with the white folks. didn't want to leave them. just took what they give 'em and didn't ask for nothing different. "if i had known forty years ago what i know now! first negro doctor in tulip, arkansas "the first negro doctor we ever seen come from little rock down to tulip, arkansas. we were all excited. there were plenty of people who didn't have a doctor living with twenty miles of them. when i was fourteen years old, i was secretary of a conference. schooling "what little i know, an old white woman taught me. i started to school under this old woman because there weren't any colored teachers. there wasn't any school at tulip where i lived. this old lady just wanted to help. i went to her about seven years. she taught us a little every year--'specially in the summer time. she was high class--a high class christian woman--belonged to the presbyterian church. her name was mrs. gentry wiley. "i went to school to scipio jones once. then they opened a public school at tulip and j.c. smith taught there two years in the summer time. then lula baily taught there one year. she didn't know no more than i did. then scipio came. he was there for a while. i don't remember just how long. "after that i went to pine bluff. the county judge at that time had the right to name a student from each district. i was appointed and went up there in ' and ' from my district. it took about eight years to finish branch normal at that time. i stayed there two years. i roomed with old man john young. "you couldn't go to school without paying unless you were sent by the board. we lived in the country and i would go home in the winter and study in the summer. professor j.c. corbin was principal of the pine bluff branch normal at that time. dr. a.h. hill, professor booker, and quite a number of the people we consider distinguished were in school then. they finished, but i didn't. i had to go to my mother because she was ill. i don't claim to have no schooling at all. "forty acres and a mule" "my mother received forty acres of land when freedom came. her master gave it to her. she was given forty acres of land and a colt. there is no more to tell about that. it was just that way--a gift of forty acres of land and a colt from her former master. "my mother died. there is a woman living now that lost it (the home). mother let malinda live on it. mother lived with the white folks meanwhile. she didn't need the property for herself. she kept it for us. she built a nice log house on it. fifteen acres of it was under cultivation when it was given to her. my sister lived on it for a long time. she mortgaged it in some way i don't know how. i remember when the white people ran me down there some years back to get me to sign a title to it. i didn't have to sign the paper because the property had been deeded to susan badgett and heirs; lawyers advised me not to sign it. but i signed it for the sake of my sister. father and master "my mother's master was named badgett--captain john badgett. he was a methodist preacher. some of the badgetts still own property on main street. my mother's master's father was my daddy. marriage "i was married july , . next year i will have been married fifty years. my wife's name was elizabeth owens. she was born in batesville, mississippi. i met her at brinkley when she was visiting her aunt. we married in brinkley. very few people in this city have lived together longer than we have. july , , will make forty-nine years. by july , we will have reached our fiftieth anniversary. patrollers, jayhawkers, ku klux, and ku klux klan "pateroles, jayhawkers, and the ku klux came before the war. the ku klux in slavery times were men who would catch negroes out and keep them if they did not collect from their masters. the pateroles would catch negroes out and return them if they did not have a pass. they whipped them sometimes if they did not have a pass. the jayhawkers were highway men or robbers who stole slaves among other things. at least, that is the way the people regarded them. the jayhawkers stole and pillaged, while the ku klux stole those negroes they caught out. the word 'klan' was never included in their name. "the ku klux klan was an organization which arose after the civil war. it was composed of men who believed in white supremacy and who regulated the morals of the neighborhood. they were not only after jews and negroes, but they were sworn to protect the better class of people. they took the law in their own hands. slave work "i'm not so certain about the amount of work required of slaves. my mother says she picked four hundred pounds of cotton many a day. the slaves were tasked and given certain amounts to accomplish. i don't know the exact amount nor just how it was determined. opinions "it is too bad that the young negroes don't know what the old negroes think and what they have done. the young folks could be helped if they would take advice." interviewer's comment badgett's distinctions between jayhawkers, ku klux, patrollers, and ku klux klan are most interesting. i have been slow to catch it. all my life, i have heard persons with ex-slave background refer to the activities of the ku klux among slaves prior to . i always thought that they had the klux klan and the patrollers confused. badgett's definite and clear-cut memories, however, lead me to believe that many of the negroes who were slaves used the word ku klux to denote a type of persons who stole slaves. it was evidently in use before it was applied to the ku klux klan. the words "ku klux" and "ku klux klan" are used indiscriminately in current conversation and literature. it is also true that many persons in the present do, and in the past did, refer to the ku klux klan simply as "ku klux." it is a matter of record that the organization did not at first bear the name "ku klux klan" throughout the south. the name "ku klux" seems to have grown in application as the organization changed from a moral association of the best citizens of the south and gradually came under the control of lawless persons with lawless methods--whipping and murdering. it is antecedently reasonable that the change in names accompanying a change in policy would be due to a fitness in the prior use of the name. the recent use of the name seems mostly imitation and propaganda. histories, encyclopedias, and dictionaries, in general, do not record a meaning of the term ku klux as prior to the reconstruction period. circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave . name and address of informant--jeff bailey, w. ninth street, little rock. . date and time of interview-- . place of interview-- w. ninth street, little rock. . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant-- . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you-- . description of room, house, surroundings, etc. personal history of informant state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave name and address of informant--jeff bailey, w. ninth street, little rock. . ancestry--father, jeff wells; mother, tilda bailey. . place and date of birth--born in in monticello, arkansas. . family-- . places lived in, with dates--reared in monticello. lived in pine bluff thirty-two years, then moved to little rock and has lived here thirty-two years. . education, with dates-- . occupations and accomplishments, with dates--hostler . special skills and interests-- . community and religious activities-- . description of informant-- . other points gained in interview-- text of interview (unedited) state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject-ex-slave name and address of informant--jeff bailey, w. ninth street, little rock. [hw: a hostler's story] "i was born in monticello. i was raised there. then i came up to pine bluff and stayed there thirty-two years. then i came up here and been here thirty-two years. that is the reason the white folks so good to me now. i been here so long, i been a hostler all my life. i am the best hostler in this state. i go down to the post office they give me money. these white folks here is good to me. "what you writing down? yes, that's what i said. these white folks like me and they good to me. they give me anything i want. you want a drink? that's the best bonded whiskey money can buy. they gives it to me. well, if you don't want it now, come in when you do. "i lost my wife right there in that corner. i was married just once. lived with her forty-three years. she died here five months ago. josie bailey! the white folks thought the world and all of her. that is another reason they give me so much. she was one of the best women i ever seen. "i gits ten dollars a month. the check comes right up to the house. i used to work with all them money men. used to handle all them horses at the post office. they ought to give me sixty-five dollars but they don't. but i gits along. god is likely to lemme live ten years longer. i worked at the post office twenty-two years and don't git but ten dollars a month. they ought to gimme more. "my father's name was jeff wells. my mother's name was tilda bailey. she was married twice. i took her master's name. jeff wells was my father's name. governor bailey ought to give me somethin'. i got the same name he has. i know him. "my father's master was stanley--jeff stanley. that was in slavery time. that was my slave time people. i was just a little bit of a boy. i am glad you are gittin' that to help the colored people out. are they goin' to give the old slaves a pension? what they want to ask all these questions for then? well, i guess there's somethin' else besides money that's worth while. "my father's master was a good man. he was good to him. yes baby! jeff wells, that my father's name. i was a little baby settin' in the basket 'round in the yard and they would put the cotton all 'round me. they carried me out where they worked and put me in the basket. i couldn't pick no cotton because i was too young. when they got through they would put me in that big old wagon and carry me home. there wasn't no trucks then. jeff wells (that was my father), when they got through pickin' the cotton, he would say, 'put them children in the wagon; pick 'em up and put 'em in the wagon.' i was a little bitty old boy. i couldn't pick no cotton then. but i used to pick it after the surrender. "i remember what they said when they freed my father. they said, 'you're free. you children are free. go on back there and work and let your children work. don't work them children too long. you'll git pay for your work.' that was in the monticello courthouse yard. they said, 'you're free! free!' "my mistress said to me when i got back home, 'you're free. go on out in the orchard and git yoself some peaches.' they had a yard full of peaches. baby did i git me some peaches. i pulled a bushel of 'em. ku klux klan "the ku klux run my father out of the fields once. and the white people went and got them 'bout it. they said, 'times is hard, and we can't have these people losin' time out of the fields. you let these people work.' a week after that, they didn't do no mo. the ku klux didn't. somebody laid them out. i used to go out to the fields and they would ask me, 'jeff bailey, what you do in' out here?' i was a little boy and you jus' ought to seen me gittin' 'way frum there. whooo-eeee! "i used to pick cotton back yonder in monticello. i can't pick no cotton now. naw lawd! i'm too old. i can't do that kind of work now. i need help. carl bailey knows me. he'll help me. i'm a hostler. i handle horses. i used to pick cotton forty years ago. my mother washed clothes right after the war to git us children some thin' to eat. sometimes somebody would give us somethin' to help us out. "tilda bailey, that was my mother. she and my father belonged to different masters. bailey was her master's name. she always called herself bailey and i call myself bailey. if i die, i'll be bailey. my insurance is in the name of bailey. my father and mother had about eight children. they raised all their children in monticello. you ever been to monticello? i had a good time in monticello. i was a baby when peace was declared. just toddling 'round. "my father drank too much. i used to tell him about it. i used to say to him, 'i wouldn't drink so much whiskey.' but he drank it right on. he drank hisself to death. "i believe roosevelt's goin' to be president again. i believe he's goin' to run for a third term. he's goin' to be dictator. he's goin' to be king. he's goin' to be a good dictator. we don't want no more republic. the people are too hard on the poor people. president roosevelt lets everybody git somethin'. i hope he'll git it. i hope he'll be dictator. i hope he'll be king. yuh git hold uh some money with him. "you couldn't ever have a chance if cook got to be governor. i believe carl bailey's goin' to be a good governor. i believe he'll do better. they put miz carraway back; i believe she'll do good too." extra comment state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave name and address of informant--jeff bailey, w. ninth street, little rock. jeff bailey talked like a man of ninety instead of a man of seventy-six or seven. it was hard to get him to stick to any kind of a story. he had two or three things on his mind and he repeated those things over and over again--governor bailey, hostler, post office. he had to be pried loose from them. and he always returned the next sentence. interviewer: mary d. hudgins. person interviewed: james baker aged: home: with daughter who owns home at wade st. the outskirts of eastern hot springs resemble a vast checkerboard--patterned in black and white. within two blocks of a house made of log-faced siding--painted a spotless white and provided with blue shutters will be a shack which appears to have been made from the discard of a dozen generations of houses. some of the yards are thick with rusting cans, old tires and miscelaneous rubbish. some of them are so gutted by gully wash that any attempt at beautification would be worse than useless. some are swept--farm fashion--free from surface dust and twigs. some attempt--others achieve grass and flowers. vegetable gardens are far less frequent then they should be, considering space left bare. the interviewer frankly lost her way several times. one improper direction took her fully half a mile beyond her destination. from a hilltop she could look down on less elevated hills and into narrow valleys. the impression was that of a cheaply painted back-drop designed for a "stock" presentation of "mrs. wiggs of the cabbage patch." moving along streets, alleys and paths backward "toward town" the interviewer reached another hill. almost a quarter of a mile away she spied an old colored man sunning himself on the front porch of a well kept cottage. somthing about his white hair and erectly-slumped bearing screamed "ex-slave" even at that distance. a negro youth was passing. "i beg your pardon, can you tell me where to find wade street and james baker?" "ya--ya--ya--s ma'am. dat--dat--dat's de house over da--da--da--da--r. he--he--he lives at his daughter's" "could that be he on the porch?" "ya--ya--yas ma'am. dat--dat--dat's right." "yes, ma'am i'm james baker. yes ma'am i remembers about the war. you want to talk to me about it. let me get you a chair. you'd rather sit right there on the step? all right ma'am. i was born in hot spring county, below melvern it was. i was borned on the farm of a man named hammonds. but i was pretty little when he sold me to some folks named fenton. wasn't with them so very long. you know how it goes--back in them days. when a girl or a boy would marry, why they'd givem them as many black folks as they could spare. i was give to one of the daughters when she married. she was mrs. samuel gentry. i wasn't so very big before the war. so i didn't have to work in the fields. just sort of played around. can't remember very much about what happened then. we never did see no fighting about. they was men what passed through. they was soldiers. they come backwards and forewards. i was about as big as that boy you see there"--pointing to a lad about years old--"some of them they was dressed in blue--sort of blue. we was told that they was federals. then some of them was in grey--them was the southerners. no, we wasn't scared of them--either of them. they didn't never bother none of us. didn't have anything to be scared of not at all. it wasn't really malvern we was at--that was sort of before malvern come to be. malvern didn't grow up until after the railroad come through. the town was across the river, sort of this side. it was called rockport. ma'am--you know about rockport"--a delighted chuckle. "yes, ma'am, don't many folks now-a-days know about rockport. yes ma'am the river is pretty shoaly right there. pretty shoaly. yes ma'am there was lots of doings around rockport. yes ma'am. dat's right. before garland county was made, rockport was the capitol o--i mean de county seat of hot spring county. hot springs was in that county at that time. there was big doings in town when they held court. real big doings. no, ma'am i didn't do nothing much when the war was over. no, i didn't go to be with my daddy. i moved over to live with a man i called uncle billy--uncle billy bryant he was. he had all his family with him. i stayed with him and did what he told me to--'til i grew up. he was always good to me--treated me like his own children. uncle billy lived at rockport. i liked living with him. i remember the court house burned down--or blowed down--seems like to me it burned down. uncle billy got the job of cleaning bricks. i helped him. that was when they moved over to malvern--the court house i mean. no--no they didn't. not then, that was later--they didn't build the railroad until later. they built it back--sort of simple like--built it down by judge kieth's. no ma'am. i don't remember nothing about when they built the railroad. you see we lived across the river--and i guess--well i just didn't know nothing about it. but rockport wasn't no good after the railroad come in. they moved the court house and most of the folks moved away. there wasn't nothing much left. i started farming around there some. i moved about quite a bit. i lived down sort of by benton too for quite a spell. i worked around at most any kind of farming. 'course most of the time we was working at cotton and corn. i's spent most of my life farming. i like it. moved around pretty considerable. sometimes i hired out--sometimes i share cropped--sometimes i worked thirds and fourths. what does i mean by hired out--i means worked for wages. which way did i like best--i'll take share-cropping. i sort of like share-cropping. i been in hot springs for years. come to be with my daughter." (an interruption by a small negro girl--neatly dressed and bright-eyed. not content with watching from the sidelines she had edged closer and squatted comfortably within a couple of feet of the interviewer. a wide, pearly grin, a wee pointing forefinger and, "granddaddy, that lady's got a tablet just like aunt ellen. see, granddaddy.") "you mustm't bother the lady. didn't your mother tell you not to stop folks when they is talking."--the voice was kindly and there was paternal pride in it. a nickle--tendered the youngster by the interviewer--and guaranteed to produce a similar tablet won a smile and childish silence. "yes, ma'am, i lives with my daughter--her name is lulu mitchell. she owns her house--yes ma'am it helps. but it's sure hard to get along. seems like it's lots harder now than it used to be when i was gitting started. lulu works--she irons. another daughter lives right over there. her name's ellen. she works too--at what she can get to do. she owns her house too. three of my daughters is living. been married twice--i has. didn't stay with the last one long. yes ma'am i been coming backwards and forewards to hot springs all my life--you might say. 'twasn't far over and i kept a'coming back. been living all around here. it's pretty nice being with my daughter. she's good to me. i loves my granddaughter. we has a pretty hard time--harder dan what i had when i was young--but then it do seem like it's harder to earn money dan what it was when i was young." interviewer: r.s. taylor person interviewed: uncle william baltimore resident: route # , pine bluff, arkansas, jefferson county. age: . "you wants to know how old i is? i'se lived a long time. i'se goin' on . my gran'mammy was over years. my mamma was . my pappy was . they was twelve chilluns. i don't know if any of my sisters or brothers is livin'. don't know if one of my friends back in my boy days is livin'. i'se like a poor old leaf left hangin' to a tree. "yes--i sho do member back befo' the war. i was borned on the dr. waters place about twelve miles out of pine bluff on the east side of noble lake. my gran'mammy and gran'pappy and my mamma and my pappy were slaves on de walker plantation. i was not bought or sold--just lived on de old plantation. i wasn't whipped neither but once i mighty near got a beatin'. want to hear about it? i likes to tell. "dr. waters had a good heart. he didn't call us 'slaves'. he call us 'servants'. he didn't want none of his niggers whipped 'ceptin when there wasn't no other way. i was grown up pretty good size. dr. waters liked me cause i could make wagons and show mules. once when he was going away to be gone all day, he tole me what to do while he was gone. the overseer wasn't no such good man as old master. he wanted to be boss and told me what to do. i tole him de big boss had tole me what to do and i was goin' to do it. he got mad and said if i didn't do what he said i'd take a beating. i was a big nigger and powerful stout. i tole the overseer fore he whipped me he's show himself a better man than i was. when he found he was to have a fight he didn't say no more about the whipping. "i worked on de plantation till de war broke. then i went into the army with them what called themselves secesh's. i didn't fight none, never give me a gun nor sword. i was a servant. i cooked and toted things. in i was captured by the yankees and marched to little rock and sworn in as a union soldier. i was sure enough soldier now. i never did any fighting but i marched with the soldiers and worked for them whatever they said. "we marched from pine bluff on through ft. smith and the indian territory of oklahoma. then we went to leavenworth kansas and back to jefferson county, arkansas. and all that walking i did on these same foots you see right here now. "on this long march we camped thirty miles from ft. smith. we had gone without food three days and was powerful hongry. i started out to get something to eat. i found a sheep, i was tickled. i laughed. i could turn the taste of that sheep meat under my tongue. when i got to camp with the sheep i had to leave for picket duty. hungrier than ever, i thought of that sheep all the time. when i got back i wanted my chunk of meat. it had been killed, cooked, eat up. never got a grease spot on my finger from my sheep. "when time come for breaking up the army i went back to jefferson county and set to farmin'. i was free now. i didn't do so well on the land as i didn't have mules and money to live on. i went to dersa county and opened up a blacksmith shop. i learned how to do this work when i was with dr. waters. he had me taught by a skilled man. i learned to build wagons too. "i made my own tools. who showed me how? nobody. when i needed a hack saw i made it out of a file--that was all i had to make it of. i had to have it. once i made a cotton scraper out of a piece of hardwood. i put a steel edge on it. o yes i made everything. can i build a wagon--make all the parts? every thing but the hubs for the wheels. "you say i don't seem to see very well. ha-ha! i don't see nuthin' at all. i'se been plum blind for years. i can't see nothin'. but i patches my own clothes. you don't know how i can thread the needle? look here." i asked him to let me see his needle threader. he felt around in a drawer and pulled out a tiny little half arrow which he had made of a bit of tin with a pair of scissors and fine file. he pushed this through the eye of the needle, then hooked the thread on it and pulled it back again threading his needle as fast as if he had good eyesight. "this is a needle threader. i made it myself. watch me thread a needle. can't i do it as fast as if i had a head full of keen eyes? my wife been gone twenty years. she went blind too. i had to do something. my patches may not look so pretty but they sure holt (hold). "you wants to know what i think of the way young folks is doing these days? they'se goin' to fast. so is their papas and mammas. dey done forgot dey's a god and a day of settlin'. den what dances pays de fiddler. i got religion long time ago--jined de baptist church in and haven't never got away from it. i'se tried to tote fair with god and he's done fair by me. "does i get a pension? i shure do. it was a lucky day when de yankees got me. ef they hadn't i don't know what'd become of me. after i went blind i had hard times. folks, white folks and all, brought me food. but that wasn't any good way to get along. sometimes i ate, sometimes i didn't. so some of my white, friends dug up my record with the yankees and got me a pension. now i'm setting pretty for de rest of my life. yes--o yes i'se older dan most folks get. still i may be still takin' my grub here when some of these young whiskey drinkin razzin' around young chaps is under the dirt. it pays to i don know of any bad spots in me yet. it pays to live honest, work hard, stay sober. god only knows what some of these lazy, triflin' drinkin' young folks is comin' to." interviewer: pernella m. anderson person interviewed: mose banks douglas addition, el dorado, arkansas age: "my name is mose banks and i am sixty-nine years old. i was born in . i was born four years after freedom but still i was a slave in a way. my papa stayed with his old miss and master after freedom until he died and he just died in , so we all stayed with him too. i had one of the best easiest times in my life. my master was name bob stevenson and he was a jewel. never meaned us, never dogged, never hit one of us in his life. he bought us just like he bought my papa. he never made any of the girls work in the field. he said the work was too hard. he always said splitting rails, bushing, plowing and work like that was for men. that work makes no count women. "the girls swept yards, cleaned the house, nursed, and washed and ironed, combed old miss' and the children's hair and cut their finger and toe nails and mended the clothes. the womens' job was to cook, attend to the cows, knit all the socks for the men and boys, spin thread, card bats, weave cloth, quilt, sew, scrub and things like that. "the little boys drove up the cows, slopped the hogs, got wood and pine for light, go to the spring and get water. after a boy was twelve then he let him work in the fields. my main job was hitching the horse to the buggy for old miss stevenson, and put the saddle on old master's saddle horse. "i was very small but when the first railroad come through old master took us to see the train. i guess it was about forty or fifty miles because it took us around four days to make the round trip. the trains were not like they are now. the engine was smaller and they burned wood and they had what they called a drum head and they didn't run very fast, and could not carry many cars. it was a narrow gauge road and the rails were small and the road was dirt. it was not gravel and rocks like it is now. it was a great show to me and we all had something to talk about for a long time. people all around went to see it and we camped out one night going and coming and camped one night at the railroad so we could see the train the next day. a man kept putting wood in the furnace in order to keep a fire. smoke come out of the drum head. the drum head was something like a big washpot or a big old hogshead barrel. an ox team was used for most all traveling. you did not see very many horses or mules. "the white children taught us how to read and i went to school too. "i went to church too. we did not have a church house; we used a brush arbor for service for a long time. in the winter we built a big fire in the middle and we sat all around the fire on small pine logs. later they built a log church, so we had service in there for years. "we did not live near a school, so old mistress and the children taught us how to read and write and count. i never went to school in my life and i bet you, can't none of these children that rub their heads on college walls beat me reading and counting. you call one and ask them to divide ninety-nine cows and one bob-tailed bull by two, and they can't answer it to save their lives without a pencil and paper and two hours' figuring when it's nothing to say but fifty. "wasn't no cook stoves and heaters until about or . if there was i did not know about them. they cooked on fireplace and fire out in the yard on what they called oven and we had plenty of plain grub. we stole eggs from the big house because we never got any eggs. "the custom of marrying was just pack up and go on and live with who you wanted to; that is the negroes did--i don't know how the white people married. this lawful marrying came from the law since man made law. "when anybody died everybody stopped working and moaned and prayed until after the burying. "i can say there is as much difference between now and sixty years ago as it is in day and night." interviewer: s. s. taylor person interviewed: henry banner county hospital little rock, ark. age: ? [hw: forty acres and a mule] "i was sold the third year of the war for fifteen years old. that would be in . that would make my birthday come in . i must have been year old when the war started and sixteen when lee surrendered. i was born and raised in russell county, ol' virginny. i was sold out of russell county during the war. ol' man menefee refugeed me into tennessee near knoxville. they sold me down there to a man named jim maddison. he carried me down in virginny near lynchburg and sold me to jim alec wright. he was the man i was with in the time of the surrender. then i was in a town called liberty. the last time i was sold, i sold for $ , ,--more than i'm worth now. "police were for white folks. patteroles were for niggers. if they caught niggers out without a pass they would whip them. the patteroles were for darkies, police for other people. "they run me once, and i ran home. i had a dog at home, and there wasn't no chance them gettin' by that dog. they caught me once in liberty, and mrs. charlie crenchaw, ol' john crenchaw's daughter, came out and made them turn me loose. she said, 'they are our darkies; turn them loose.' "one of them got after me one night. i ran through a gate and he couldn't get through. every time i looked around, i would see through the trees some bush or other and think it was him gaining on me. god knows! i ran myself to death and got home and fell down on the floor. "the slaves weren't expecting nothing. it got out somehow that they were going to give us forty acres and a mule. we all went up in town. they asked me who i belonged to and i told them my master was named banner. one man said, 'young man, i would go by my mama's name if i were you.' i told him my mother's name was banner too. then he opened a book and told me all the laws. he told me never to go by any name except banner. that was all the mule they ever give me. "i started home a year after i got free and made a crop. i had my gear what i had saved on the plantation and went to town to get my mule but there wasn't any mule. "before the war you belonged to somebody. after the war you weren't nothin' but a nigger. the laws of the country were made for the white man. the laws of the north were made for man. "freedom is better than slavery though. i done seed both sides. i seen darkies chained. if a good nigger killed a white overseer, they wouldn't do nothin' to him. if he was a bad nigger, they'd sell him. they raised niggers to sell; they didn't want to lose them. it was just like a mule killing a man. "yellow niggers didn't sell so well. there weren't so many of them as there are now. black niggers stood the climate better. at least, everybody thought so. "if a woman didn't breed well, she was put in a gang and sold. they married just like they do now but they didn't have no license. some people say that they done this and that thing but it's no such a thing. they married just like they do now, only they didn't have no license. "ol' man came out on april , . and said, 'general lee's whipped now and dam badly whipped. the war is over. the yankees done got the country. it is all over. just go home and hide everything you got. general lee's army is coming this way and stealing everything they can get their hands on.' but general lee's army went the other way. "i saw a sack of money setting near the store. i looked around and i didn't see nobody. so i took it and carried it home. then i hid it. i heard in town that jeff davis was dead and his money was no good. i took out some of the money and went to the grocery and bought some bread and handed her five dollar bill. she said, 'my goodness, henry, that money is no good; the yankees have killed it.' and i had done gone all over the woods and hid that money out. there wasn't no money. nobody had anything. i worked for two bits a day. all our money was dead. "the yankees fed the white people with hard tacks (at liberty, virginia). all around the country, them that didn't have nothin' had to go to the commissary and get hard tacks. "i started home. i went to town and rambled all around but there wasn't nothin' for me. "i was set free in april. about nine o'clock in the morning when we went to see what work we would do, ol' man wright called us all up and told us to come together. then he told us we were free. i couldn't get nothing to do; so i jus' stayed on and made a crop." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: john w. h. barnett, marianna, arkansas age: "i was born at clinton parish, louisiana. i'm eighty-one years old. my parents and four children was sold and left six children behind. they kept the oldest children. in that way i was sold but never alone. our family was divided and that brought grief to my parents. we was sold on a block at new orleans. j.j. gambol (gamble?) in north louisiana bought us. after freedom i seen all but one of our family. i don't recollect why that was. "for three weeks steady after the surrender people was passing from the war and for two years off and on somebody come along going home. some rode and some had a cane or stick walking. mother was cooking a pot of shoulder meat. them blue soldiers come by and et it up. i didn't get any i know that. they cleaned us out. father was born at eastern shore, maryland. he was about half indian. mother's mother was a squaw. i'm more indian than negro. father said it was a white man's war. he didn't go to war. mother was very dark. he spoke a broken tongue. "we worked on after freedom for the man we was owned by. we worked crops and patches. i didn't see much difference then. i see a big change come out of it. we had to work. the work didn't slacken a bit. i never owned land but my father owned eighty acres in drew county. i don't know what become of it. i worked on the railroad section, laid crossties, worked in stave mills. i farmed a whole lot all along. i hauled and cut wood. "i get ten dollars and i sells sassafras and little things along to help out. my wife died. my two sons left just before the world war. i never hear from them. i married since then. "present times--i can't figure it out. seems like a stampede. not much work to do. if i was young i reckon i could find something to do. "present generation--seem like they are more united. the old ones have to teach the young ones what to do. they don't listen all the time. the times is strange. people's children don't do them much good now seems like. they waste most all they make some way. they don't make it regular like we did farming. the work wasn't regular farming but saturday was ration day and we got that." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: josephine ann barnett, r.f.d., de valls bluff, arkansas age: or "i do not knows my exact age. i judge i somewhere between and years old. i was born close to germantown, tennessee. we belong, that is my mother, to phillip mcneill and sally mcneill. my mother was a milker. he had a whole heap of hogs, cattle and stock. that not all my mother done. she plowed. children done the churnin'. "the way it all come bout i was the onliest chile my mother had. him and miss sallie left her to help gather the crop and they brought me in the buggy wid them. i set on a little box in the foot of the buggy. it had a white umbrella stretched over it. great big umbrella run in between them. it was fastened to the buggy seat. when we got to memphis they loaded the buggy on the ship. i had a fine time coming. when we got to bucks landing we rode to his place in the buggy. it is miles from here (de valls bluff). in the fall nearly all his slaves come out here. then when my mother come on. i never seen my papa after i left back home [tr: crossed out: (near germantown)]. my father belong to boston hack. he wouldn't sell and mr. mcneill wouldn't sell and that how it come. "i muster been five or six years old when i come out here to arkansas. my grandma was a midwife. she was already out here. she had to come with the first crowd cause some women was expecting. i tell you it sho was squally times. this country was wild. it was different from tennessee or close to germantown where we come from. none of the slaves liked it but they was brought. "the war come on direckly after we got here. several families had the slaves drove off to texas to save them. keep em from following the yankee soldiers right here at the bluff off. i remember seein' them come up to the gate. my mother and two aunts went. his son and some more men drove em. after freedom them what left childern come back. i stayed with my grandma while they gone. i fed the chickens, shelled corn, churned, swept. i done any little turns they sent me to do. "one thing i remember happened when they had scrimmage close--it mighter been the one on long prairie--they brought a young boy shot through his lung to mr. phillip mcneill's house. he was a stranger. he died. i felt so sorry for him. he was right young. he belong to the southern army. the southern army nearly made his place their headquarters. "another thing i remember was a agent was going through the country settin' fire to all the cotton. mr. mcneill had his cotton--all our crop we made. that man set it afire. it burned more than a week big. he burned some left at the gin not mr. mcneill's. it was fun to us children but i know my grandma cried and all the balance of the slaves. cause they got some christmas money and clothes too when the cotton was sold. "the slaves hated the yankees. they treated them mean. they was having a big time. they didn't like the slaves. they steal from the slaves too. some poor folks didn't have slaves. "after freedom my mother come back after me and we come here to de valls bluff and i been here ever since. the yankee soldiers had built shacks and they left them. they would do. some was one room, log, boxed and all sorts. they give us a little to eat to keep us from starvin'. it sho was a little bit too. my mother got work about. "the first schoolhouse was a colored school. we had two rooms and two teachers sent down from the north to teach us. if they had a white school i didn't know it. they had one later on. i was bout grown. mr. proctor and miss rice was the first teachers. we laughed bout em. they was rough looking, didn't look like white folks down here we'd been used to. they thought they sho was smart. another teacher come down here was mr. abner. white folks wouldn't have nothin' to do with em. we learned. they learned us the abc's and to write. i can read. i learned a heap of it since i got grown just trying. they gimme a start. "times is hard in a way. prices so high. i never had a hard time in my life. i get $ a month. it is cause my husband was a soldier here at de valls bluff. "i do not vote. i ain't goiner vote. "i don't know what to think of the young generation. they are on the road to ruin seems like. i speakln' of the real young folks. they do like they see the white girls and boys doin'. i don't know what to become of em. the women outer stay at home and let the men take care of em. the women seems like taking all the jobs. the colored folks cookin' and making the living for their men folks. it ain't right--to me. but i don't care how they do. things ain't got fixed since that last war." (world war). interviewer: mrs. rosa b. ingram person interviewed: lizzie barnett; conway, arkansas age: ? "yes; i was born a slave. my old mammy was a slave before me. she was owned by my old miss, fanny pennington, of nashville, tennessee. i was born on a plantation near there. she is dead now. i shore did love miss fanny. "did you have any brothers and sisters, aunt liz.?" "why, law yes, honey, my mammy and miss fanny raised dey chillun together. three each, and we was jes' like brothers and sisters, all played in de same yard. no, we did not eat together. dey sot us niggers out in de yard to eat, but many a night i'se slept with miss fanny. "mr. pennington up and took de old-time consumption. dey calls it t.b. now. my mammy nursed him and took it from him and died before mr. abe lincoln ever sot her free. "i have seen hard times, miss, i shore have. "in dem days when a man owned a plantation and had children and they liked any of the little slave niggers, they were issued out to 'em just like a horse or cow. "'member, honey, when de old-time war happened between the north and south, the slavery war. it was so long ago i just can 'member it. dey had us niggers scared to death of the bluejackets. one day a man come to miss fanny's house and took a liking to me. he put me up on a block an' he say, 'how old is dis nigger?' an' she say 'five' when she know well an' good i was ten. no, he didn't get me. but i thought my time had come. "yes, siree, i was miss fanny's child. why wouldn't i love her when i sucked titty from her breast when my mammy was working in the field? i shore did love miss fanny. "when de nigger war was over and dey didn't fit (fight) any longer, abe lincoln sot all de niggers free and den got 'sassinated fer doin it. "miss, you don't know what a hard life we slaves had, cause you ain't old enough to 'member it. many a time i've heard the bull whips a-flying, and heard the awful cries of the slaves. the flesh would be cut in great gaps and the maggits (maggots) would get in them and they would squirm in misery. "i want you to know i am not on arkansas born nigger. i come from tennessee. be sure to put that down. i moved to memphis after miss fanny died. "while i lived in memphis, de yellow fever broke out. you have never seed the like. everything was under quarantine. the folks died in piles and de coffins was piled as high as a house. they buried them in trenches, and later they dug graves and buried them. when they got to looking into the coffins, they discovered some had turned over in dey coffins and some had clawed dey eyes out and some had gnawed holes in dey hands. dey was buried alive! "miss, do you believe in ha'nts? well, if you had been in memphis den you would. dey was jes' paradin' de streets at nite and you'd meet dem comin at you round de dark corners and all de houses everywhere was ha'nted. i've seed plenty of 'em wid my own eyes, yes, siree. "yes, the times were awful in memphis endurin the plague. women dead lying around and babies sucking their breasts. as soon as the frost came and the quarantine was lifted, i came to conway, . but i am a tennessee nigger. "when i cams to conway there were few houses to live in. no depot. i bought this piece of land to build my shanty from mr. jim harkrider for $ . . i worked hard for white folks and saved my money and had this little two-room house built (mud chimney, and small porch and one small window). it is about to fall down on me, but it will last as long as i live. at first, i lived and cooked under a bush (brush) arbor. cooked on the coals in an iron skillet. here it it, miss. "part ob de time after de nigger war (civil) i lived in hot springs. president 'kinley had a big reservation over there and a big hospital for the sick and wounded soldiers. den de war broke out in cuba and dere was a spatch (dispatch) board what de news come over dat de war was on. den when dat war was over and 'kinley was tryin to get us niggers a slave pension dey up and 'sassinated him. "after mr. lincoln sot de slaves free, dey had northern teachers down south and they were called spies and all left the country. "i don't know 'sactly how old i am. dey say i am . if miss fanny was livin' she could settle it. but i have had a hard life. yes mam. here i is living in my shanty, 'pendin' on my good white neighbors to feed me and no income 'cept my old age pension. thank god for mr. roosevelt. i love my southern white friends. i am glad the north and south done shook hands and made friends. all i has to do now is sit and look forward to de day when i can meet my old mammy and miss fanny in the glory land. thank god." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: spencer barnett (blind), holly grove, ark. age: "i was born april , . it was wrote in a old bible. i am years old. i was born miles from florence, alabama. the folks owned us was nancy and mars tom williams. to my recollection they had john, william, and tom, boys; jane, ann, lucy, and emma, girls. in my family there was children. my parents name harry and harriett barnett. "mars tom williams had a tanning yard. he bought hides this way: when a fellow bring hides he would tan em then give him back half what he brought. then he work up the rest in shoes, harness, whoops, saddles and sell them. the man all worked wid him and he had a farm. he raised corn, cotton, wheat, and oats. "that slavery was bad. mars tom williams wasn't cruel. he never broke the skin. when the horn blowed they better be in place. they used a twisted cowhide whoop. it was wet and tied, then it mortally would hurt. one thing you had to be in your place day and night. it was confinin'. "sunday was visiting day. "one man come to dinner, he hit a horse wid a rock and run way. he missed his dinner. he come back fo dark and went tole mars tom. he didn't whoop him. i was mighty little when that took place. "they worked on saturday like any other day. one man fixed out the rations. it didn't take long fer to go git em. "the women plowed like men in plow time. some women made rails. when it was cold and raining they spun and wove in the house. the men cut wood under a shed or side the barn so it knock off the wind. mars tom williams had grown men and women. i was too little to count but i heard my folks call am over by name and number more times en i got fingers and toes. he would hire em out to work some. "when freedom come on i was on hawkin lankford simpson place. it was or miles from town. they had a big dinner-picnic close by. it was or day of august. a lot of soldiers come by there and said, 'you niggers air free.' it bout broke up the picnic. the white folks broke off home. them wanted to go back went, them didn't struck off gone wild. miss lucy and mr. bob barnett give all of em stayed some corn and a little money. then he paid off at the end of the year. then young master went and rented at dilly hunt place. we stayed wid him or years then we went to a place he bought. tom barnett come to close to little rock. mars william started and died on the way in memphis. we come on wid the family. guess they are all dead now. wisht i know or could find em. tom never married. he was a soldier. one of the boys died fo the war started. "my brother joe married luvenia omsted and lewis omsted married my sister betsy and mars tom williams swapped the women. my ma was a cook for the white folks how i come to know so much bout it all. boys wore loose shirts till they was nine or ten years old. the shirt come to the calf of the leg. no belt. "we had plenty common eating. they had a big garden and plenty milk. they cooked wid the eggs mostly. they would kill a beef and have a week of hog killing. they would kill the beef the hardest weather that come. the families cooked at night and on sunday at the log cabins. they cook at night for all next day. the old men hauled wood. "when i was a little boy i could hear men runnin' the slaves wid hounds in the mountains. the landmen paid paddyrollers to keep track of slaves. keep em home day and night. "we took turns bout going to white church. we go in washin' at the creek and put on clean clothes. she learned me a prayer. old mistress learned me to say it nights i slept up at the house. i still can say it: 'now i lay me down to sleep i pray the lord my soul to keep if i should die fo i wake i pray the lord my soul to take.' "the slaves at our places had wheat straw beds. the white folks had fine goose feather beds. we had no idle days. had a long time at dinner to rest and rest and water the teams. sometimes we fed them. old mistress had two peafowls roosted in the colonial poplar trees. she had a pigeon house and a turkey house. i recken chicken and goose house, too. when company come you take em to see the farm, the garden, the new leather things jes' made and to see the little ducks, calves, and colts. folks don't care bout seeing that now. "the girls went to florence to school. all i can recollect is them going off to school and i knowed it was florence. "the yankees burned the big house. it was a fine house. old mistress moved in the overseer's house. he was a white man. he moved somewhere else. the yankees made raids and took or calves from her at one time. they set the tater house afire. they took the corn. old mistress cried more on one time. the yankees starved out more black faces than white at their stealing. after that war it was hard for the slaves to have a shelter and enough eatin' that winter. they died in piles bout after that august i tole you bout. joe innes was our overseer when the house burned. "the ku klux come to my house twice. they couldn't get filled up wid water. they scared us to death. i heard a lot of things they done. "i don't vote. i voted once in all my life fo some county officers. "i been in arkansas since february , . i come to little cypress. i worked for mr. clark by the month, j.w. crocton's place, mr. kitchen's place. i was brakeman on freight train awhile. i worked on the section. i farmed and worked in the timber. i don't have no children; i never been married. i wanted to work by the month all my life. i sells mats (shuck mats) $ . and i bottom chairs ¢. the social welfare gives me $ . . that is ¢ a meal. that woman next door boards me--table board--for ¢ a day. i make all i can outer fust one thing and another." (he is blind--cataracts.) interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: emma barr, madison, arkansas age: "my parents belong to two people. mama was born in mississippi i think and papa come from north carolina. papa's master was lark hickerson. mama was sold from dr. ware to dr. pope. she was grown when she was sold. she was the mother of twenty-seven children. she had twins three times. "during the civil war she was run from the yankees and had twins on the road. they died or was born dead and she nearly died. they was buried between twin trees close to hernando, mississippi. her last owner was dr. pope, ten miles south of augusta, arkansas. i was born there and raised up three miles south of augusta, arkansas. "when mama was sold she left her people in mississippi but after freedom her sisters, aunt mariah and aunt mary, come here to mama. aunt mariah had no children. aunt mary had four boys, two girls. she brought her children. mama said her husband when dr. ware owned her was maxwell but she married my papa after dr. pope bought her. "dr. ware had a fine man he bred his colored house women to. they didn't plough and do heavy work. he was hostler, looked after the stock and got in wood. the women hated him, and the men on the place done as well. they hated him too. my papa was a hickerson. he was a shoemaker and waited on dr. pope. dr. pope and miss marie was good to my parents and to my auntees when they come out here. "i am the onliest one of mama's children living. mama was sold on the block and cried off i heard them say when they lived at wares in mississippi. mama was a house girl, aunt mary cooked and my oldest sister put fire on the skillet and oven lids. that was her job. "mama was lighter than i am. she had indian blood in her. one auntee was half white. she was lighter than i am, had straight hair; the other auntee was real dark. she spun and wove and knit socks. mama said they had plenty to eat at both homes. dr. pope was good to her. mama went to the white folks church to look after the babies. they took the babies and all the little children to church in them days. "mama said the preachers told the slaves to be good and bedient. the colored folks would meet up wid one another at preaching same as the white folks. i heard my auntees say when the yankees come to the house the mistress would run give the house women their money and jewelry and soon as the yankees leave they would come get it. that was at wares in mississippi. "i heard them talk about slipping off and going to some house on the place and other places too and pray for freedom during the war. they turned an iron pot upside down in the room. when some mens' slaves was caught on another man's place he was allowed to whoop them and send them home and they would git another whooping. some men wouldn't allow that; they said they would tend to their own slaves. so many men had to leave home to go to war times got slack. "it was judge martin that owned my papa before he was freed. he lived close to augusta, arkansas. when he was freed he lived at dr. pope's. he was sold in north carolina. dr. pope and judge martin told them they was free. mama stayed on with dr. pope and he paid her. he never did whoop her. mama told me all this. she died a few years ago. she was old. i never heard much about the ku klux. mama was a good speller. i was a good speller at school and she learned with us. i spelled in webster's blue back speller. "we children stayed around home till we married off. i nursed nearly all my life. me and my husband farmed ten years. he died. i don't have a child. i wish i did have a girl. my cousin married us in the church. his name was andrew baccus. "after my husband died i went to coffeeville, kansas and nursed an old invalid white woman three years, till she died. i come back here where i was knowed. i'm keeping this house for some people gone off. part of the house is rented out and i get $ and commodities. i been sick with the chills." interviewer: s.s. taylor person interviewed: robert barr west th st. little rock, ark. age: occupation: preaching [hw: a preacher tells his story] "i am a minister of the gospel. i have been preaching for the last thirty years. i am batching here. a man does better to live by himself. young people got the devil in them now a days. your own children don't want you around. "i got one grand-daughter that ain't never stood on the floor. her husband kicked her and hit her and she ain't never been able to stand up since. i got another daughter that ain't thinking about marrying. she just goes from one man to the other. "the government gives me a pension. the white folks help me all along. before i preached, i fiddled, danced, shot craps, did anything. "my mother was born in chickasaw, mississippi. she was born a slave. old man barr was her master. she was a lucy appelin and she married a barr. i don't know whether she stood on the floor and married them as they do now or not. they tell me that they just gave them to them in those days. my mother said that they didn't know anything about marriage then. they had some sort of a way of doing. ol' massa would call them up and say, 'you take that man, and go ahead. you are man and wife.' i don't care whether you liked it or didn't. you had to go ahead. i heard em say: 'nigger ain't no more'n a horse or cow,' but they got out from under that now. the world is growing more and more civilized. but when a nigger thinks he is something, he ain't nothin'. white folks got all the laws and regulations in their hands and they can do as they please. you surrender under em and go along and you are all right. if they told a woman to go to a man and she didn't, they would whip her. you didn't have your own way. they would make you do what they wanted. they'd give you a good beating too. "my father was born in mississippi. his name was simon barr. my mother and father both lived on the same plantation. in all groups of people they went by their master's name. before she married, my mother's master and mistress were appelins. when she got married--got ready to marry--the white folks agreed to let them go together. old man barr must have paid something for her. according to my mother and father, that's the way it was. she had to leave her master and go with her husband's master. "according to my old father and mother, the patteroles went and got the niggers when they did something wrong. they lived during slave time. they had a rule and government over the colored and there you are. when they caught niggers out, they would beat them. if you'd run away, they'd go and get you and beat you and put you back. when they'd get on a nigger and beat him, the colored folks would holler, 'i pray, massa.' they had to have a great war over it, before they freed the nigger. the bible says there is a time for all things. "my mother and father said they got a certain amount when they was freed. i don't know how much it was. it was only a small amount. after a short time it broke up and they didn't get any more. i get ten dollars pension now and that is more than they got then. "i heard old brother page in mississippi say that the slaves had heard em say they were going to be free. his young mistress heard em say he was going to be free and she walked up and hocked and spit in his face. when freedom came, old massa came out and told them. "i have heard folks talk of buried treasure. i'll bet there's more money under the ground than there is on it. they didn't have banks then, and they put their money under the ground. for hundreds of years, there has been money put under the ground. "i heard my mother talk about their dances and frolics then. i never heard her speak of anything else. they didn't have much freedom. they couldn't go and come as they pleased. you had to have a script to go and come. niggers ain't free now. you can't do anything; you got nothin'. this whole town belongs to white folks, and you can't do nothin'. if nigger get to have anything, white folks will take it. "we raised our own food. we made our own flour. we wove our own cloth. we made our clothes. we made our meal. we made our sorghum cane molasses. some of them made their shoes, made their own medicine, and went around and doctored on one another. they were more healthy then than they are now. this generation don't live hardly to get forty years old. they don't live long now. "i came to arkansas about thirty-five years ago. i got right into ditches. the first thing i did was farm. i farmed about ten years. i made about ten crops. mississippi gave you more for your crops than arkansas." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: matilda bass palm street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes ma'am, i was eight years old when the old war ceasted. "honey, i've lived here twenty years and i don't know what this street is. "i was born in greenville, mississippi. they took my parents and carried 'em to texas to keep 'em from the yankees. i think they stayed three years 'cause i didn't know 'em when they come back. "i 'member the yankees come and took us chillun and the old folks to vicksburg. i 'member the old man that seed after the chillun while their parents was gone, he said i was eight when freedom come. we didn't know nothin' 'bout our ages--didn't have 'nough sense. "my parents come back after surrender and stayed on my owner's place--john scott's place. we had three masters--three brothers. "i been in arkansas twenty years--right here. i bought this home. "i married my husband in mississippi. we farmed. "the lord uses me as a prophet and after my husband died, the lord sent me to arkansas to tell the people. he called me out of the church. i been out of the church now thirty-three years. seems like all they think about in the churches now is money, so the lord called me out." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: emmett beal, biscoe, arkansas age: "i was born in holloman county, bolivar, tennessee. master dr. jim may owned my set er folks. he had two girls and two boys. i reckon he had a wife but i don't recollect seeing her. ma suckled me; william may with me. ely and seley and susie was his children. "i churned for mama in slavery. she tied a cloth around the top so no flies get in. i better hadn't let no fly get in the churn. she take me out to a peach tree and learn me how to keep the flies outen the churn next time. "mama was dr. may's cook. we et out the dishes but i don't know how all of 'em done their eating. they eat at their houses. dr. may had a good size bunch of hands, not a big crowd. we had straw beds. made new ones every summer. in that country they didn't 'low you to beat yo' hands up. i heard my folks say that more'n one time. "dr. may come tole 'em it was freedom. they could get land and stay--all 'at wanted to. all his old ones kept on wid him. they sharecropped and some of them got a third. i recollect him and worked for him. "the ku klux didn't bother none of us. dr. may wouldn't 'low them on his place. "mama come out here in . i figured there better land out here and i followed her in . we paid our own ways. seem like the owners ought to give the slaves something but seem like they was mad 'cause they set us free. ma was named viney may and pa, nick may. "pa and four or five brothers was sold in memphis. he never seen his brothers no more. they come to arkansas. "pa and dr. may went to war. the yankees drafted pa and he come back to dr. may after he fit. he got his lip split open in the war. dr. may come home and worked his slaves. he didn't stay long in war. "i reckon they had plenty to eat at home. they didn't run to the stores every day 'bout starved to death like i has to do now. ma said they didn't 'low the overseers to whoop too much er dr. may would turn them off. "er horse stomped on my foot eight years ago. i didn't pay it much 'tention. it didn't hurt. blood-p'ison come in it and they took me to the horsepital and my leg had to come off, (at the knee). "we have to go back to africa to vote all the 'lections. voting brings up more hard feelings." interviewer: pernella anderson, colored. _ex-slaves_ yes i was born in slavery time. i was born september , in the field under a tree. i don't know nothing about slavery. i was too young to remember anything about slavery. but i tell you this much, times ain't like they used to be. there was easy living back in the hundred years. people wore homemade clothes, what i mean homespun and lowell clothes. my ma spun and weaved all of her cloth. we wore our dresses down to our ankles in length and my dresses was called mother hubbards. the skirts had about three yards circumference and we wore plenty of clothes under our dress. we did not go necked like these folks do now. folk did not know how we was made. we did not show our shape, we did not disgrace ourself back in . we wore our hair wrapped and head rags tied on our head. i went barefooted until i was a young missie then i wore shoes in the winter but i still went barefooted in the summer. my papa was a shoemaker so he made our shoes. we raised everything that we ate when i was a chap. we ate a plenty. we raised plenty of whippowell peas. that was the only kind of peas there was then. we raised plenty moodie sweet potatoes they call them nigger chokers now. we had cows so we had plenty of milk and butter. we cooked on the fireplace. the first stove i cooked on was a white woman's stove, that was . i never chanced to go to school because where we lived there wasn't no school. i worked all of the time. in fact that was all we knew. white people did not see where negroes needed any learning so we had to work. we lived on a place with some white people by the name of dunn. they were good people but they taken all that was made because we did not know. i ain't never been sick in my life and i have never had a doctor in my life. i am in good health now. we traveled horseback in the years of . we did not ride straddle the horse's back we rode sideways. the old folks wore their dreses dragging the ground. we chaps called everybody old that married. we respected them because they was considered as being old. time has made a change. --dina beard, douglas addition. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: annie beck, west memphis, arkansas age: "i was born in mississippi. mama was born in alabama and sold to holcomb, mississippi. her owner was master beard. she was a field woman. they took her in a stage-coach. their owner wanted to keep it a secret about freedom. but he had a brother that fussed with him all the time and he told the slaves they was all free. mama said they was pretty good always to her for it to be slavery, but papa said his owners wasn't so good to him. he was sold in richmond, virginia to master thomas at grenada, mississippi. he was a plain farming man." interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: j.h. beckwith north spruce street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "no ma'm i was not born in the time of slavery. i was sixty-eight last friday. i was born november , in johnson county, north carolina. "my mother was born in georgia and her name was gracie barum. father was born in north carolina. his name was rufus beckwith. he belonged to doctor beckwith and mother, i think, belonged to tom barum. barum was just an ordinary farmer. he was just a second or third class farmer--just poor white folks. i think my mother was the only slave he owned. "my father had to walk seven miles every saturday night to see my mother, and be back before sunrise monday. "my parents had at least three or four children born in slavery. i know my father said he worked at night and made shoes for his family. "my father was a mulatto. he had a negro mother and a white father. he had a mechanical talent. he seemed to be somewhat of a genius. he had a productive mind. he could do blacksmithing, carpenter work, brick work and shoe work. "father was married twice. he raised ten children by each wife. i think my mother had fifteen children and i was the the thirteenth child. i am the only boy among the first set, called to the ministry. and there was one in the second set. father learned to read and write after freedom. "after freedom he sent my oldest brother and sister to hampton, virginia and they were graduated from hampton institute and later taught school. they were graduated from the same school booker t. washington was. he got his idea of vocational education there. "i haven't had much education. i went as far as the eighth grade. the biggest education i have had was in the conference. "i joined the little rock general conference at texarkana in . this was the methodist episcopal, north, and i was ordained as a deacon and later an elder by white bishops. then in i joined the african methodist. "by trade i am a carpenter and bricklayer. i served an apprentice under my father and under a german contractor. "i used to be called the best negro journeyman carpenter between monroe, louisiana and little rock, arkansas. "i made quite a success in my trade. i have a couple of united states patent rights. one is a brick mold holding ten bricks and used to make bricks of concrete. the other is a sliding door. (see attached drawings) [tr: drawings missing.] "i was in the mercantile business two and one-half years in sevier county. i sold that because it was too confining and returned to the carpenter's trade. i still practice my trade some now. "i have not had to ask help from anyone. i have helped others. i own my home and i sent my daughter to fisk university where she was graduated. while there she met a young man and they were later married and now live in chicago. they own their home and are doing well. "in my work in the ministry i am trying to teach my people to have higher ideals. we have to bring our race to that high ideal of race integrity. i am trying to keep the negro from thinking he is hated by the upper class of white people. what the negro needs is self-consciousness to the extent that he aspires to the higher principles in order to stand on an equal plane in attainment but not in a social way. "at present, the negro's ideals are too low for him to visualize the evils involved in race mixture. he needs to be lifted in his own estimation and learn that a race cannot be estimated by other races--by anything else but their own ideals. "the younger generation is off on a tangent. they'll have to hit something before they stop. "the salvation of our people--of all people--white and colored, is leadership. we've got to have vision and try to give the people vision. not to live for ourselves but for all. the present generation is selfish. the life should flow out and as it flows out it makes room for more life. if it does not flow out, it congeals and ferments. selfishness is just like damming a stream. "i think woodrow wilson won the world war with his fourteen points of democracy. if the people of foreign countries had not that old imperialism sentiment, the jew would not be where he is today." interviewer's comment this man is the best informed and most sensible negro i have interviewed. in the room where i interviewed him, were a piano, a radio, many ferns, a wool rug, chairs, divan, and a table on which were books including a set of the standard history of the world. i asked if he had read the history and he replied, "not all of it but i have read the volumes pertaining to the neolithic age." on the walls were several pictures and two tapestries. the house was a good frame one and electric current was used. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: enoch beel; green grove, hazen, arkansas age: "yes maam i was born a slave, born in slavery times. i wer born in hardman county, tennessee. my own daddy was a union soldier and my mama was a cook fer the mistress. we belonged to miss viney and dr. jim mass. my daddy drawed a pension fer bein a soldier till he die. he went off to wait on some men he know. then he met some men wanted him to join the army. they said then he get paid and get a bounty. no maam he never got a red cent. he come back broke as he went off. he say he turned loose soon as he could and mustered out and lef them right now. he had no time to ax em no questions. that what he said! we stayed on that place till i was big nuf to do a days work. we had no other place to go. there was plenty land and no stock. houses to stay in got scarce. if a family had a place to stay at when that war ended he counted hisself lucky i tell you. heap of black an white jes ramlin round through the woods an over the roads huntin a little to eat or a little sumpin to do. if you stay in the field workin about puttin back the fences an round yo own house you wouldn't be hurt. "the ku kluxes war not huntin work theirselves. they was keepin order at the gatherins and down the public roads. folks had came toted off all the folks made in the crops till they don't call nuthin stealin'. they whooped em and made em ride on rails. i don't know all the carrings on did take place. i sho would been scared if i seed em comin to me. we left dr. mass and went to grain, tennessee. i had three sisters and half-brothers. i don't remember how many, some dead. i farmed all my life. everybody said the land was so much better and newer out in arkansas. when i married i come to tomberlin and worked fer sam dardnne bout twelve years. then i rented from jim hicks at england. i rented from one of the carlley boys and jim neelam. when i very fust come here i worked at helena on a farm one year. when i got my leg taken off it cost bout all i ever had cumlated. i lives on my sister's place. henry bratcher's wife out at green grove. the wellfare give me $ cause i caint get bout. "i don't know bout the times. it is so unsettled. folks want work caint get it and some won't work that could. you caint get help so you can make a crop of your own no more, fer sometimes is close." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: sophie d. belle, forrest city, arkansas age: "i was born near knoxville, georgia. my mother was a professional pastry cook. she was a house woman during slavery. she was owned by lewis hicks and ann hicks. they had saluda, mary, lewis, and oscar. "mother was never sold. mr. hicks reared her. she was three-fourths indian. her father was george hicks. gordon carried him to texas. mr. bob gordon was mean. he asked mr. hicks to keep mother and auntie while he went to texas, mr. gordon was so mean. my mother had two little girls but my sister died while small. "i never saw any one sold. i never saw a soldier. but i noticed the grown people whispering many times. mother explained it to me, they had some news from the war. aunt jane said she saw them pass in gangs. i heard her say, 'did you see the soldiers pass early this morning?' i was asleep. sometimes i was out at play when they passed. "master hicks called us all up at dinner one day to the big house. he told us, 'you are free as i am.' i never had worked any then. no, they cried and went on to their homes. aunt jane was bad to speak out, she was so much indian. she had three children. she went to another place to live. she was in search of her husband and thought he might be there at ft. valley. "mother stayed on another year. mr. hicks was good to us. none of the children ever worked till they was ten or twelve years old. he had a lot of slaves and about twenty-five children on the place growing. he had just a big plantation. he had a special cook, aunt mariah, to cook for the field hands. they eat like he did. master hicks would examine their buckets and a great big split basket. if they didn't have enough to eat he would have her cook more and send to them. they had nice victuals to eat. he had a bell to ring for all the children to be put to bed at sundown and they slept late. he said, 'let them grow.' their diet was milk and bread and eggs. we had duck eggs, guinea eggs, goose eggs, and turkey eggs. "i don't know what all the slaves had but mother had feather beds. they saved all kind of feathers to make pillows and bed and chair cushions. we always had a pet pig about our place. master hicks kept a drove of pea-fowls. he had cows, goats, sheep. we children loved the lambs. elvira attended to the milk. she had some of the girls and boys to milk. uncle dick, mother's brother, was mr. hicks' coachman. he was raised on the place too. "i think master hicks and his family was french, but, though they were light-skin people. they had light hair too, i think. "one day a frenchman (white) that was a doctor come to call. my aunt jane said to me, 'he is your papa. that is your papa.' i saw him many times after that. i am considered eight-ninth white race. one little girl up at the courthouse asked me a question and i told her she was too young to know about such sin. (this girl was twenty-four years old and the case worker's stenographer.) "master hicks had uncle patrick bury his silver and gold in the woods. it was in a trunk. the hair and hide was still on the trunk when the war ceased. he used his money to pay the slaves that worked on his place after freedom. "i went to school to a white man from january till may and mother paid him one dollar a month tuition. after i married i went to school three terms. i married quite young. everyone did that far back. "i married at aunt jane's home. we got married and had dinner at one or two o'clock. very quiet. only a few friends and my relatives. i wore a green wool traveling dress. it was trimmed in black velvet and black beads. i married in a hat. at about seven o'clock we went to ny husband's home at perry, georgia. he owned a new buggy. we rode thirty miles. we had a colored minister to marry us. he was a painter and a fine provider. he died. i had no children. "i came to forrest city . there was three dry-goods and grocery stores and two saloons here--five stores in all. i come alone. aunt jane and uncle sol had migrated here. my mother come with me. there was one railroad through here. i belong to the baptist church. "i married the second time at muskogee, oklahoma. my husband lived out there. he was indian-african. he was a baptist minister. we never had any children. i never had a child. they tell me now if i had married dark men i would maybe had children. i married very light men both times. "i washed and ironed, cooked and kept house. i sewed for the public, black and white. i washed and ironed for mrs. grahan at crockettsville twenty-three years and three months. i inherited a home here. owned a home here in forrest city once. i live with my cousin here. he uses that house for his study. he is a baptist minister. (the church is in front of their home--a very nice new brick church--ed.) i'm blind now or i could still sew, wash and iron some maybe. "i get eight dollars from the social welfare. i do my own cooking in the kitchen. i am seventy-seven years old. i try to live as good as my age. every year i try to live a little better, 'a little sweeter as the years go by.'" interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: cyrus bellus pulaski street, little rock, arkansas age: [hw: made own cloth] "i was born in mississippi in in jefferson county. it was on the tenth of march. my father's name was cyrus bellus, the same as mine. my mother's name was matilda bellus. "my father's master was david hunt. my father and mother both belonged to him. they had the same master. i don't know the names of my grandfather and mother. i think they were jordons. no, i know my grandmother's name was annie hall, and my grandfather's name was stephen hall. those were my mother's grandparents. my father's father was named john major and his mother was named dinah major. they belonged to the hunts. i don't know why the names was different. i guess he wasn't their first master. slave sales, whippings, work "i have heard my folks talk about how they were traded off and how they used to have to work. their master wouldn't allow them to whip his hands. no, it was the mistress that wouldn't allow them to be whipped. they had hot words about that sometimes. "the slaves had to weave cotton and knit sox. sometimes they would work all night, weaving cloth, and spinning thread. the spinning would be done first. they would make cloth for all the hands on the place. "they used to have tanning vats to make shoes with too. old master didn't know what it was to buy shoes. had a man there to make them. "my father and mother were both field hands. they didn't weave or spin. my grandmother on my mother's side did that. they were supposed to pick--the man, four hundred pounds of cotton, and the woman three hundred. and that was gittin' some cotton. if they didn't come up to the task, they was took out and give a whipping. the overseer would do the thrashing. the old mistress and master wouldn't agree on that whipping. fun "the slaves were allowed to get out and have their fun and play and 'musement for so many hours. outside of those hours, they had to be found in their house. they had to use fiddles. they had dancing just like the boys do now. they had knockin' and rasslin' and all such like now. church "so for as serving god was concerned, they had to take a kettle and turn it down bottom upward and then old master couldn't hear the singing and prayin'. i don't know just how they turned the kettle to keep the noise from goin' out. but i heard my father and mother say they did it. the kettle would be on the inside of the cabin, not on the outside. house, furniture, food "the slaves lived in log houses instead of ones like now with weather-boarding. the two ends duffed in. they always had them so they would hold a nice family. never had any partitions to make rooms. it was just a straight long house with one window and one door. "provisions were weighed out to them. they were allowed four pounds of meat and a peck of meal for each working person. they only provided for the working folks. if i had eight in a family, i would just get the same amount. there was no provisions for children. "but all the children on the place were given something from the big house. the working folks ate their breakfast before daylight in the log cabin where they lived. they ate their supper at home too. they was allowed to get back home by seven or eight o'clock. the slaves on my place never ate together. i don't know anything about that kind of feeding. "they had nurses, old folks that weren't able to work any longer. all the children would go to the same place to be cared for and the old people would look after them. they wasn't able to work, you know. they fed the children during the day. how freedom came "my father and mother and grandmother said the overseer told them that they were free. i guess that was in , the same year i was born. the overseer told them that they didn't have any owner now. they was free folks. the boss man told them too--had them to come up to the big house and told them they had to look out for themselves now because they were free as he was. right after the war "right after emancipation, my folks were freed. the boss man told them they could work by the day or sharecrop or they could work by groups. a group of folks could go together and work and the boss man would pay them so much a day. i believe they worked for him a good while--about seven or eight years at least. they was in one of the groups. earliest recollections "my own earliest recollections was of picking cotton in one of those squads--the groups i was telling you about. after that, the people got to renting land and renting stock for themselves. they sharecropped then. it seems to me that everybody was satisfied. i don't remember any one saying that he was cheated or beat out of anything. schooling "we had a public school to open in jefferson county, mississippi. we called it dobbins bridge. there was a bridge about a mile long built across the creek. we had two colored women for teachers. their names was mary howard and hester harris. they only used two teachers in that school. i attended there three years to those same two women. "we had a large family and i quit to help take care of it. ku klux "i don't think there was much disturbance from the ku klux on that plantation. the colored folks didn't take much part in politics. later life "i stopped school and went to work for good at about fifteen years. i worked at the field on that same plantation i told you about. i worked there for just about ten years. then i farmed at the same place on shares. i stayed there till i was 'bout twenty-six years old. then i moved to wilderness place in the cotton belt in mississippi. i farmed there for two years. "i farmed around greenville, mississippi for a while. then i left greenville and came to arkansas. i come straight to little rock. the first thing i did i went into the lumber grading. i wasn't trained to it, but i went into it at the request of the men who employed me. i stayed in that eight years. i learned the lumber grading and checking. checking is seeing the size and width and length and kind of lumber and seeing how much of it there is in a car without taking it out, you know. "i married about . my wife is dead. we never had any children. "i haven't worked any now in five years. i have been to the hospital in the east end. i get old age assistance--eight dollars and commodities." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: bob benford n. maple street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "slavery-time folks? here's one of em. near as i can get at it, i'se seventy-nine. i was born in alabama. my white folks said i come from perry county, alabama, but i come here to this arkansas country when i was small. "my old master was jim ad benford. he was good to us. i'm goin' to tell you we was better off then than now. yes ma'am, they treated us right. we didn't have to worry bout payin' the doctor and had plenty to eat. "i recollect the shoemaker come and measured my feet and directly he'd bring me old red russet shoes. i thought they was the prettiest things i ever saw in my life. "old mistress would say, 'come on here, you little niggers' and she'd sprinkle sugar on the meat block and we'd just lick sugar. "i remember the soldiers good, had on blue suits with brass buttons. "i'se big enough to ride old master's hoss to water. he'd say, 'now, bob, don't you run that hoss' but when i got out of sight, i was bound to run that hoss a little. "i didn't have to work, just stayed in the house with my mammy. she was a seamstress. i'm tellin' you the truth now. i can tell it at night as well as daytime. "we lived in union county. old master had a lot of hands. old mistress' name was miss sallie benford. she just as good as she could be. she'd come out to the quarters to see how we was gettin' along. i'd be so glad when christmas come. we'd have hog killin' and i'd get the bladders and blow em up to make noise--you know. yes, lady, we'd have a time. "i recollect when marse jim broke up and went to texas. stayed there bout a year and come back. [hw: migration?] "when the war was over i recollect they said we was free but i didn't know what that meant. i was always free. "after freedom mammy stayed there on the place and worked on the shares. i don't know nothin' bout my father. they said he was a white man. "i remember i was out in the field with mammy and had a old mule. i punched him with a stick and he come back with them hoofs and kicked me right in the jaw--knocked me dead. lord, lady, i had to eat mush till i don't like mush today. that was old mose--he was a saddle mule. "me? i ain't been to school a day in my life. if i had a chance to go i didn't know it. i had to help mammy work. i recollect one time when she was sick i got into a fight and she cried and said, 'that's the way you does my child' and i know she died next week. "after that i worked here and there. i remember the first run i worked for was kinch mckinney of el dorado. "i remember when i was just learnin' to plow, old mule knew five hundred times more than i did. he was graduated and he learnt me. "i made fifty-seven crops in my lifetime. me and hance chapman--he was my witness when i married--we made four bales that year. that was in . his father got two bales and hance and me got two. i made money every year. yes ma'am, i have made some money in my day. when i moved from louisiana to arkansas i sold one hundred eighty acres of land and three hundred head of hogs. i come up here cause my chillun was here and my wife wanted to come here. you know how people will stroll when they get grown. lost everything i had. bought a little farm here and they wouldn't let me raise but two acres of cotton the last year i farmed and i couldn't make my payments with that. made me plow up some of the prettiest cotton i ever saw and i never got a cent for it. "lady, nobody don't know how old people is treated nowdays. but i'm livin' and i thank the lord. i'm so glad the lord sent you here, lady. i been once a man and twice a child. you know when you're tellin' the truth, you can tell it all the time. "klu klux? the lord have mercy! in ' and ' saw em but never was bothered by a white man in my life. never been arrested and never had a lawsuit in my life. i can go down here and talk to these officers any time. "yes ma'am, i used to vote. never had no trouble. i don't know what ticket i voted. we just voted for the man we wanted. used to have colored men on the grand jury--half and half--and then got down to one and then knocked em all out. "i never done no public work in my life but when you said farmin' you hit me then. "nother thing i never done. i bought two counterpins once in my life on the stallments and ain't never bought nothin' since that way. yes ma'am, i got a bait of that stallment buying. that's been forty years ago. "i know one time when i was livin' in louisiana, we had a teacher named arvin nichols. he taught there seventeen years and one time he passed some white ladies and tipped his hat and went on and fore sundown they had him arrested. some of the white men who knew him went to court and said what had he done, and they cleared him right away. that was in the ' 's in marion, louisiana, in union parish." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: carrie bradley logan bennet, helena, arkansas age: plus "i was born not a great piece from mobile but it was in mississippi in the country. my mother b'long to massa tom logan. he was a horse trader. he got drowned in --durin' of the war, the old war. his wife was miss liza jane. they had several children and some gone from home i jus' seed when they be on visits home. the ones at home i can recollect was tiney, john, bill, and alex. i played wid tiney and nursed bill and alex was a baby when massa tom got drowned. "we never knowed how massa tom got drowned. they brought him home and buried him. his horse come home. he had been in the water, water was froze on the saddle. they said it was water soaked. they thought he swum the branch. massa tom drunk some. we never did know what did happen. i didn't know much 'bout 'em. "he had two or three families of slaves. ma cooked, washed and ironed for all on the place. she went to the field in busy times. three of the men drove horses, tended to 'em. they fed 'em and curried and sheared 'em. ma said massa tom sure thought a heap of his niggers and fine stock. they'd bring in three or four droves of horses and mules, care fer 'em, take 'em out sell 'em. they go out and get droves, feed 'em up till they looked like different from what you see come there. he'd sell 'em in the early part of the year. he did make money. i know he muster. my pa was the head blacksmith on masaa tom's place, them other men helped him along. "i heard ma say no better hearted man ever live than massa tom if you ketch him sober. he give his men a drink whiskey 'round every once in awhile. i don't know what miss liza jane could do 'bout it. she never done nothin' as ever i knowed. they sent apples off to the press and all of us drunk much cider when it come home as we could hold and had some long as it lasts. it turn to vinegar. i heard my pa laughing 'bout the time massa tom had the blue devils. he was p'isoned well as i understood it. it muster been on whiskey and something else. i never knowed it. his men had to take keer of 'em. he acted so much like he be crazy they laughed 'bout things he do. he got over it. "old mistress--we all called her miss liza jane--whooped us when she wanted to. she brush us all out wid the broom, tell us go build a play house. children made the prettiest kinds of play houses them days. we mede the walls outer bark sometimes. we jus' marked it off on the ground out back of the smokehouse. we'd ride and bring up the cows. we'd take the meal to a mill. it was the best hoecake bread can be made. it was water ground meal. "we had a plenty to eat, jus' common eatin'. we had good cane molasses all the tine. the clothes was thin 'bout all time 'ceptin' when they be new and stubby. we got new clothes in the fall of the year. they last till next year. "i never seed massa tom whoop nobody. i seen miss liza jane turn up the little children's dresses and whoop 'em with a little switch, and straws, and her hand. she 'most blister you wid her bare hand. plenty things we done to get whoopin's. we leave the gates open; we'd run the calves and try to ride 'em; we'd chunk at the geese. one thing that make her so mad was for us to climb up in her fruit trees and break off a limb. she wouldn't let us be eating the green fruit mostly 'cause it would make us sick. they had plenty trees. we had plenty fruit to eat when it was ripe. massa tom's little colored boys have big ears. he'd pull 'em every time he pass one of 'em. he didn't hurt 'em but it might have made their ears stick out. they all had big ears. he never slapped nobody as ever i heard 'bout. "i don't know how my parents was sold. i'm sure they was sold. pa's name ivas jim bradley (bradly). he come from one of the carolinas. ma was brought to mississippi from georgia. all the name i heard fer her was ella logan. when freedom cone on, i heard pa say he thought he stand a chance to find his folks and them to find him if he be called bradley. he did find some of his brothers, and ma had some of her folks out in mississippi. they come out here hunting places to do better. they wasn't no bradleys. i was little and i don't recollect their names. seem lack one family we called aunt mandy thornton. one was aunt tillie and uncle mack. they wasn't thorntons. i knows that. "my folks was black, black as i is. pa was stocky, guinea man. ma was heap the biggest. she was rawbony and tall. i love to see her wash. she could bend 'round the easier ever i seed anybody. she could beat the clothes in a hurry. she put out big washings, on the bushes and a cord they wove and on the fences. they had paling fence 'round the garden. "massa tom didn't have a big farm. he had a lot of mules and horses at times. they raised some cotton but mostly corn and oats. miss liza jane left b'fore us. we all cried when she left. she shut up the house and give the women folks all the keys. we lived on what she left there and went on raising more hogs and tending to the cows. we left everything. we come to hernando, mississippi. pa farmed up there and run his blacksmith shop on the side. my parents died close to horn lake. mama was the mother of ten and i am the mother of eight. i got two living, one here and one in memphis. i lives wid 'em and one niece in natches i live with some. "i was scared to death of the ku klux klan. they come to our house one night and i took my little brother and we crawled under the house and got up in the fireplace. it was big 'nough fer us to sit. we went to sleep. we crawled out next day. we seen 'em coming, run behind the house and crawled under there. they knocked about there a pretty good while. we told the folks about it. i don't know where they could er been. i forgot it been so long. i was 'fraider of the ku klux klan den i ever been 'bout snakes. no snakes 'bout our house. too many of us. "i tried to get some aid when it first come 'bout but i quit. my children and my niece take keer or me. i ain't wantin' fer nothin' but good health. i never do feel good. i done wore out. i worked in the field all my life. "a heap of dis young generation is triflin' as they can be. they don't half work. some do work hard and no 'pendence to be put in some 'em. 'course they steal 'fo' dey work. i say some of 'em work. times done got so fer 'head of me i never 'speck to ketch-up. i never was scared of horses. i sure is dese automobiles. i ain't plannin' no rides on them airplanes. sure you born i ain't. folks ain't acting lack they used to. they say so i got all i can get you can do dout. it didn't used to be no sich way. times is heap better but heap of folks is worse 'an ever folks been before." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: george benson, ezell quarters, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: cotton farmer "i was here in slavery days--yes ma'm, i was here. when i come here, colored people didn't have their ages. the boss man had it. after surrender, boss man told me i ought to keep up with my age, it'd be a use to me some day, but i didn't do it. "i member the soldiers would play with me when they wasn't on duty. that was the yankees. "i was born down here on dr. waters' place. born right here in arkansas and ain't been outa arkansas since i was born. so far as i know, dr. waters was good to us. i don't know how old i was. i know i used to go to the house with my mother and piddle around. "my father jined the yankees and he died in the army. i heered the old people talkin', sayin' we was goin' to be free. you _know_ i didn't have much sense cause i was down on the river bank and the yankees was shootin' across the river and i said, 'john, you quit that shootin'!' so you know i didn't have much sense. "i can remember old man curtaindall had these nigger dogs. had to go up a tree to keep em from bitin' you. dr. waters would have us take the cotton and hide it in the swamp to keep the yankees from burnin' it but they'd find it some way. "never went to school over two months in all my goin's. we always lived in a place kinda unhandy to go to school. first teacher i had was named mr. bell. i think he was a northern man. "all my life i been farmin'--still do. been many a day since i sold a bale a cotton myself. white man does the ginnin' and packin'. all i do is raise it. i'm farmin' on the shares and i think if i raise four bales i ought to have two bales to sell and boss man two bales, but it ain't that way. "i voted ever since i got to be a man grown. that is--as long as i could vote. you know--got so now they won't let you vote. i don't think a person is free unless he can vote, do you? the way this thing is goin', i don't think the white man wants the colored man to have as much as the white man. "when i could vote, i jus' voted what they told me to vote. oh lord, yes, i voted for garfield. i'se quainted with him--i knowed his name. let's see--powell clayton--was he one of the presidents? i voted for him. and i voted for mckinley. i think he was the last one i voted for. "i been farmin' all my life and what have i got? nothin'. old age pension? i may be in glory time i get it and then what would become of my wife?" interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: kato benton creed taylor place, tamo pike pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in south carolina before the war. i ain't no baby. i wasn't raised here. no ma'am. "my daddy's name was chance ayers and my mammy's name was mary ayers. so i guess the white folks was named ayers. "white folks was good to us. had plenty to eat, plenty to wear, plenty to drink. that was water. didn't have no whisky. might a had some but they didn't give us none. "oh, yes ma'am, i got plenty kin folks. oh, yes ma'am, i wish i was back there but i can't get back. i been here so long i likes arkansas now. "my mammy give me away after freedom and i ain't seed her since. she give me to a colored man and i tell you he was a devil untied. he was so mean i run away to a white man's house. but he come and got me and nearly beat me to death. then i run away again and i ain't seed him since. "i had a hard time comin' up in this world but i'm livin' yet, somehow or other. "i didn't work in no field much. i washed and ironed and cleaned up the house for the white folks. yes ma'am! "no ma'am, i ain't never been married in my life. i been ba'chin'. i get along so fine and nice without marryin'. i never did care anything 'bout that. i treat the women nice--speak to 'em, but just let 'em pass on by. "i never went to school in my life. never learned to read or write. if i had went to school, maybe i'd know more than i know now. "these young folks comin' on is pretty rough. i don't have nothin' to do with 'em--they is too rough for me. they is a heap wuss than they was in my day--some of 'em. "i gets along pretty well. the welfare gives me eight dollars a month." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: james bertrand maple street, little rock, arkansas age: [hw: "pateroles" botlund father] "i have heard my father tell about slavery and about the ku klux klan bunch and about the paterole bunch and things like that. i am sixty-eight years old now. sixty-eight years old! that would be about five years after the war that i was born. that would be about , wouldn't it? i was born in jefferson county, arkansas, near pine bluff. "my father's name was mack bertrand. my mother's name was lucretia. her name before she married was jackson. my father's owners were named bertrands. i don't know the name of my mother's owners. i don't know the names of any of my grandparents. my father's owners were farmers. "i never saw the old plantation they used to live on. my father never told me how it looked. but he told me he was a farmer--that's all. he knew farming. he used to tell me that the slaves worked from sunup till sundown. his overseers were very good to him. they never did whip him. i don't know that he was ever sold. i don't know how he met my mother. "out in the field, the man had to pick three hundred pounds of cotton, and the women had to pick two hundred pounds. i used to hear my mother talk about weaving the yarn and making the cloth and making clothes out of the cloth that had been woven. they used to make everything they wore--clothes and socks and shoes. "i am the youngest child in the bunch and all the older ones are dead. my mother was the mother of about thirteen children. ten or more of them were born in slavery. my mother worked practically all the time in the house. she was a house worker mostly. "my father was bothered by the pateroles. you see they wouldn't let you go about if you didn't have a pass. father would often get out and go 'round to see his friends. the pateroles would catch him and lash him a little and let him go. they never would whip him much. my mother's people were good to her. she never did have any complaint about them. "for amusement the slaves used to dance and go to balls. fiddle and dance! i never heard my father speak of any other type of amusement. "i don't remember what the old man said about freedom coming. right after the war, he farmed. he stayed right on with his master. he left there before i was born and moved up near pine bluff where i was born. the place my father was brought up on was near pine bluff too. it was about twenty miles from pine bluff. "i remember hearing him say that the ku klux klan used to come to see us at night. but father was always orderly and they never had no clue against him. he never was whipped by the ku klux. "my father never got any schooling. he never could read or write. he said that they treated him pretty fair though on the farms where he worked after freedom. as far as he could figure, they didn't cheat him. i never had any personal experience with the ku klux. i never did do any sharecropping. i am a shoemaker. i learned my trade from my father. my father was a shoemaker as well as a farmer. he used to tell me that he made shoes for the negroes and for the old master too in slavery times. "i have lived in little rock thirty years. i was born right down here in pine bluff like i told you. this is the biggest town--a little bigger than pine bluff. i run around on the railroad a great deal. so after a while i just come here to this town and made it my home." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: alice biggs holly grove, ark. age: "bout " "my mother come from kentucky and my father from virginia. that where they born and i born close to byihalia, mississippi. my father was louis anthony and mama name charlotte anthony. "grandma and her children was sold in a lump. they wasn't separated. grandpa was a waiter on the confederate side. he never come back. he died in pennsylvania; another man come back reported that. he was a colored waitin' man too. grandma been dead years now. "mama was a wash woman and a cook. they liked her. i don't remember my father; he went off with anthony. they lived close to nashville, tennessee. he never come back. mama lived at nashville a while. the master they had at the closin' of the war was good to grandma and mama. it was barnie hardy and old kiss, all i ever heard her called. they stayed on a while. they liked us. held run us off if he'd had any bother. "the ku klux never come bout barnie hardy's place. he told em at town not to bother his place. "i never wanted to vote. i don't know how. i am too old to try tricks new as that now. "honey, i been workinr in the field all my life. i'm what you call a country nigger. i is a widow--just me an my son in family. our home is fair. we got two hundred acres of land, one cow and five hogs--pigs and all. "the present conditions is kind of strange. with us it is just up-and-down-hill times. i ain't had no dealins with the young generation. course my son would tell you about em, but i can't. he goes out a heap more an i do. "i don't get no pension. i never signed up. i gets long best i can." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mandy billings w. th highland add., pine bluff, ark. age: "now i was born in . that was in slavery times. that wasn't yistiday was it? born in louisiana, in sparta--that was the county seat. "bill otts was my last owner. you see, how come me sold my mother was my grandfather's baby chile and his owner promised not to separate him nary time again. it was in the time of the old war. charles mclaughlin--that was my old master--he was my father and bill otts, he bought my mother, and she was sold on that account. old master charles' wife wouldn't 'low her to stay. i'm tellin' it just like they told it to me. "we stayed with bill otts till we was free, and after too. my grandfather had to steal me away. my stepfather had me made over to bill otts. you know they didn't have no sheriff in them days--had a provost marshal. "as near as i can come at it, miss, i was thirteen or fourteen. i know i was eighteen years and four days old when i married. that was in ' , wasn't it? ' ? well, i knowed i was strikin' it kinda close. "my white folks lived in town. when they bought my mother, miss katie took me in the house. my mother died durin' of the war--yes ma'am. "i member when the bloodhounds used to run em and tree em up. "yes'm, niggers used to run away in slavery times. some of em was treated so mean they couldn't help it. "yes ma'am, i've seen the ku klux. seen em takin' the niggers out and whip em and kick em around. i'm talkin' bout ku klux. i know bout the patrollers too. ku klux come since freedom but the patrollers was in slavery times. had to get a pass. i used to hear the niggers talkin' bout when the patrollers got after em and they was close to old master's field they'd jump over the fence and say, 'i'm at home now, don't you come in here.' "i farmed in louisiana after i was married, but since i been here i mostly washed and ironed. "when i worked for the white folks, i found em a cook cause i didn't like to be bound down so tight of a sunday. "i been treated pretty well. look like the hardest treatment i had was my grandfather's, jake nabors. look like he hated me cause i was white--and i couldn't help it. if he'd a done the right thing by me, he could of sent me to school. he had stepchillun and sent them to school, but he kep' me workin' and plowin'." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: jane birch, brinkley, arkansas age: "i was three years old when the yankees come through. i can't recollect a thing about them. ma told us children if we don't be quiet the ku kluck come take us clean off but i never seed none. when we be working she say if we don't work the grass out pretty soon the ku kluck be taking us out whooping us. so many of us she have to scare us up to get us to do right. there was fifteen children, nearly all girls. ma said she had good white folks. she was floy sellers. she belong to mistress mary sellers. she was a widow. had four boys and a girl. i think we lived in chester county, south carolina. i am darky to the bone. pa was black. all our family is black. my folks come to arkansas when i was so young i jes' can't tell nothing about it. we farmed. i lived with my husband forty years and never had a child. "black folks used to vote more than i believe they do now. the men used to feel big to vote. they voted but i don't know how. no ma'am, reckon i don't vote! "the times been changing since i was born and they going to keep changing. times is improving. that is all right. "i think the young generation is coming down to destruction. you can't believe a word they speak. i think they do get married some. they have a colored preacher and have jes' a witness or so at home. most of them marry at night. they fuss mongst theirselves and quit sometimes. i don't know much about young folks. you can't believe what they tell you. some work and some don't work. some of them will steal." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: beatrice black, biscoe. arkansas age: occupation: store and "eating joint" "i was born below the city pump here in biscoe. my husband is a twin and the youngest of thirteen children. his twin brother is living. they are fifty years old today (august , ). his mother lived back and forth with the twins. she died year before last. she was so good. she was sure good to me. she helped me raise my three children. i misses her till this very day. her name was dedonia black when she died. "she said master brought her, her father and mother and two sisters, martha and ida, from brownsville, tennessee at the commencement of the old war to memphis in a covered ox wagon, and from there on a ship to cavalry depot at de valla bluff. they was all sold. her father was sold and had to go to texas. her mother was sold and had to go back to tennessee, and the girls all sold in arkansas. master mann bought my mother-in-law (dedonia). she was eighteen years old. they sold them off on cavalry depot where the ship landed. they put her up to stand on a barrel and auctioned them off at public auction. "her father got with the soldiers in texas and went to war. he enlisted and when the war was over he come on hunt of my mother-in-law. he found her married and had three children. he had some money he made in the war and bought forty acres of land. it was school land (government land). she raised all her thirteen children there. they brought grandma back out here with them from tennessee. they all died and buried out here. my mother-in-law was married three times. she had a slavery husband named nathan moseby. after he died she married abe ware. then he died. she married mitchell black and he died long before she died. she was ninety-two years old when she died and could outdo me till not but a few years ago. her strength left her all at once. she lived on then a few years. "she always told me master mann's folks was very good to her. she said she never remembered getting a whooping. but then she was the best old thing i ever seen in my life. she was really good. "one story she tole more than others was: up at des arc country the yankees come and made them give up their something-to-eat. took and wasted together. drunk up their milk and it turning, (blinky--ed.). she'd laugh at that. they kept their groceries in holes in the ground. the yankees jumped on the colored folks to make them tell where was their provision. some of them had to tell where some of it was. they was scared. they didn't tell where it all was. "when they went to des arc and the gates was closed they had to wait till next day to get their provisions. they had to start early to get back out of the pickets before they closed." name of interviewer: beulah sherwood hagg name of ex-slave; boston blackwell age: residence: plum, north little rock story told by boston blackwell make yourself comfoble, miss. i can't see you much 'cause my eyes, they is dim. my voice, it kinder dim too. i knows my age, good. old miss, she told me when i got sold--"boss, you is --borned christmas. be sure to tell your new misses and she put you down in her book." my borned name was pruitt 'cause i got borned on robert pruitt's plantation in georgia,--franklin county, georgia. but blackwell, it my freed name. you see, miss, after my mammy got sold down to augusta--i wisht i could tell you the man what bought her, i ain't never seed him since,--i was sold to go to arkansas; jefferson county, arkansas. then was when old miss telled me i am . it was before the civil war i come here. the onliest auction of slaves i ever seed was in memphis, coming on to arkansas. i heerd a girl bid off for $ . she was about fifteen, i reckon. i heerd a woman--a breeding woman, bid off for $ . they always brought good money. i'm telling you, it was when we was coming from atlanta. do you want to hear how i runned away and jined the yankees? you know abraham lincoln 'claired freedom in ' , first day of january. in october ' , i runned away and went to pine bluff to get to the yankees. i was on the blackwell plantation south of pine bluff in ' . they was building a new house; i wanted to feel some putty in my hand. one early morning i clim a ladder to get a little chunk and the overseer man, he seed me. here he come, yelling me to get down; he gwine whip me 'cause i'se a thief, he say. he call a slave boy and tell him cut ten willer whips; he gwine wear every one out on me. when he's gone to eat breakfas', i runs to my cabin and tells my sister, "i'se leaving this here place for good." she cry and say, "overseer man, he kill you." i says, "he kill me anyhow." the young boy what cut the whips--he named jerry--he come along wif me, and we wade the stream for long piece. heerd the hounds a-howling, getting ready for to chase after us. then we hide in dark woods. it was cold, frosty weather. two days and two nights we traveled. that boy, he so cold and hungry, he want to fall out by the way, but i drug him on. when we gets to the yankee camp all our troubles was over. we gets all the contraband we could eat. was they more run-aways there? oh, lordy, yessum. hundreds, i reckon. yessum, the yankees feeds all them refugees on contraband. they made me a driver of a team in the quatamasters department. i was always keerful to do everything they telled me. they telled me i was free when i gets to the yankee camp, but i couldn't go outside much. yessum, iffen you could get to the yankee's camp you was free right now. that old story 'bout acres and a mule, it make me laugh. yessum, they sure did tell us that, but i never knowed any pusson which got it. the officers telled us we would all get slave pension. that just exactly what they tell. they sure did tell me i would get a passel (parcel) of ground to farm. nothing ever hatched out of that, neither. when i got to pine bluff i stayed contraband. when the battle come, captain manly carried me down to the battle ground and i stay there till fighting was over. i was a soldier that day. no'um, i didn't shoot no gun nor cannon. i carried water from the river for to put out the fire in the cotton bales what made the breas'works. every time the 'federates shoot, the cotton, it come on fire; so after the battle, they transfer me back to quartemaster for driver. captain dodridge was his name. i served in little rock under captain haskell. i was swored in for during the war (boston held up his right hand and repeated the words of allegiance). it was on the corner of main and markham street in little rock i was swored in. year of ' . i was feet, inches high. you says did i like living in the army? yes-sum, it was purty good. iffen you obeyed them yankee officers they treated you purty good, but iffen you didn't, they sure went rough on you. you says you wants to know how i live after soldiers all go away? well, firstes thing, i work on the railroad. they was just beginning to come here. i digged pits out, going along front of where the tracks was to go. how much i get? i get $ . a day. you axes me how it seem to earn money? lady, i felt like the richess man in the world! i boarded with a white fambly. always i was a watching for my slave pension to begin coming. 'fore i left the army my captain, he telled me to file. my file number, it is , , . after i keeped them papers for so many years, white and black folks bofe telled me it ain't never coming--my slave pension--and i reckon the chilren tored up the papers. lady, that number for me is filed in washington. iffen you go there, see can you get my pension. after the railroad i went steamboating. first one was a little one; they call her fort smith 'cause she go frum little rock to fort smith. it was funny, too, her captain was name smith. captain eugene smith was his name. he was good, but the mate was sure rough. what did i do on that boat? missy, was you ever on a river boat? lordy, they's plenty to do. never is no time for rest. load, onload, scrub. just you do whatever you is told to do and do it right now, and you'll keep outen trouble, on a steamboat, or a railroad, or in the army, or wherever you is. that's what i knows. yessum, i reckon they was right smart old masters what didn't want to let they slaves go after freedom. they hated to turn them loose. just let them work on. heap of them didn't know freedom come. i used to hear tell how the govmint had to send soldiers away down in the far back country to make them turn the slaves loose. i can't tell you how all them free niggers was living; i was too busy looking out for myself. heaps of them went to farming. they was share croppers. yessum, miss, them ku-kluxers was turrible,--what they done to people. oh, god, they was bad. they come sneaking up and runned you outen your house and take everything you had. they was rough on the women and chilren. people all wanted to stay close by where soldiers was. i sure knowed they was my friend. lady, lemme tell you the rest about when i runned away. after peace, i got with my sister. she's the onliest of all my people i ever seed again. she telled me she was skeered all that day, she couldn't work, she shake so bad. she heerd overseer man getting ready to chase me and jerry. he saddle his horse, take his gun and pistol, bofe. he gwine kill me en sight, but jerry, he say he bring him back, dead er alive, tied to his horse's tail. but he didn't get us, ha, ha, ha. yankees got us. now you wants to know about this voting business. i voted for genral grant. army men come around and registered you before voting time. it wasn't no trouble to vote them days; white and black all voted together. all you had to do was tell who you was vote for and they give you a colored ticket. all the men up had different colored tickets. iffen you're voting for grant, you get his color. it was easy. yes mam! gol 'er mighty. they was colored men in office, plenty. colored legislaturs, and colored circuit clerks, and colored county clerks. they sure was some big officers colored in them times. they was all my friends. this here used to be a good county, but i tell you it sure is tough now. i think it's wrong--exactly wrong that we can't vote now. the jim crow lay, it put us out. the constitution of the united states, it give us the right to vote; it made us citizens, it did. you just keeps on asking about me, lady. i ain't never been axed about myself in my _whole_ life! now you wants to know after railroading and steamboating what. they was still work the yankee army wanted done. the war had been gone for long time. all over every place was bodies buried. they was bringing them to little rock to put in govmint graveyard. they sent me all over the state to help bring them here. major forsythe was my quartemaster then. after that was done, they put me to work at st. john's hospital. the work i done there liked to ruin me for life. i cleaned out the water closets. after a while i took down sick from the work--the scent, you know--but i keep on till i get so for gone i can't stay on my feets no more. a misery got me in the chest, right here, and it been with me all through life; it with me now. i filed for a pension on this ailment. i never did get it. the govmint never took care of me like it did some soldiers. they said i was not a 'listed man; that i was a employed man, so i couldn't get no pension. but i filed, like they told me. i telled you my number, didnft i? , , , boston blackwell. i give my whole time to the govmint for many years. white and black bofe always telling me i should have a pension. i stood on the battlefield just like other soldiers. my number is in washington. major forsythe was the one what signed it, right in his office. i seed him write it. then what did i do? you always asking me that. i was low er long time. when i finally get up i went to farming right here in pulaski county. lordy, no, miss, i didn't buy no land. nothing to buy with. i went share cropping with a white man, col. baucum. you asking me what was the shares? worked on halvers. i done all the work and fed myself. no'um, i wasn't married yit. i took the rheumatiz in my legs, and got short winded. then i was good for nothing but picking cotton. i kept on with that till my eyes, they got so dim i couldn't see to pick the rows clean. heap o' times i needed medicine--heap o' times i needed lots of things i never could get. iffen i could of had some help when i been sick, i mought not be so no account now. my daughter has taked keer of me ever since i not been able to work no more. i never did live in no town; always been a country nigger. i always worked for white folks, nearly. never mixed up in big crowds of colored; stayed to myself. i never been arrested in my whole life; i never got jailed for nothing. what else you want to know, miss? about these days, and the young folks! well, i ain't saying about the young folks; but they--no, i wouldn't say. (he eyed a boy working with a saw.) well, i will say, they don't believe in hard work. iffen they can make a living easy, they will. in old days, i was young and didn't have nothing to worry about. these days you have to keep studying where you going to get enough to eat. interviewer: samuel s. tayler person interviewed: henry blake rear of scott street, little rock, arkansas age: , or more occupation: farming and junk, when able [hw: drove a "horsepower gin wagon"] "i was born march , , they tell me. i was born in arkansas right down here on tenth and spring streets in little rock. that was all woods then. we children had to go in at night. you could hear the wolves and the bears and things. we had to make a big fire at night to keep the wolves and varmints away. "my father was a skiffman. he used to cross the arkansas river in a ferry-boat. my father's name was doc blake. and my mother's name was hannah williams before she morried. "my father's mother's name was susie somethin'; i done forgot. that is too far back for me. my mother's mother was named susie--susie williams. "my father's master was named jim paty. my father was a slavery man. i was too. i used to drive a horsepower gin wagon in slavery time. that was at pastoria just this side of pine bluff--about three or four miles this side. paty had two places-one about four miles from pine bluff and the other about four miles from england on the river. "when i was driving that horsepower gin wagon. i was about seven or eight years old. there wasn't nothin' hard about it. just hitch the mules to one another's tail and drive them 'round and 'round. there wasn't no lines. just hitch them to one another's tail and tell them to git up. you'd pull a lever when you wanted them to stop. the mule wasn't hard to manage. "we ginned two or three bales of cotton a day. we ginned all the summer. it would be june before we got that cotton all ginned. cotton brought thirty-five or forty cents a pound then. "i was treated nicely. my father and mother were too. others were not treated so well. but you know how negroes is. they would slip off and go out. if they caught them, he would put them in a log hut they had for a jail. if you wanted to be with a woman, you would have to go to your boss man and ask him and he would let you go. "my daddy was sold for five hundred dollars--put on the block, up on a stump--they called it a block. jim paty sold him. i forget the name of the man he was sold to--watts, i think it was. "after slavery we had to get in before night too. if you didn't, ku klux would drive you in. they would come and visit you anyway. they had something on that they could pour a lot of water in. they would seem to be drinking the water and it would all be going in this thing. they was gittin' it to water the horses with, and when they got away from you they would stop and give it to the horses. when he got you good and scared he would drive on away. they would whip you if they would catch you out in the night time. "my daddy had a horse they couldn't catch. it would run right away from you. my daddy trained it so that it would run away from any one who would come near it. he would take me up on that horse and we would sail away. those ku klux couldn't catch him. they never did catch him. they caught many another one and whipped him. my daddy was a pretty mean man. he carried a gun and he had shot two or three men. those were bad times. i got scared to go out with him. i hated that business. but directly it got over with. it got over with when a lot of the ku klux was killed up. "in slavery time they would raise children just like you would raise colts to a mare or calves to a cow or pigs to a sow. it was just a business it was a bad thing. but it was better than the county farm. they didn't whip you if you worked. out there at the county farm, they bust you open. they bust you up till you can't work. there's a lot of people down at the state farm at cummins--that's where the farm is ain't it--that's raw and bloody. they wouldn't let you come down there and write no history. no lawd! you better not try it. one half the world don't know how the other half lives. i'll tell you one thing, if those catholics could get control there would be a good time all over this world. the catholics are good folks. "that gang that got after you if you let the sun go down while you were out--that's called the pateroles. some folks call 'em the ku klux. it was all the same old poor white trash. they kept up that business for about ten years after the war. they kept it up till folks began to kill up a lot of 'em. that's the only thing that stopped them. my daddy used to make his own bullets. "i've forgot who it is that told us that we was free. somebody come and told us we're free now. i done forgot who it was. "right after the war, my father farmed a while and after that he pulled a skiff. you know jim lawson's place. he stayed on it twenty years. he stayed at the ferguson place about ten years. they're adjoining places. he stayed at the churchill place. widow scott place, the bojean place. that's all. have you been down in argenta to the roundhouse? churchill's place runs way down to there. it wasn't nothing but farms in little rock then. the river road was the only one there at that time. it would take a day to cone down from clear lake with the cotton. you would start 'round about midnight and you would get to argenta at nine o'clock the next morning. the roads was always bad. "after freedom, we worked on shares a while. then we rented. when we worked on shares, we couldn't make nothing--just overalls and something to eat. half went to the other man and you would destroy your half if you weren't careful. a man that didn't know how to count would always lose. he might lose anyhow. they didn't give no itemized statement. no, you just had to take their word. they never give you no details. they just say you owe so much. no matter how good account you kept, you had to go by their account and now, brother, i'm tellin' you the truth about this. it's been that way for a long time. you had to take the white man's work on notes and everything. anything you wanted, you could git if you were a good hand. you could git anything you wanted as long as you worked. if you didn't make no money, that's all right; they would advance you more. but you better not leave him--you better not try to leave and get caught. they'd keep you in debt. they were sharp. christmas come, you could take up twenty dollars in somethin' to eat and much as you wanted in whiskey. you could buy a gallon of whiskey. anything that kept you a slave because he was always right and you were always wrong if there was difference. if there was an argument, he would get mad and there would be a shooting take place. "and you know how some negroes is. long as they could git somethin', they didn't care. you see, if the white man came out behind, he would feed you, let you have what you wanted. he'd just keep you on, help you get on your feet--that is, if you were a good hand. but if you weren't a good hand, he'd just let you have enough to keep you alive. a good hand could take care of forty or fifty acres of land and would have a large family. a good hand could git clothes, food, whiskey, whenever he wanted it. my father had nine children and took care of them. not all of them by one wife. he was married twice. he was married to one in slavery time and to another after the war. i was a child of the first one. i got a sister still living down here in galloway station that is mighty nigh ninety years old. no, she must be a hundred. her name is frances dobbins. when you git ready to go down there, i'll tell you how to find that place jus' like i told you how to fin' this one. galloway is only 'bout four miles from rose city. "i been married twice in my life. my first woman, she died. the second lady, she is still living. we dissolved friendship in . least-wise, i walked out and give her my home. i used to own a home at twenty-first and pulaski. "i belong to the baptist church at wrightsville. i used to belong to arch street. was a deacon there for about twelve years. but they had too much splittin' and goin' on and i got out. i'll tell you more sometime." interviewer's comment henry blake's age appears in excess of eighty. his idea of seventy-five is based on what someone told him. he is certain that he drove a "horsepower gin wagon" during "slavery times", and that he was seven or eight when he drove it. even if that were in ' , he would be at least eighty years old--seventy-three years since the war plus seven years of his life. his manner of narration would indicate that he drove earlier. the interview was held in a dark room, and for the first time in my life i took notes without seeing the paper on which i was writing. interviewer: mary d. eudgins person interviewed: miss adeline blakeley age: home: rock street, fayetteville, arkansas. there is no hint of elision in the speech of adeline blakeley, scarcely a trace of vernacular. all of her life her associations have been with white persons. she occupies a position, rare in post-slavery days, of negro servant, confidant and friend. after the death of mrs. hudgins, family intimates, wives of physicians, bankers' wives and other fayetteville dowagers continued periodically to come to see adeline. they came not in the spirit of lady bountifuls condescending to a hireling, but because they wanted to chat with an old time friend. interviewer's note. as told by: adeline blakeley "honey, look in the bible to get the date when i was born. we want to have it just right. yes, here's the place, read it to me. july , ? yes, i remember now, that's what they've always told me. i wanted to be sure, though. i was born in hickman county, tenn. and was about a year when they brought me to arkansas. my mother and her people had been bought by mr. john p. parks when they were just children--john and leanna and martha. i was the first little negro in the parks kitchen. from the first they made a pet out of me. i was little like a doll and they treated me like a plaything--spoiled me--rotten. after mr. parks came to arkansas he lived near what is now prarie grove, but what do you think it was called then--hog eye. later on they named it hillingsley for a man who settled there. we were two miles out on the wire road, the one the telegraph line came in on, honey. almost every conmunity had a 'wire road'. it was the custom to give a girl a slave when she was married. when miss parks became mrs. blakeley she moved to fayetteville and chose me to take with her. she said since i was only she could raise me as she wanted me to be. but i must have been a lot of trouble and after she had her baby she had to send me back to her father to grow up a little. for you might say she had two babies to take care of since i was too little to take care of hers. they sent a woman in my place. honey, when i got back, i was awful: i had been with the negroes down in the country and said 'hit' and 'hain't' and words like that. of course all the children in the house took it up from me. mrs. blakeley had to teach me to talk right. your aunt nora was born while i was away. i was too little to take full charge of her, but i could sit in a chair and hold her on my lap. mrs. blakeley taught her children at home. her teaching was almost all they had before they entered the university. when i was little i wanted to learn, learn all i could, but there was a law against teaching a slave to read and write. one woman--she was from the north did it anyway. but when folks can read and write its going to be found out. it was made pretty hard for that woman. after the war they tried to get me to learn, but i tossed my head and wouldn't let them teach me. i was about and thought i was grown and wouldn't need to know any more. mary, it sounds funny, but if i had a million dollars i would give it gladly to be able to read and write letters to my friends. i remember well when the war started. mr. blakeley, he was a cabinet maker and not very well, was not considered strong enough to go. but if the war had kept up much longer they would have called him. mr. parks didn't believe in seceding. he held out as long as it was safe to do so. if you didn't go with the popular side they called you 'abolitionist' or maybe 'submissionist'. but when arkansas did go over he was loyal. he had two sons and a son-in-law in the confederate army. one fought at richmond and one was killed at gettysburg. the little blakeley boy had always liked to play with the american flag. he'd march with it and carry it out on the porch and hang it up. but after the trouble began to brew his mother told him he would have to stay in the house when he played with the flag. even then somebody saw him and scolded him and said 'either burn it or wash it.' the child thought they meant it and he tried to wash it. dyes weren't so good in those days and it ran terribly. it was the awfulest thing you ever saw. fayetteville suffered all thru the war. you see we were not very far from the dividing line and both armies were about here a lot. the federals were in charge most of the time. they had a post here, set up breast works and fortified the square. the court house was in the middle of it then. it was funny that there wasn't more real fighting about here. there were several battles but they were more like skirmishes--just a few men killed each time. they were terrible just the same. at first they buried the union soldiers where the confederate cemetery is now. the southerners were placed just anywhere. later on they moved the northern caskets over to where the federal cemetery is now and they took up the southern men when they knew where to find them and placed them over on the hill where they are today. once an officer came into our home and liked a table he saw, so he took it. mrs. blakeley followed his horse as far as she could pleading with him to give it back because her husband had made it. the next day a neighbor returned it. he hod found it in the road and recognized it. the man who stole it had been killed and dropped it as he fell. just before the battle of prairie grove the federal men came thru. some officers stopped and wanted us to cook for them. paid us well, too. one man took little nora on his lap and almost cried. he said she reminded him of his own little girl he'd maybe never see again. he gave her a cute little ivory handled pen knife. he asked mrs. blakeley if he couldn't leave his pistols with her until he came back thru fayetteville. she told him it was asking too much, what would happen to her and her family if they found those weapons in her possession? but he argued that it was only for a few days. she hid them under a tub in the basement and after waiting a year gave them to her brother when he came through. the yankees met the southerners at prairie grove. the shots sounded just like popcorn from here in fayetteville. we always thought the man got killed there. the soldiers camped all around everywhere. lots of them were in tents and some of the officers were in houses. they didn't burn the college--where miss sawyer had taught, you know. the officers used it for their living quarters. they built barracks for the men of upright logs. see that building across the street. it's been lots of things, a livery stable, veterinary barn, apartment house. but it was one of the oldest buildings in arkansas. they've kept on remodeling it. the yankees made a commissary out of it. later on they moved the food up on the square and used it for a hospital. i can remember lots of times seeing the feet of dead men sticking out of the windows. your aunt nora's mother saved that building from being burned. how did it happen? well you see both sides were firing buildings--the confederates to keep the yankees from getting them, and the other way about. but the southerners did most of the burning. mrs. blakeley's little boy was sick with fever. she and a friend went up, because they feared burnings. they sat there almost all night. parties of men would come along and they would plead with them. one sat in one doorway and the other in the building next. mrs. blakely was a southerner, the other woman a northerner. between them they kept the buildings from being burned: saved their own homes thereby and possibly the life of the little sick boy. it was like that in fayetteville. there were so many folks on both sides and they lived so close together that they got to know one another and were friends. things like this would happen. one day a northern officer came over to our house to talk to his wife who was visiting. he said he would be away all day. he was to go down to prarie grove to get 'old man parks, dead or alive'. not until he was on his way did somebody tell him that he was talking about the father of his wife's hostess. next day he came over to apologize. said he never would have made such a cruel remark if he had known. but he didn't find his man. as the officers went in the front door, mr. parks went out of the back and the women surrounded him until he got away. there was another time when the north and south took refuge together. during the war even the little children were taught to listen for bugle calls and know what they meant. we had to know--and how to act when we heard them. one day, i remember we were to have peas for dinner, with ham hock and corn bread. i was hungry that day and everything smelled so good. but just as the peas were part of them out of the pot and in a dish on the table the signal came 'to arms'. cannon followed almost immediately. we all ran for the cellar, leaving the food as it was. the cellar was dug out only a little way down. it had been raining and snowing all day--melted as it fell. it was about noon and the seep water had filled a pool in the middle of the cellar. they placed a tub in the water and it floated like a little boat. they put nora and a little girl who was visiting her, and me in it. the grown folks clung to the damp sides of the cellar floor and wall. after the worst bombing was over we heard someone upstairs in the house calling. it was the wife of a northern officer. he had gotten away so fast he had forgotten his pistols. she had tried to follow him, but the shots had frightened her. we called to her to come to the basement. she came, but in trying to climb up the slick sides she slid down and almost into our tub. she looked so funny with her big fat legs that i giggled. mrs. blakeley slapped me--it was one of the few times she struck me. i was glad she did, for i would have laughed out. and it didn't do to laugh at northerners. it wes night before the fighting was over. an old man who was in the basement with us went upstairs because he heard someone groan. sure enough a wounded man had dragged himself to our door. he laid the man, almost fainting down before the fireplace. it was all he could do. the man died. when we finally came up there wasn't a pea, nor a bit of ham, not a crum of cornbread. floaters had cleaned the pot until it shone. we had a terrible time getting along during those years. i don't believe we could have done it except for the northern soldiers. you might say the confederacy was kept up by private subscription, but the yankees had the whole federal government back of them. they had good rations which were issued uncooked. they could get them prepared anywhere they liked. we were good cooks so that is the way we got our food--preparing it for soldiers and eating it with them. they had quite a variety and a lot of everything. they were given bacon and coffee and sugar and flour and beans and somthing they called 'mixed vegetables'. those beans were little and sweet--not like the big ones we have today. the mixed vegetables were liked by lots of folks--i didn't care for them. everything was ground up together and then dried. you had to soak it like dried peas before cooking. after the war they came to mrs. blakeley, the soldiers did, and accused her of keeping me against my will. i told them that i stayed because i wanted to, the blakeleys were my people. they let me alone, the whites did, but the negroes didn't like it. they tried to fight me and called me names. there was a well near the square from which everybody got water. between it and our house was a negro cabin. the little negroes would rock me. i stood it as long as i could. then i told mrs. blakeley. she said to get some rocks in my bucket and if they rocked me to heave back. i was a good shot and they ran. their mother came to mrs. blakeley to complain, but she told her after hearing her thru that i had stood all i could and the only reason i hadn't been seriously hurt was because her children weren't good shots. they never bothered me again. it was hard after the war. the federals stayed on for a long time. fences were down, houses were burned, stock was gone, but we got along somehow. when nora blakeley was a lady was teaching a subscription school in the hall across the street--the same hall mrs. blakely had saved from burning. she wanted nora to teach for her. so, child that she was, she went over and pretty soon she was teaching up to the fourth grade. i went over every morning and built a fire for her before she arrived. that fall she went over to the university, but the next year she had to stay out to earn money. she wanted to finish so badly that we decided to take boarders. they would come to us from way over on the campus. there were always lots more who wanted to stay than we could take. we bought silver and dishes just as we could pay for them, and we added to the house in the summer time. i used to cook their breakfasts and dinners and pack baskets of lunch for them to take over to the campus. we had lots of interesting people with us. one was jeff davis--later he was governor and then senator. he and a creek indian boy named sam rice were great friends. there were lots of indians in school at the university then. they didn't have so many indian schools and tribes would make up money and send a bright boy here. ten years after she graduated from the university nora married harvey m. hudgins. they moved to hot springs and finally ran a hotel. it burned the night of washington's birthday in . it was terrible, we saved nothing but the night clothes we were in. next morning it was worse for we saw small pox flags all over town. our friends came to our rescue and gave us clothes and we went with friends out into the country to escape the epidemic. there were three or four families in one little house. it was crowded, but we were all friends so it was nice after all. about ten years before mr. hudgins had built a building in fayetteville. they used the second floor for an opera house. when we came back here after the fire we took it over to run. mr. hudgins had that and all the billboards in town. we saw all the shows. several years later the twins, helen and wade were born. i always went to see the shows and took them with me. folks watched them more than the shows. i kept them neat and clean and they were so cute. we saw the circuses too. i remember once barnum and bailey were coming to fort smith. we were going down. i didn't tell anybody, but i put $ in my purse. i made money then. mr. hudgins got me a cow and i sold milk and butter and kept all i made. why the first evening dress helen had and the first long pants bud (wade) had i bought. well, we were going down to fort smith, but bud got sick and we couldn't go. you know, mary, it seemed so queer. when helen and i went to california, we all saw the same circus together. yes, i've been to california with her twice. whenever the train would stop she would come from the pullman to the coach where the colored persons had to ride to see about me. we went out to visit sister (bess hudgins clayton) and bud. while we were there, barnum and bailey came to los angeles. it seemed so funny. there we were--away out in california--all the children grown up and off to themselves. there we were--all of us--seeing the show we had planned to see way back in arkansas, years and years before. you know, honey, that doll ann has--she got it for her seventh birthday (elisabeth ann wiggans--daughter of helen hudgins wiggans). it was restrung for her, and was once before for her mother. but it's the same doll baby dean (dean hudgins) carried out of that fire in hot springs in . everybody loves ann. she makes the fifth generation i've cared for. when helen is going out she brings ann down here or i go up there. it's usually down here tho. because since we turned the old home into apartments i take care of them, and it's best for me to be here most of the time. all the people in the apartments are mighty nice to me. often for days at a time they bring me so much to eat that i don't have to cook for myself. a boy going to the university has a room here and tends to the furnace. he's a nice boy. i like him. my life's been a full one, honey, and an interesting one. i can't really say which part of it is best. i can't decide whether it's a better world now or then. i've had lots of hard work, and lots of friends, lots of fun and i've gone lots of places. life is interesting." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: vera roy bobo (mulatto, almost white) holly grove, arkansas age: "my parents come from macon, georgia. my mother was margaret cobb. her people were owned by the cobbs. they reared her. she was a house girl and a seamstress. she sewed for both white and black. she was light color. "my father was st. roy holmes. he was a c.m.e. preacher in georgia and later in arkansas. he came on the train to forrest city, . he crossed the mississippi river on a ferry boat. later he preached at wynne. he was light color. "i never heard them say very much about slavery. this was their own home. "my husband's father was the son of a white man also--randall bobo. he used to visit us from bobo, mississippi. the bobo a owned that town and were considered rich people. my husband was some darker and was born at indian bay, arkansas. he was william bobo. i never knew him till two months before i married him. we had a home wedding and a wedding supper in this house." (this may be continued) interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: liddie boechus, (second interview) madison, arkansas age: "i was born in west point, mississippi. my own dear mother's owner was pool. his wife was mistress patty pool. old man pool raised our set. he was an old soldier, i think. he was old when i came to know him. "my own papa's pa was smith. after he came back from the civil war he took back his smith name. he changed it back from pool to smith. "i was a small child when my own dear mother died. my stepmother had some children of her own, so papa hired me out by the year to nurse for my board and clothes. my stepmother didn't care for me right. white folks raised me. "i married when i was fifteen years old to a man twenty years old or more. white folks was good to me but i didn't have no sense. i lef' 'em. i married too young. i lived wid him little over twelve years, and i had twelve children by him. then i married a preacher. we had two more children. my first husband was trifling. i ploughed, hoed, split wood to raise my babies. "my daughter come from louisiana to stay with me last winter when i was sick. i got eight dollars, now i gets six dollars from the welfare. my daughter here now. "i went to one white teacher a few days--miss perkins. i never got to go enough to learn. i took up reading and writing from my children. i write mighty poor i tell you. "i used to be a midwife and got ten dollars a case. they won't pay off now. i do a little of that work, but i don't get nothing for it. they have a doctor or won't pay. "my husband was a good man. he was a preacher. i'm a baptist. "i don't know what to think about young folks. every feller is for his own self. times is hard with old folks. i had a stroke they said. this new generation ain't got no strength. i think it is because they set around so much. what would a heap of them do? a long day's work in the field would kill some of them. it would! some folks don't work 'nough to be healthy. i don't know, but though, i really believes education and automobiles is the whole cause." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: maggie (bunny) bond, madison, arkansas age: well up in 's "i was born at magnolia, north carolina. lou nash named me maggie after my mistress. that was her name. they had a rabbit they called bunny. it died. they started calling me bunny. our old mistress was a mallory from virginia. she was the old head of all these at forrest city. (a big family of people are descendants at forrest city.) school during the war "mrs. eddy williams said to my mother, 'let her go to school and play with the children.' i was young. i don't know how old i was. i was washed, my hair combed, and clean dresses put on me. i went to school four or five days. i set by different ones. they used slates. it was a log schoolhouse. it had a platform the teacher sat on. they preached in it on sunday. where mt. vernon cemetery now stands. the teacher was mrs. mccallis. she rode horseback from out of the bottoms. the families of children that come there were: mallorys, izards, nashs, dawsons, kittrells, and pruitts. "there was a big oak tree in front. the boys played on one side, the girls on the other. cake and pie was a fortune then. if the children had any they would give me part of it. times was so hard then people had plain victuals every day at school. "the children tried to learn me at recess under the tree. they used mcguffey's and blue back books. one day i said out loud, 'i want to go home.' the children all laughed. one day i went to sleep and the teacher sent me out doors to play. mrs. mccallis said, 'bunny, you mus'n't talk out loud in school.' i was nodding one day. the teacher woke me up. she wrapped her long switch across the table. she sent me to play. the house set up on high blocks. i got under it and found some doodle holes. mrs. mccallis come to the door and said, 'bunny, don't call so loud. you must keep quiet.' i would say: 'doodle, doodle, your house on fire. come get some bread and butter.' they would come up. "after the war i had a white lady teacher from the north. i went a little bit to colored school but i didn't care about books. i learned to sew for my dolls. the children would give me a doll all along. "the happiest year of my whole life was the first year of my married life. i hardly had a change of clothes. i had lots of friends. i went to the field with scott. i pressed cotton with two horses, one going around and the other coming. scott could go upstairs in the gin and look over at us. we had two young cows. they had to be three years old then before they were any service. i fed hogs. i couldn't cook but i learned. i had been a house girl and nurse. "i was nursing for mrs. pierce at goodwin. i wanted to go home. she didn't want me to leave. i wouldn't tell her why. she said, 'i speck you going to get married.' she gave me a nice white silk dress. mrs. drennand made it. my owner, miss leila nash, lend me one of her chemisette, a corset cover, and a dress had ruffles around the bottom. it was wide. she never married. i borrowed my veil from a colored woman that had used it. mr. rollwage (dead now but was a lawyer at forrest city) gave scott a tie and white vest and lend him his watch and chain to be married in. they was friends. miss leila made my cake. she wanted my gold band ring to go in it. i wouldn't let her have it for that. not my ring! she put a dime in it. miss maggie barrow and mrs. maggie hatcher made two baskets full of maple biscuits for my wedding. they was the best cake. made in big layers and cut and iced. two laundry baskets full to the brim." she showed us a white cedar three-gallon churn, brass hoops hold the staves in place, fifty-seven years old and a castor with seven cruits patented december , . it was a silver castor and was fixed to ring for the meal. she showed us the place under a cedar tree where there are four unmarked graves--mr. and mrs. mcmurray and their son and daughter and one niece. the graves are being ploughed over now. "mrs. murray's son gave her five hundred dollars. she hid it. after she died no one knew where to find it." scott bond bought the place. bunny was fixing the hearth (she showed us the very spot) brick and found a brick. dora threw it out. the can could never be found and soon dora went home near chattanooga, tennessee. dora was a negro servant in the bond home. it seems the money was in the old can that bunny found but thought it was just a prop for the brick. maggie (bunny) bond has given two of her white friends coffins. one was to a man and two years ago one was to a woman, mrs. evans' daughter. she wanted to do something, the nicest thing she could do for them, for they had been good to her. people who raised them and had owned them. they gratefully accepted her present. in her life she has given beautiful and expensive wedding preaents to her white friends who raised her and owned her. she told us about giving one and someone else said she gave two. theo bond's wife said this about the second one. the yankees passed along in front of the scott bond home from hunter, arkansas to madison, arkansas. it was an old military road. the yankees burnt up mt. vernon, arkansas. madison was a big town but it overflowed so bad. there were pretty homes at madison. levies were not known, so the courthouse was moved to forrest city. yankees camped at madison. a lot of them died there. a cemetery was made in sight of the scott bond yard. the markings were white and black letters and the pailings were white with black pointed tips. they were moved to the north. madison grew to be large because it was on a river. interviewer's comment maggie (bunny) bond is eight-ninth white. interviewer: thomas elmore lucy person interviewed: caroline bonds russellville, arkansas age: "what's all dis info'mation you askin' about goin' to be for? will it help us along any or make times any better? all right, then. my name's caroline bonds. i don't know jist exactly when i was born, but i think it was on de twentieth of march about--about--yes, in , in anderson county, north carolina. "so you was a 'tarheel' too? bless my soul! "my old master was named hubbard, and dat was my name at first. my parents belonged to marse hubbard and worked on his big plantation till dey was freed. "i was too little to remember much about what happened after de war. my folks moved to arkansas county, in arkansas, soon after de war and lived down dere a long time. "i joined de missionary baptis' church when i was fifteen and has belonged to it ever' since. "no sir, i never got in de habit of votin' and never did vote, never thought it was necessary." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: rev. frank t. boone w. seventeenth street, little rock, arkansas age: [hw: free colonies] "i was born in nansemond county, virginia on my father's place near the center of the county. i was born free. we were members of the colonies. you know there were what is known as free colonies. they were negroes that had always been free. the first landing of the negroes in america, they claimed, formed a colony. the negro men who came over, it is said, could buy their freedom and a number of them did. "but i didn't become free that way. my ancestors were a white man and an indian woman. he was my great-grandfather. none of my family have been slaves as far back as i know. "there was one set of white people in virginia called quakers. their rule was to free all slaves at the age of twenty-one. so we got some free negroes under that rule. my mother who was a negro woman was freed under this rule. my father was always free. "my grandmother on my father's side owned slaves. the law was that colored people could own slaves but they were not allowed to buy them. i don't know how many slaves my grandmother owned. i didn't know they were slaves until the war was over. i saw the colored people living in the little houses on the place but i didn't know they was slaves. "one morning my grandmother went down to the quarters and when she came back she said to my aunt, 'well, the slaves left last night.' and that was the first i knew of their being slaves. "my father's name was frank boone. i was named for him. my mother's name was phoebe chalk. i don't know who her mother and father were. she said that her mother died when she was a child. she was raised by quaker people. i presume that her mother belonged to these quaker people. "on our place no grown person was ever whipped. they was just like one family. they called grandmother's house the big house. they farmed. they didn't raise cotton though. they raised corn, peas, wheat, potatoes, and all things for the table. hogs, cows, and all such like was raised. i never saw a pound of meat or a peck of flour or a bucket of lard or anything like that bought. we rendered our own lard, pickled our own fish, smoked our own meat and cured it, ground our own sausage, ground our own flour and meal from our own wheat and corn we raised on our place, spun and wove our own cloth. the first suit of clothes i ever wore, my mother spun the cotton and wool, wove the cloth and made the clothes. it was a mixed steel gray suit. she dyed the thread so as to get the pattern. one loom carried the black thread through and the other carried the white thread to weave the cloth into the mixed pattern. "i don't know how large our place was. maybe it was about a hundred acres. every one that married out of the family had a home. they called it a free negro colony. nothing but negroes in it. "my father volunteered and went to the army in . he served with the yankees. you know negroes didn't fight in the confederate armies. they was in the armies, but they were servants. my father enrolled as a soldier. i think it was in company f. i don't know the regiment or the division. he was a sergeant last time i saw him. i remember that well, i remember the stripes on his arm. he was mustered out in galveston, texas, in . "the house i was born in was a log house, sealed inside. the cracks were chinked with dirt and mud, and it was weather boarded on the outside. you couldn't tell it was a log house. it had two rooms. in them times you didn't cook in the house you lived in. you had a kitchen built off from the house you lived in just like you have servant quarters now. you went across the yard to do your cooking. the smokehouse was off by itself. milk was off by itself too. the dairy house was where you kept the flour and sugar and preserves and fruit and pickles and all those kind of things. no food was kept in the house. the milk house had shelves all up in it and when you milked the cows the pans and bowls and crocks were put up on the shelves. where it was possible the milk house was built on a branch or spring where you could get plenty of cold water. you didn't milk in the milk house. you milked in the cow pen right out in the weather. then you carried it down to the milk house and strained it. it was poured out in vessels. when the cream rose it was skimmed off to churn for butter. "feed for the stock was kept in the corn crib. we would call it a barn now. that barn was for corn and oft'times we had overhead a place where we kept fodder. bins were kept in the barn for wheat and peas. slaves on other places "i seen the slaves outside the colonies. i was little and didn't pay any attention to them. slaves would run away. they had a class of white people known as patrollers. they would catch the slaves and whip them. i never saw that done. i heard them talking about it. i was only a child and never got a chance to see the slaves on the places of other people, but just heard the folks talking about them. within the yankee lines "when the war broke out, the free colored people became fearful. there was a great deal of stuff taken away from them by the confederate soldiers. they moved into the yankee lines for protection. my family moved also. they lost live stock and feed. they lost only one horse and then they came back home. i can see that old horse right now. he was a sorrel horse, with a spot in his forehead, and his name was john. my father was inside the yankee lines when he volunteered for the service. i don't know how much he got or anything about it except that i know the yankees were holding portsmouth, norfolk, hampton roads, and all that country. expectations of the slaves "i could hear my mother and uncle talk about what the slaves expected. i know they was expecting to get something. they weren't supposed to be turned out like wild animals like they were. i think it was forty acres and a mule. i am not sure but i know they expected something to be settled on them. what they got "if any of them got anything in virginia, i don't know anything about it. they might have been some slaves that did get something--just like they was here in arkansas. "old man wilfong, when he freed andy wilfong in bradley county, arkansas, gave andy plenty. he did get forty acres of land. that is right down here out from warren. wilfong owned that land and a heap more when he died. he hasn't been dead more than six or seven years. i pastored him in and . there were others who expected to get something, but i don't know any others that got it. land was cheap then. andy bought land at twenty-five and fifty cents an acre, and sold the timber off of it at the rate of one thousand dollars for each forty acres. he bought hundreds of acres. he owned a section and a section and one-half of land when he was my member. he had seven boys and two girls and he gave them all forty acres apiece when they married. then he sold the timber off of four forties. whenever a boy or girl was married he'd give him a house. he'd tell him to go out and pick himself out a place. "he sold one hundred and sixty acres of timber for four thousand dollars, but if he had kept it for two years longer, he would have got ten thousand dollars for it. the bradley lumber company went in there and cut the timber all through. "wilfong's master's name was andrew wilfong, same as andy's. his master came from georgia, but he was living in arkansas when freedom came. later on andy bought the farm his master was living on when freedom came. his master was then dead. right after the war "my mother came back home and we went on farming just like we did before, raising stuff to eat. you know i can't remember much that they did before the war but i can remember what they did during the war and after the war,--when they came back home. my folks still own the old place but i have been away from there sixty-one years. a whole generation has been raised up and died since i left. "i came out with one of my cousins and went to georgia (du pont) following turpentine work. it was turpentine farming. you could cut a hole in the tree known as the box. it will hold a quart. rosin runs out of that tree into the box. once a week, they go by and chip a tree to keep the rosin running. then the dippers dip the rosin out and put it in barrels. them barrels is hauled to the still. then it is distilled just like whiskey would be. the evaporation of it makes turpentine; the rosin is barreled and shipped to make glass. the turpentine is barreled and sold. i have dipped thousands of gallons of turpentine. "i came to south carolina in and married. i stayed there seven years and came to arkansas in . i came right to north little rock and then moved out into the country around lonoke county,--on a farm. i farmed there for five years. then i went to pastoring. i started pastoring one year before i quit making cotton. i entered the ministry in and continued in the active service until november . i put in forty-five years in the active ministry. schooling "i first went to school at a little log school in suffolk, virginia. from there i went to hampton, virginia. i got my theological training in shorter college under dr. t.h. jackson. ku klux "i never had any experience with the ku klux klan. i seen white men riding horses and my mother said they was ku kluxes, but they never bothered us as i remember. they had two sets of white folks like that. the patrollers were before and during the war and the ku klux klan came after the war. i can't remember how the ku klux i saw were dressed. the patrollers i remember. they would just be three or four white men riding in bunches. nat turner rebellion "i have heard the 'nat turner rebellion' spoken of, but i don't know what was said. i think the old people called it the 'nat turner war.' reconstruction days "lawyer whipper was one of the best criminal lawyers in the state. he was a negro. the republican party had the state then and the negroes were strong. robert small was a noted politician and was elected to go to congress twice. the last time he ran, he was elected but had a hard fight. the election was so close it was contested but small won out. he was the last nigger congressman. i heard that there were one or two more, but i don't remember them. "when i first went to south carolina, them niggers was bad. they organized. they used to have an association known as the union laborers, i think. the organization was like the fraternal order. i don't know's they ever had any trouble but they were always in readiness to protect themselves if any conflict arose. it was a secret order carried on just like any other fraternal order. they had distress calls. every member has an old horn which he blew in time of trouble. i think that sane kind of organization or something like it was active here when i came. the eagles (a big family of white people in lonoke county) had a fight with members of it once and some of the eagles were killed a year or two before i came to this state. voting and political activities "i voted in south carolina, but i wasn't old enough to vote in georgia. however, i stumped taliaferro county for garfield when i was in georgia. i lived in a little town by the name of mccray. the town i was in, they had never had more than fifteen or twenty republican votes polled. but i polled between two hundred and three hundred votes. i was one of the regular speakers. the tickets were in my care too. you see, they had tickets in them days and not the long ballots. they didn't have long ballots like they have now. the tickets were sent to me and i took care of them until the election. in the campaign i was regularly employed through the republican campaign committee managers. "according to preparation and conditions there were less corruption then than there is now. in them days, they had to learn the tricks. but now they know them. now you find the man and he already knows what to do. songs "back in that period, nearly all the songs the negro sang considerably were the spirituals: 'i'm going down to jordan,' 'roll jordan roll.'" interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: j.f. boone izard, little rock, arkansas age: [hw: a union veteran] "my father's name was arthur boone and my mother's name was eliza boone, i am goin' to tell you about my father. now be sure you put down there that this is arthur boone's son. i am j.f. boone, and i am goin' to tell you about my father, arthur boone. "my father's old master was henry boone. my mother came from virginia--north virginia--and my father came from north carolina. the boones bought them. i have heard that my father, arthur boone, was bought by the boones. they wasn't his first masters. i have heard my father say that it was more than a thousand dollars they paid for him. "he said that they used to put up niggers on the block and auction them off. they auctioned off niggers accordin' to the breed of them. like they auction off dogs and horses. the better the breed, the more they'd pay. my father was in the first-class rating as a good healthy negro and those kind sold for good money. i have heard him say that niggers sometimes brought as high as five thousand dollars. "my father don't know much about his first boss man. but the boones were very good to them. they got biscuits once a week. the overseer was pretty cruel to them in a way. my father has seen them whipped till they couldn't stand up and then salt and things that hurt poured in their wounds. my father said that he seen that done; i don't know whether it was his boss man or the overseer that done it. "my father said that they breeded good niggers--stud 'em like horses and cattle. good healthy man and woman that would breed fast, they would keep stalled up. wouldn't let them get out and work. keep them to raise young niggers from. i don't know for certain that my father was used that way or not. i don't suppose he would have told me that, but he was a mighty fine man and he sold for a lot of money. the slaves weren't to blame for that. "my father said that in about two or three months after the war ended, his young master told them that they were free. they came home from the war about that time. he told them that they could continue living on with them or that they could go to some one else if they wanted to 'cause they were free and there wasn't any more slavery. "i was born after slavery. peace was declared in , wasn't it? when the war ended i don't know where my father was living, but i was bred and born in woodruff near augusta in arkansas. all the booneses were there when i knew anything about it. they owned hundreds and hundreds of acres of ground. i was born on old captain boone's farm. "my father was always a farmer. he farmed till he died. they were supposed to give him a pension, but he never did get it. they wrote to us once or twice and asked for his number and things like that, but they never did do nothing. you see he fit in the civil war. wait a minute. we had his old gun for years. my oldest brother had that gun. he kept that gun and them old blue uniforms with big brass buttons. my old master had a horn he blowed to call the slaves with, and my brother had that too. he kept them things as particular as you would keep victuals. "yes, my father fit in the civil war. i have seen his war clothes as many times as you have hairs on your head i reckon. he had his old sword and all. they had a hard battle down in mississippi once he told me. our house got burnt up and we lost his honorable discharge. but he was legally discharged. but he didn't git nothin' for it, and we didn't neither. "my father was whipped by the pateroles several times. they run him and whipped him. my daddy slipped out many a time. but they never caught him when he slipped out. they never whipped him for slippin' out. that was during the time he was a slave. the slaves wasn't allowed to go from one master to another without a pass. my father said that sometimes, his young master would play a joke on him. my father couldn't read. his young master would give him a pass and the pass would say, 'whip arthur boone's --- and pass him out. when he comes back, whip his --- again and pass him back.' his young master called hisself playin' a joke on him. they wouldn't hit him more than half a dozen licks, but they would make him take his pants down and they would give them to him jus' where the pass said. they wouldn't hurt him much. it was more devilment than anything else. he would say, 'whut you hittin' me for when i got a pass?' and they would say, 'yes, you got a pass, but it says whip your ---.' and they would show it to him, and then they would say, 'you'll git the res' when you come back.' my father couldn't read nothin' else, but that's one word he learnt to read right well. "my father was quite a young man in his day. he died in . he was just fifty-six years old. i'm older now than he was when he died. my occupation when i was well was janitor. i have been sick now for three years and ain't done nothin' in all that time. if it wasn't for my wife, i don't know whut i would do. "i was born in , on december the eighth, and i am sixty-six years old now. that is, i will be if the lord lets me live till december the eighth, this year. "now whose story are you saying this is? you say this is the story of arthur boone, father of j.f. boone? well, that's all right; but you better mention that j.f. boone is arthur boone's son. i rent this house from mr. lindeman. he has the drug store right there. if anybody comes lookin' for me, i might be moved, but mr. lindeman will still be there." interviewer's comment if you have read this interview hastily and have missed the patroller joke on page three, turn back and read it now. the interviewer considers it the choicest thing in the story. that and the story of an unpensioned union veteran and the insistence on the word "son" seemed to me to set this story off as a little out of the ordinary. interviewer: mrs. annie l. lacotts person interviewed: jonas boone, st, charles. arkansas age: most any day in st. charles you can see an old negro man coming down the street with a small sack made of bed ticking hanging shot-pouch fashion from his shoulder. this is old uncle jonas boone who by the aid of his heavy cane walks to town and makes the round of his white folks homes to be given some old shoes, clothes, or possibly a mess of greens or some sweet potatoes--in fact whatever he may find. "jonas, can you remember anything about the war or slavery time?" "yes mam i was a great big boy when the slaves were sot free." "do you know how old you are?" "yes mam i will be years old on march th. i was born in mississippi at cornerville. my mother belonged to mr. l.d. hewitt's wife. she didn't have many slaves--just my parents and my two uncles and their families. my daddy and two uncles went to the war but our mistress' husband mr. hewitt was too old to go. i guess my daddy was killed in de war, for he never come home when my uncles did. we lived here in arkansas close to st. charles. our mistress was good to her slaves but when they were free her husband had got himself drowned in big lagrue when de water was high all over the bottoms and low ground; he was trying to cross in a boat, what you call a dug out. you know it's a big log scooped out till it floats like a boat. then after that our mistress wanted to go back to her old home in mississippi and couldn't take us with her cause she didn't have any money, so we stayed here. my mammy cried days and nights when she knew her mistress was going to leave her here in arkansas. we moved down on de schute and worked for mr. mack price. you know he was mr. arthur's and miss joe's father." "jonas, if your owners were hewitts why is your name boone?" "well you see, miss, my daddy's daddy belonged to mr. daniel boone, mr. john boone's and miss mary black's grandpa, and i was named boone for him, my granddaddy. i been married twice. my last wife owns her home out close to de church west of st. charles. i haven't been able to work any for over two years but my wife makes us a living. she's or years old and a good worker and a good woman. i've been all de time wanting some of this help other folks been getting but dey won't give me nothing. the woman what goes to your house to see if you needs relief told me i was better off den most folks an' of course i know i'd rather have my wife and home than have to be like lots of dese niggers who's old and can't work and got nothing but what de government give 'em." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: john bowdry, clarendon, arkansas age: "i was born at baldwyn, mississippi not for from corinth. when my mother was last seen she was going away with a bunch of yankees. i don't know what it was. she was a dark woman. pa was light. i was born in . i was left when i was two or three months old. i never seen no pa. they left me with my uncle what raised me. he was a slave but too young to go to war. his master was named porter. master stevenson had sold him. he liked porter the best. he took the name of stanfield porter at freedom. porters had a ordinary farm. he wasn't rich. he had a few slaves. stevenson had a lot of slaves. grandfather was in charleston, south carolina. him and my uncle corresponded. my uncle learnet to read and write but i guess somebody done his writing for him at the other end. "my uncle stanfield seen a heap of the war. he seen them fight, come by in droves a mile long. they wasted their feed and living too. "at freedom master porter told them about it and he lived on there a few years till i come into recollection. i found out about my pa and mother. they had three sets of children in the house. they was better to them. all of them got better treatment 'en i did. one day i left. i'd been making up my mind to leave. i was thirteen years old. scared of everything. i walked twenty miles to middleton, tennessee. i slept at the state line at some stranger's but at black folks' house. i walked all day two days. i got a job at some white folks good as my parents. his name wae j.d. palmer. he was a big farmer. i slept in a servant's house and et in his own kitchen. he sont me to school two two-month terms. four months all i got. i got my board then four months. i got my board and eight dollars a month the other months in the year. he died. "i come to forrest city when i was twenty years old. "i been married. i got a girl lives wid me here. my girl, she married. "i ain't got no complaint again' the times. my life has been fair. i worked mighty hard." name of interviewer: irene robertson subject: ex-slave--history this information given by: jack boyd place of residence: hazen, arkansas occupation: light jobs now. age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] [hw: the boyd negroes] jack boyd was born a slave. miss ester's mother was a boyd and married a donnahoo. miss ester donnahoo married jim shed. the boyd's lived in richmond, virginia. they sold jack boyd's grandmother, grandfather, mother, and father a number of times. one time they were down, in georgia not far from atalnta. they were being ill treated. the new master had promised to be good to them so he wasn't and the news had gotten back to virginia as it had a time or two before so the boyds sent to georgia and brought them back and took them back home to virginia. the boyds always asked the new masters to be good to them but no one was never so good to them as the boyds were, and they would buy them back again. when freedom was declared three of the boyd brothers and miss ester's husband jim shed, was the last master of charlie boyd. jack's father came to waco, texas. they may have been there before for they were "big ranchmen" but that is when jack boyds whole family came to texas. there were thirty six in his family. the families then were large. when jack grew up to be about ten years old there wasn't anything much at waco except a butcher shop and a blacksmith shop. jim shed alone had acres of land his own. he used nine cowboys, some white and some black. the first of january every year the cattle was ready to be driven to kansas city to market. they all rode broncos. it would rain, sometimes hail and sometimes they would get into thunder storms. the cattle would stampede, get lost and have to be found. they slept in the open plains at night. they had good clothes. they would ride two or three weeks and couldn't get a switch. finally in about june or july they would get into kansas city. the white masters were there waiting and bought food and supplies to take back home. they would have started another troop of cowboys with cattle about june and meet them in kansas city just before christmas. jack liked this life except it was a hard life in bad weather. they had a good living and the masters made "big money." jack said he always had his own money then. his people are scattered around waco now, "the boyd negroes." he hasn't been back since he came to arkansas when he was about eighteen. he married here and had "raised" a big family. the plains were full of rattle snakes, rabbits, wild cats and lots of other wild animals. they never started out with less than head of cattle. they picked cattle that would travel about together. it would all be grown or about the same age. the worst thing they had to contend with was a lack of water. they had to carry water along and catch rainwater and hunt places to water the cattle. his father's and grandfather's masters names were gillis, hawkins, and sam boyd. they were the three who came to texas and located the ranch at waco. jack thinks they have been dead a long time but they have heirs around waco now. jack boyd left waco in . circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--bernice bowden addeess-- oak street, pine bluff, arkansas date--november , subject--ex-slaves . name and address of informant--mal boyd, son of slaves . date and time of interview--november , , : a.m. . place of interview-- miller street . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant--none. i saw him sitting on porch as i walked along. . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you--none . description of room, house, surroundings, etc.--frame house. sat on porch. yard clean--everything neat. near foundry on graveled street in suburbs of west pine bluff. text of interview "papa belonged to bill boyd. papa said he was his father and treated him just like the rest of his children. he said bill boyd was an irishman. i know papa looked kinda like an irishman--face was red. mama was about my color. papa was born in texas, but he came to arkansas. i member hearin' him say he saw 'em fight six months in one place, down here at marks' mill. he said bill boyd had three sons, urk and tom and nat. they was in the civil war. i heered tom boyd say he was in behind a crew of men in the war and a yankee started shootin' and when he shot down the last one next to tom, he seen who it was doin' the shootin' and he shot him and saved his life. he was the hind one. "i've farmed mostly and sawmilled. "i use to get as high as three and five dollars callin' figgers for the white folks." interviewer's comment name of worker--bernice bowden name and addresss of informant--mal boyd, miller street, pine bluff, arkansas subscribes to the daily graphic and reads of world affairs. goes to a friend's house and listens to the radio. lives with daughter and is supported by her. house belongs to a son-in-law. wore good clothing and was very clean. he hoped that the united states would not become involved in a war. personal history of informant state--arkansas name of worker--bernice bowden address-- oak street date--november , subject--ex-slaves name and address of informant--mal boyd, miller street, pine bluff, ark. . ancestry--father, tol boyd; mother, julia dangerfield. . place and date of birth--cleveland county, august , . family--lives with daughter. has one other daughter. mother one-half indian, born in alabama, he thinks. . places lived in, with dates--ouachita county, dallas county. bradley county, jefferson county. . education, with dates--began schooling in and went until twelve or thirteen. . occupations and accomplishments, with dates--farmed till , public work? sawmill work. . special skills and interests--none . community and religious activities--ward chapel on west sixth. . description of informant--gray hair, height ft. in., high cheekbones. gray hair--practically straight says like father. . other points gained in interview--says father was part irish. belonged to bill boyd. stayed there for years after freedom. name of interviewer: irene robertson subject: ex-slave--history--old sayings this information given by: george braddox place of residence: hazen, arkansas occupation: farmer age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] george braddox was born a slave but his mother being freed when he was eipht years old they went to themselves--george had one sister and one brother. he doesn't know anything about them but thinks they are dead as he is the youngest of the three. his father's name was peter calloway he went with gus taylor to the war and never came back to his family. george said he had been to chicago several times to see his father where he was living. but his mother let her children go by that name. she gave them a name braddox when they were freed. calloways lived on a joining plantation to john and dave gemes. john gemes was the old master and dave the young. george said they were mean to him. he can remember that gus taylor wes overseer for the gemes till he went to war. the gemes lived in a brick house and the slaves lived in log houses. they had a big farm and raised cotton and corn. the cotton was six feet tall and had big leaves. they had to pull the leaves to let the bowls get the sun to open. they topped the cotton too. they made lots of cotton and corn to an acre. dave gemes had several children when george moved away, their names were ruben, john, margaret, susie and betty. they went to school at marshall, texas. john gemes had fine carriages, horses and mules. he had one old slave who just milked and churned. she didn't do anything else. when young calves had to be attended to somebody else had to help her and one man did all the feeding. they had lots of peafowles, ducks, geese and chickens. they had mixed stock of chickens and guineas--always had a drove of turkeys. sometimes the turkeys would go off with wild turkeys. there were wild hogs and turkeys in the woods. george never learned to read or write. he remembers they built a school for white children on the calloway place joining the gemes place but he thought it was tuition school. george said he thought the gemes and all his "kin" folks came from alabama to texas, but he is not sure but he does know this. dr. hazen came from tennessee to texas and back to hazen, arkansas and settled. his cousin jane hodge (colored) was working out near here and he came here to deer hunt and just stayed with them. he said deer was plentiful here. it was not cleared and so close to white cache, st. francis and mississippi rivers. george said his mother cooked for the gemes the first he could remember of her. that was all she had time to do. it was five miles to marshall. they lived in harrison county and they could buy somethings to eat there if they didn't raise enough. they bought cheese by the cases in round boxes and flour in barrels and sugar in barrels. they had fine clothes for sunday. after his mother left the gemes they worked in the field or did anything she could for a living. george married after he came to arkansas and bought a farm acres of land miles north of hazen and a white man, -- --- closed a mortgage out on him and took it. he paid $ . for a house in town in which he now lives. his son was killed in the world war and he gets his son's insurance every month. george said when he came to arkansas it was easy to live if you liked to hunt. ship the skins and get some money when you couldn't be farming. could get all the wood you would cut and then clear out land and farm. he hunted or years with colonel a.f. yopp and fed colonel's dogs. he hunted with mr. yopp but he didn't think colonel was a very good man. i gathered from george that he didn't approve of wickedness. it is bad luck to dig a grave the day before a person is buried, or any time before the day of the burying. uncle george has dug or helped to dig lots of graves. it is bad luck to the family of the dead person. the grave ought not to be "left open" it is called. he has always heard this and believes it, yet he can't remember when he first heard it. he thinks there are spirits that direct your life and if you do wrong the evil fates let you be punished. he believes in good and evil spirits. spirits right here among us. he says there is "bound to be spirits" or "something like 'em." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: george braddox, hazen, arkansas age: most of the old songs were religious. i don't remember none much. when the war broke out my papa jess left and went on off with some people and joined the yankee army. i went to see him since i been at hazen. he lived in chicago. yes mam he's been dead a long time ago. gus taylor and peter calloway (white) took my papa with them for their helper. he left them and went with the yankee army soon as he heard what they was fighting about. peter calloway lived on a big track of land joining dave genes land. it show was a big farm. peter calloway owned my papa and dave genes my mama. gus taylor was dave genes overseer. peter calloway never come back from the war. my folks come from alabama with dave genes and his son john genes. i was born in harrison county, texas. gus taylor was a great big man. he was mean to us all. the yankees camped there. it was near marshall. i had some good friends among the yankees. they kept me posted all time the war went on. nobody never learnt me nothing. i can cipher a little and count money. i took that up. i learned after i was grown a few things. just learned it myself. i never went to school a day in my life. the genes had a brick, big red brick house. they sent their children to schools. they had stock, peafowls, cows, guineas, geese, ducks and chickens, hogs and everything. old woman on the place just milked and churned. that is all she done. i never heard of no plantations being divided. they never give us nothing, not nothing. right after the war was the worse times we ever have had. we ain't had no sich hard times since then. the white folks got all was made. it was best we could do. the yankees what camped down there told us about the surrender. if the colored folks had started an uprisin the white folks would have set the hounds on us and killed us. i never heard of the ku klux klan ever being in texas. gus taylor was the ridin boss and he was ku klux enough. everybody was scared not to mind him. he rode over three or four hundred acres of ground. he could beat any fellow under him. i never did see anybody sold. i never was sold. we was glad to be set free. i didn't know what it would be like. it was just like opening the door and lettin the bird fly out. he might starve, or freeze, or be killed pretty soon but he just felt good because he was free. we show did have a hard time getting along right after we was set free. the white folks what had money wouldn't pay nothing much for work. all the slaves was in confusion. a cousin of mine saw dr. hazen down in texas and they all come back to work his land. they wrote to us about it being so fine for hunting. i always liked to hunt so i rode a pony and come to them. the white folks in texas told the yankees what to do after the surrender; get off the land. we didn't never vote there but i voted in arkansas. mr. abel rinehardt always hope me. i could trust him. i don't vote now. no colored people held office in texas or here that i heard of. i got nothing to say bout the way the young generation is doing. i farmed around hazen nearly ever since the civil war. i saved $ and bought this here house. my son was killed in the world war and i get his insurance every month. i hunted with colonel yapp and fed his dogs. he never paid me a cent for taking care of the dogs. his widow never as much as give me a dog. she never give me nothing! i'm too old to worry bout the present conditions. they ain't gettin no better. i sees dot. interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: edward bradley south plum street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was seventy years old this last past june, the sixth day. lots of people say i don't look that old but i'm sure seventy and i've done a lot of hard work in my day. one thing, i've taken good care of myself. i never did lose much sleep. "i farmed forty years of my life. been in this state thirty-seven years. i was born in hardin county, tennessee. i disremember what age i was when i left tennessee. "my mother was named mary bradley and my father was named hilliard bradley. they originated in alabama and was sold there, and they was free when they come to tennessee. "bradley was the last man owned 'em. i think beaumont sold 'em to bradley. that's the way i always heered 'em talk. i think they claimed their owners was pretty good to 'em. i know i heered my father say he never did get a whippin' from either one of 'em. "of course my mother wasn't a bradley fore she married, she was a murphy. "i had one brother four years older than i was. he was my half-brother and i had a whole brother was two years older than i. "first place i lived in arkansas was near blytheville. i lived there four years. i was married and farmin' for myself. "i went from hardin county, tennessee to blytheville, arkansas by land. drove a team and two cows. i think we was on the road four days. my wife went by train. you know that was too wearisome for her to go by land. "i had been runnin a five-horse crop in tennessee and i carried three boys that i used to work with me. "the last year i was there i cleared $ . . i never will forget it. i made a hundred and ten bales of cotton and left pounds of seed cotton in the field cause i was goin' to move. "my folks was sick all the time. wasn't any canals in that country, and my wife had malaria every year. "after i got my crop finished i'd get out and log. i was raised in a poor county and you take a man like that, he's always a good worker. i rented the land-- acres and i had seven families workin for me. i was responsible for everything. i told 'em that last year that if i cleared over a $ , i'd give 'em ten dollars a piece. and i give it to 'em too. you see they was under my jurisdiction. "next place i lived was forrest city. they all went with me. had to charter a car to move 'em. it was loaded too. "i had hogs, head of cattle, head of mules and horses. and i had killed pounds of hogs. you see besides my family i had two-month-hands--worked by the month. "i own a home in forrest city now. i'm goin back right after christmas. my children had it fixed up. had the waterworks and electric lights put in. "two of my daughters married big school teachers. one handles a big school in augusta and the other in forrest city. one of 'em is in the smith-hughes work too. "i've done something no other man has done. i've educated four of my brothers and sisters after my father died and four of my wife's brothers and sisters and one adopted boy and my own six children--fifteen in all. a man said to me once, "why any man that's done that much for education ought to get a pension from the educator people." "i never went to school six months in my life but i can read and write. i'm not extra good in spelling--that's my hindrance, but i can figger very well. "we always got our children started 'fore they went to school and then i could help 'em in school till they got to united states money. "another thing i always would do, i would buy these block a, b, c's. everyone learned their a, b, c's fore they went to school. "i reckon i'm a self-made man in a lot of things. i learnt my own self how to blacksmith. i worked for a man for nothin' just so i could learn and after that for about a year i was the best plow sharpener. and then i learned how to carpenter. "my mother was awful good on head countin' and she learnt me when i was a little fellow. my oldest brother use to help me. we'd sit by the fire, so you see you might say i got a fireside education. "when i left forrest city i moved to england and made one crop and moved to baucum and made one crop and then i moved on the sheridan pike three miles the other side of dew drop. i got the oil fever. they was sellin' land under that headin'. sold it to the colored folks and lots o' these bohemians. they sho is fine people to live by--so accommodatin'. "then i came here to pine bluff in . i hauled wood for two years. then i put in my application at the cotton belt shops. that was in and i worked there fifteen years. i retired from the shops this year and took a half pension. i think i'll get about fifteen dollars a month. that's my thoughts. "i have two daughters in camden. one teaches school and one operates a beauty parlor. "all six of my children finished high school and three graduated from college. "i think the younger generation is livin' too fast. i know one thing, they has done--they 'bout wore out the old folks. old folks educate 'em and can't accumulate anything. "they don't settle much now till they marry. seems like the young folks don't have much accommodation. "i'll tell you another thing, the children aren't carryin' out things like they use to. i think when us old folks plays out this world is goin' to be in a bad shape. "i belong out here to the catholic church--the oldest church in the world. i use to belong to the methodist church, but they got along so bad i got tired, so i went to the catholic. i like it out there--everthing so quiet and nice." name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: rachel bradley. state street, pine bluff, arkansas age: ? upon arriving at the humble unpainted home of rachel bradley i found her sitting in the doorway on a typical split-oak bottomed chair watching the traffic of state street, one of our busiest streets out of the high rent district. it is a mixture of white and negro stores and homes. after asking her name to be sure i was really talking to rachel bradley, i said i had been told she was a former slave. "yes'm, i used to be a slave." she smiled broadly displaying nearly a full set of teeth. she is of a cheerful, happy disposition and seemed glad to answer my questions. as to her age, she said she was "a little girl on the floor whan the stars fell." i looked this up at the public library and found that falling stars or showers of meteors occur in cycles of thirty-three years. one such display was recorded in and another in . so if rachel bradley is really years old, she was born in . it is a question in my mind whether or not she could have remembered falling stars at the age of three, but on the other hand if she was "a little girl on the floor" in she would be only somewhere between seventy-five and eighty years of age. her master and mistress were mitchell and elizabeth simmons and they had two sons and two daughters. they lived on a plantation about twelve miles from farmersville, louisiana. rachel was a house girl and her mother was the cook. besides doing house work, she was nursemaid and as she grew older did her mistress' sewing and could also weave and knit. from the way she smiled and rolled her eyes i could see that this was the happiest time of her life. "my white folks was so good to me. i sat right down to the same table after they was thru." while a child in the home of her white folks she played with her mistress' children. in her own words "my mistress give us a task to do and when we got it done, we went to our playhouse in the yard." when the war came along, her master was too old to go but his two sons went and both lived through the war. questioned about the yankees during the war she said, "i seen right smart of the yankees. i seen the 'calvary' go by. they didn't bother my white folks none." rachel said the abc's for me but cannot read or write. she said her mistress' children wanted to teach her but she would rather play so grew up in ignorance. after the war rachel's white folks moved to texas and rachel went to live with her mistress' married daughter martha. for her work she was paid six dollars a month. she was not given any money by her former owners after being freed, but was paid for her work. later on rachel went to work in the field making a crop with her brother, turning it over to the owner of the land for groceries and other supplies and when the cotton was weighed "de white folks taken out part of our half. i knowed they done it but we couldn't do nothin bout it." rachel had four husbands and eleven children. her second husband abandoned her, taking the three oldest and leaving five with her. one boy and one girl were old enough to help their mother in the field and one stayed in the house with the babies, so she managed to make a living working by the day for the white people. the only clash with the ku klux klan was when they came to get an army gun her husband had bought. being a woman, rachel did not know much about politics during the reconstruction period. she had heard the words "democrat," "radical" and "republican" and that was about all she remembered. concerning the younger generation rachel said: "i don't know what goin' come of 'em. the most of 'em is on the beat" (trying to get all they can from others). after moving to arkansas, she made a living working in the field by the day and as she grew older, washing and ironing, sewing, housecleaning and cooking. her long association with white people shows in her speech which is quite plain with only a few typical negro expressions, such as the following: "she died this last gone sattiday and i hope (help) shroud her." "when white lady find baby, i used to go hep draw the breas'." "heap a people." "bawn." the welfare department gives rachel $ . a month. she pays $ . a month for two rooms with no drinking water. with the help of her white friends she manages to exist and says she is "pendin on the lord" to help her get along. she sang for me in a quavering voice the following songs reminiscent of the war: "homespun dresses plain i know. and the hat palmetto too. hurrah! hurrah! we cheer for the south we love so dear, we cheer for the homespun dresses the southern ladies wear!" "who is price a fightin'? he is a fightin', i do know. i think it is old curtis. i hear the cannons roa'" interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: elizabeth brannon, biscoe, arkansas (packed to move somewhere else) age: plus "i was born in helena, arkansas. grandma raised me mostly. she was born up in virginia. her name was mariah bell. "grandmother was sold more than once. when she was small she and her mother were sold together to different buyers. the morning she was sold she could see her mother crying through the crowd, and the last she ever seen her mother she was crying and waving to her. she never could forget that. we all used to sit around her and we would all be crying with her when she told that so many, many times. grandmother said she was five years old then and was sold to a doctor in virginia. he made a house girl of her and learned her to be a midwife. "she told us about a time when the stars fell or a time about like it. her master got scared in virginia. his niece killed herself 'cause she thought the world was coming to on end. mama of the baby was walking, crying and praying. grandmama had the baby. she said it was a terrible morning. "when grandmama was sold away from her own mother she took the new master's cook for her mother. i live to see her. her name was charity walker. she was awful old. grandmama didn't remember if her mother had other children or not. she was the youngest. "grandmama was sold again. her second master wasn't good as her doctor master. he didn't feed them good, didn't feed the children good neither. he told his slaves to steal. grandmama had two children there. she was pregnant again. grandpa stole a shoat. she craved meat. meat was scarce then and the war was on. grandpa had it cut up and put away. grandmama had the oldest baby in the box under her bed and the youngest child asleep in her bed. she was frying the meat. she seen the overseer across the field stepping that way. grandpa left and grandmama put the skillet of meat in the bed with the baby and threw a big roll of cotton in the fire. the overseer come in and looked around, asked what he smelled burning. she told him it was a sack of motes (cotton lumps). grandpa was jim bell. his master learnet him to steal and lie. he got better after freedom. "grandmama never would let us have pockets in our aprons and dresses. said it was a temptation for us to learn to steal. she thought that was awful and to lie too. "grandmama and grandpa and mama and her sister, the baby, died. come with soldiers from virginia to helena, arkansas on a big boat. they nursed soldiers in the hospital in the last of the war. grandpapa died in . he had heart trouble. he was seventy-five years old then. grandmama died in . she was awful, awful old. grandmama said they put her off on college and perry streets but that wasn't the names of the streets then. she wore a baggin dress and brogan shoes. brass-toed shoes and brass eyelets. she would take grease and soot and make shoe polish for them. we all wore that dress and the shoes at times. i wore them to peabody school in helena and the children made so mich fun of their cry (squeaking) till i begged them to get me some better looking shoes for cold rainy spells of weather. i wore the dress. it was strong nearly as leather. "when she was sold the last time she got a marble box and it had a small lock and key. it was square and thick, size of four men's shoe boxes. when she come to arkansas she brought it filled with rice on the boat. she kept her valuable papers in it. our house burned and the shoes and box both got away from me. her oldest girl died after the surrender and was never married. never had children. "on college and perry streets the hospital was cleared away and grandpa bought the spot. it has had two houses rot down of his own on it. it has been graded down and a big brick house stands there now. "she used to tell how when meat was so scarce she'd be cooking. she'd wipe her girls' faces with the dishrag. one of them would lick her lips. make other children hungry for meat to see them so greasy. they hadn't had any meat. "grandmama told me her doctor master bought them shoes for her, and i think they gave her the marble box. the children teased me so much grandmama bought me some limber sole shoes. "auntie was good they said and mama was mean so they said. auntie died after surrender. we'd tell grandmama she ought to put the skillet on mama. she said the good lord took care of her baby that time. mama would get so mad. she would whoop us for saying she ought to put the hot skillet on her. "grandmama was a midwife with black and white for forty-five years in helena. she worked for joe horner, mr. leifer, mrs. e.m. allen. mama had seven children, and grandmama raised will marshal (colored). he works at d.t. hargraves & sons store now in helena. he started a delivery boy but now he is their main repair man. "grandmama was a strong woman. mama worked out at some places i told you. grandmama worked. grandmama always had a pretty flower yard. she did love pretty flowers. "mama minded grandmama like one of us. she was a good woman. none of us, not even the boys, ever had pockets in our clothes. grandmama made them for us. she taught us not to lie and steal. she thought it was the worse thing you could do. she was loved and respected by white and black till she died down at helena in . they are all buried down there." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mack brantley, brinkley, arkansas age: "i was born in dallas county close to selma, alabama. my mother's owners was miss mary ann roscoe and her husband was master ephriam roscoe. they had a good size gin and farm. we would gather 'round and tell ha'nt tales till we would be scared to go home in the dark. the wind would turn the old-fashioned screw and make a noise like packing cotton. we older children would run and make out we thought it was the spirits. we knowed better but the little children was afraid. "my parents was lucindy roscoe. my pa belong to warren brantley. his name was silica brantley. "i was a stole chile. ma had a husband the master give her and had children. my pa lived on a joining farm. she wasn't supposen to have children by my pa. that is why i'm called mack brantley now. mama died and green roscoe, my older brother, took me to howell's so they would raise me. they was all kin. i was six months old when ma died. my sister nursed me but miss mary ann roscoe suckled me wid miss minnie. when miss minnie got grown and married she went to mobile, alabama to live. later brother silica give me to master henry harrell. they sent me to school. i never went to colored school. we went to blunt springs three months every year in the summer time. when we come home one year mr. hankton was gone and he never come back. he was my only teacher. the white population didn't like him and they finally got him away. "they was good white people. i had a pallet in the room and in the morning i took it up and put it away in a little room. i slept in the house till i was good and grown. i made fires for them in the winter time. mr. walter died three years ago. he was their son. he had a big store there. miss carrie married charlie hooper. he courted her five years. i bring her a letter and she tore it up before she read it. he kept coming. he lived in kentucky. the last i heard they lived in birmingham. miss kitty avery harrell was my mistress at freedom and after, and after boss died. i had four children when i left. if mr. walter was living i'd go to him now. mr. hooper would cuss. old boss didn't cuss. i never liked mr. hooper's ways. old boss was kinder. all my sisters dead. i reckon i got two brothers. charles roscoe was where boss left him. he was grown when i was a child. jack roscoe lives at forrest, mississippi. brother silica roscoe had a wife and children when freedom come on. he left that wife and got married to another one and went off to mississippi. preachers quit their slavery wives and children and married other wives. it wasn't right. no ma'am, it wasn't right. awful lot of it was done. then is when i got took to my miss kitty. after freedom is right. "i tole you i was a stole chile. i never seen my own pa but a few times. he lived on a joining farm. ma had a husband her master give her the first time they had been at a big log rolling and come up for dinner. they put the planks out and the dinner on it. they kept saying, 'mack, shake hands with your papa.' he was standing off to one side. it was sorter shame. they kept on. i was little. i went over there. he shook hands with me. i said, 'hi, papa! give me a nickel.' he reached in his pocket and give me a nickel. then they stopped teasing me. he went off on alabama river eighteen miles from us to caholba, alabama. i never seen him much more. ma had been dead then several years. "green, my brother, took me to miss mary ann roscoe when mama died. she was my ma's owner. i stayed there till green died. a whole lot of boys was standing around and bet green he couldn't tote that barrel of molasses a certain piece. they helped it up and was to help him put it down and give him five dollars. that was late in the ebenin'. he let the barrel down and a ball as big as a goose egg of blood come out of his mouth. the next day he died. master got dr. blevins quick as he could ride there. he was mad as he could be. dr. blevins said it weighed eight hundred pounds. it was a hogshead of molasses. green was much of a man. he was a giant. dr. blevins said they had killed a good man. green was good and so strong. i never could forget it. green was my standby. "the yankees burnt boss henry's father's fine house, his gin, his grist mill, and fifty or sixty bales of cotton and took several fine horses. they took him out in his shirt tail and beat him, and whooped his wife, trying to make them tell where the money was. he told her to tell. he had it buried in a pot in the garden. they went and dug it up. forty thousand dollars in gold and silver. out they lit then. i seen that. he lived to be eighty and she lived to be seventy-eight years old. he had owned seven or eight or ten miles of road land at howell crossroads. road land is like highway land, it is more costly. he had henry and finas married and moved off. miss melia was his daughter and her husband and the overseer was there but they couldn't save the money. i waited on misa melia when she got sick and died. she was fine a woman as ever i seen. every colored person on the place knowed where the pot was buried. some of them planted it. they wouldn't tell. we could hear the battles at selma, alabama. it was a roar and like an earthquake. "freedom--i was a little boy. i cried to go with the bigger children. they had to tote water. one day i heard somebody crying over 'cross a ditch and fence covered with vines and small trees. i heard, 'do pray master.' i run hid under the house. i was snoring when they found me. i heard somebody say, 'slave day is over.' that is all i ever knowed about freedom. the way i knowed, a yankee. we was in the road piling up sand and a lot of blue coats on horses was coming. we got out of the road and went to tell our white folks. they said, 'get out of their way, they are yankees.' "when i left alabama i went to mississippi. i worked my way on a steamboat. i had been trained to do whatever i was commanded. the man, my boss, said, 'mack, get the rope behind the boiler and tie it to the stob and 'dead man'. i tied it to the stob and i was looking for a dead man. he showed me what it was. then i tied it. i went to vicksburg then. i had got mixed up with a woman and run off. "i been married once in my life. i had eighteen children. nine lived. i got a boy here and a girl in pine bluff. my son's wife is mean to me. i don't want to stay here. if i can get my pension started, i want to live with my daughter. "i used to vote republican. they claimed it made times better for my race. i found out better. i don't vote now. wilson was good as mr. roosevelt, i think. i voted about eight years ago, i reckon. i didn't vote for mr. roosevelt. "i wish i was young and had the chance this generation has got. times is better every way for a good man unless he is unable to work like i am now. (this old man tends his garden, a large nice one--ed.) my son supports me now." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: ellen brass w. eighth street, little rock, arkansas age: about [hw: white folks want niggers] "i was born in alabama in green county. i was about four years old when i came from there; so i don't know much about it. i growed up in catahoula, louisiana. my mother's name was caroline butler and my father's name was lee butler. one of my father's brothers was named sam butler. i used to be a butler myself, but i married. my father and mother were both slaves. they never did any slave work. father free raised "my father was free raised. the white folks raised him. i don't know how he became free. all that i know is that he was raised right in the house with the white folks and was free. his mother and father were both slaves. i was quite small at the time and didn't know much. they bought us like cattle and carried us from place to place. slave houses "the slaves lived in log cabins with one room. i don't know what kind of house the white folks lived in. they, the colored folks, ate corn bread, wheat bread (they raised wheat in those times), pickled pork. they made the flour right on the plantation. george harris, a white man, was the one who brought me out of louisiana into this state. we traveled in wagons in those days. george harris owned us in louisiana. slave sales "we were sold from george harris to ben hickinbottom. they bought us then like cattle. i don't know whether it was a auction sale or a private sale. i am telling it as near as i know it, and i am telling the truth. hickinbottom brought us to catahoula parish in louisiana. did i say harris brought us? well, hickinbottom brought us to louisiana. i don't know why they went from one place to the other like that. the soldiers were bad about freeing the slaves. from catahoula parish, hickinbottom carried us to alexandria, louisiana, and in alexandria, we was set free. how freedom came "according to my remembrance the yankees come around and told the people they was free. i was in alexandria, louisiana. they told the colored folks they was free and to go and take what they wanted from the white folks. they had us all out in the yard dancing and playing. they sang the song: 'they hung jeff davis on a sour apple tree while we all go marching on.' it wasn't the white folks on the plantation that told us we was free. it was the soldiers their selves that came around and told us. we called 'em yankees. right after the war "right after the war, my folks farmed--raised cotton and corn. my mother had died before i left alabama. they claimed i was four years old when my mother died in alabama. my father died after freedom. occupation "my first occupation was farming--you know, field work. sometimes i used to work around the white people too--clean house and like that. random opinions "the white folks ain't got no reason to mistreat the colored people. they need us all the time. they don't want no food unless a nigger cooks it. they want niggers to do all their washing and ironing. they want niggers to do their sweeping and cleaning and everything around their houses. the niggers handle everything they wears and hands them everything they eat and drink. ain't nobody can get closer to a white person than a colored person. if we'd a wanted to kill 'em, they'd a all done been dead. they ain't no reason for white people mistreating colored people." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: alice bratton, wheatley, arkansas age: "i was born a few miles from martin, tennessee. mama was born in virginia. she and her sister was carried off from the witherspoon place and sold. she was betty and her sister was named addie. "their mama had died and some folks said they would raise them and then they sold them. she said they never did know who it was that carried them off in a big carriage. they brought them to nashville, tennessee and sold them under a big oak tree. they was tied with a hame string to a hitching ring. addie wanted to set down and couldn't. she said, 'betty, wouldn't our mama cry if she could see us off like this?' mama said they both cried and cried and when the man come to look at them he said he would buy them. they felt better and quit crying. he was such a kind looking young man. "they lived out from nashville a piece then. he took them home with him, on a plank across the wagon bed. he was master davy fuller. he had a young wife and a little baby. her name was mistress maude and the baby was carrie. she was proud of betty and addie. they told her their mama died. mama said she was good to them. she died the year of the surrender and master davy took them all to his mother's and his papa put them out to live with a family that worked on his place. "they went to see carrie and played with her till addie married and mama come close to martin to live with them. addie took consumption and died, then mama married frank bane and he died and i was born. "my pa was a white man. he was a bachelor, had a little store, and he overcome mama. she never did marry no more. i was her only child. i don't remember the man but mama told me how she got tripped up and nearly died and for me never to let nobody trip me up that way. i sorter recollect the store. it burned down one night. we lived around over there till i was sixteen years old. we moved to a few miles of corinth, mississippi on a farm. mr. cat madford was the manager. i got married. i married will bratton. we had a home wedding on sunday evening. it was cold and freezing and the freeze lasted over a week. will bratton was black as night. i had one little boy. after mama died will bratton went off with another woman. he come back but the place was mine. mama left it to me. i wouldn't let him stay there. i let him go on where he pleased. "times been growing slacker for a long time. people live slack. young folks coming on slacker and slacker every day. don't know how to do, don't want to know. they get by better 'en i did. i work in the field and i can't hardly get by. i see folks do nothing all the time. seem like they happy. times is hard for some, easy for some. i want to live in the country like i is 'cause i belongs there. i can work and be satisfied! i did own my home. i reckon i still do. i got a little cow and some chickens." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: frank briles cross street, little rock, arkansas age: about or [hw: gives up the ghost] "i was born right here in arkansas. my father's name was moses briles. my mother's name was judy briles. her name before she was married i don't know. they belonged to the briles. i don't know their first name either. "my father was under slavery. he chopped cotton and plowed and scraped cotton. that is where i got my part from. he would carry two rows along at once. i was little and couldn't take care of a row by myself. i was born down there along the time of the war, and my father didn't live long afterwards. he died when they was settin' them all free. he was a choppin' for the boss man and they would set them up on blocks and sell them. i don't know who the man was that did the selling, but they tell me they would sell them and buy them. "i am sick now. my head looks like it's goin' to bust open. "i have heard them tell about the pateroles. i didn't know them but i heard about them. them and the ku klux was about the same thing. neither one of them never did bother my folks. it was just like we now, nobody was 'round us and there wasn't no one to bother you at all at briles' plantation. briles' plantation i can't remember exactly where it was. it was way down in the west part of arkansas. yes, i was born way back south--east--way back. i don't know what the name of the place was but it was in arkansas. i know that. i don't know nothing about that. my father and mother came from virginia, they said. my father used to drive cattle there, my mother said. i don't know nothin' except what they told me. "i learnt a little some thing from my folks. i think of more things every time i talk to somebody. i know one thing. the woman that bossed me, she died. that was about--lord i was a little bitty of a fellow, didn't know nothin' then. she made clothes for me. she kept me in the house all the time. she was a white woman. i know when they was setting them free. i was goin' down to get a drink of water. my father said. 'stop, you'll be drowned.' and i said, 'what must i do?' and he said, 'go back and set down till i come back.' i don't know what my father was doing or where he was going. there was a man--i don't know who--he come 'round and said, 'you're all free.' my mama said, 'thank god for that. thank god for that.' that is all i know about that. "when i got old enough to work they put me in the woods splitting rails and plowing. when i grew up i scraped cotton and worked on the farm. that is where my father would come and say, 'now, son, if anybody asks you how you feel, tell them the truth.' "i went to school one session and then the man give down. he got sick and couldn't carry it no longer. his pupils were catching up with him i reckon. it was time to get sick or somethin'. "i never did marry. i was promised to marry a woman and she died. so i said, 'well, i will give up the ghost. i won't marry at all.' "i ain't able to do no work now 'cept a little pittling here and there. i get a pension. it's been cut a whole lot." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mary ann brooks james addition, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born here in arkansas. durin' the war we went to texas and stayed one year and six months. "my old master was old dr. brewster. he bought me when i was a girl eight yeers old. took me in for a debt. he had a drug store. i was a nurse girl in the house. stayed in the house all my life. "i stayed here till dr. brewster--dr. arthur brewster was his name--stayed here till he carried me to his brother-in-law dr. asa brunson. stayed there awhile, then the war started and he carrled us all to texas. "i seen some yankeee after we come back to arkansas. i wes scared of em. "i don't knew nothln' bout the war. i wasn't in it. i was livin' but we was in texas. "the ku klux got after us twice when we was goin' to texas. we had six wagons, a cart, and a carriage. old dr. brunson rode in the carriage. he'd go ahead and pilot the way. we got lost twice. when we come to red river it was up and we had to camp there three weeks till the water fell. "we took some sheep and some cows so we could kill meat on the way. i member we forded saline river. dr. brunson carried us there and stayed till he hired us out. "after the war ceasted he come after us. told as we didn't belong to him no more--said we was free as he was. yankees sent him after us. all the folks come back--all but one famlly. "i had tolerable good owners. miss fanny brewster good to me. "old master got drunk so much. come home sometimes muddy as a hog. all his chillun was girls. i nursed all the girls but one. "i was a mighty dancer when i was young--danced all night long. paddyrollers run us home from dancin' one night. "i member one song we used to sing: 'hop light lady cake was all dough-- never mind the weather, so the wind don't blow.' "how many chillun i have? les see--count em up. ida, willie, clara--had six. "some of the young folks nowadays pretty rough. some of em do right and some don't. "never did go to school. coulda went but papa died and had to go to work. "i thinks over old times sometimes by myself. didn't know what freedom was till we was free and didn't hardly know then. "well, it's been a long time. all the brewsters and the bransons dead and i'm still here--blind. been blind eight years." waters brooks pulaski street, little rock, ark. retired railroad worker, no. pac. [tr: information moved from bottom of each page.] [hw: a railroad work history] i was only three years old when peace ( ) was declared. i was born in . peace was declared in . i remember seeing plenty of men that they said the white folks never whipped. i remember seeing plenty of men that they said bought their own freedom. i remember a woman that they said fought with the overseer for a whole day and stripped him naked as the day he was born. she was nancy ward. her owner was named billie ward. he had an overseer named roper. her husband ran away from the white folks and stayed three years. he was in the bayou in a boat and the bottom dropped out of it. he climbed a tree and hollered for someone to tel his master to come and get him if he wanted him. father my father's master was john t. williams. he went into the army--the rebel army--and taken my father with him. i don't know how long my father stayed in the army but i was only months old when he died. he had some kind of stomach trouble and died a natural death. mother my mother and father both belonged to joe ward at first but ward died and his widow married williams. my mother told me and not only told me but showed me knots across her shoulder where they whipped her from seven in the morning until nine at night. she went into the smoke house to get some meat and they closed in on her and shut the door and strung her up by her hands (her arms were crossed and a rope run from her wrists to the hook in the ceiling on which meat was hung). there were three of them. one would whip until he was tired, and then the other would take it up. some years after she got that whipping, her master's child was down to the bayou playing in the water. she told the child to stop playing in the water, and it did not. instead it threw dirt into the water that had the bluing in it. then she took the child and threw it into the bayou. some way or other the child managed to scramble out. when the child's aunt herd it from the child, she questioned my mother and asked her if she did it. my mother told her "yes". then she said. "well what do you want to own it for? don't you know if they find it out they will kill you?" how freedom came my mother said that an old white man came through the quarters one morning and said that they were all free--that they could go away or stay where they were or do what they wanted to. if you will go there, i can send you to an old man eighty-six years old who was in general sherman's army. he came from mississippi. i don't know where he was a slave. but he can tell you when peace was declared aad what they said and everything. what the slaves expected the slaves were not expecting much but they were expecting more than they got. i am not telling you anything i read in history but i have heard that there was a bounty in the treasury for the ex-slaves, and them alone. and some reason or other they did not pay it off, but the time was coming when they would pay it off. and every man or woman living that was born a slave would benefit from it. they say that abraham lincoln principally was killed because he was going to pay this money to the ex-slaves end before they would permit it they killed him. old man white who lives out in the west part of town was an agent for some senator who was in washington, and he charged a dime and took your name and age and the place where you lived. ku klux klan they called the k.k.k. "white cape". right there in my neighborhood, there was a colered man who hadn't long come in. the colored man was late coming into the lot to get the mule for the white man and woman he was working for. the white man hit him. the negro knocked the white man down and was going to kill him when the white man begged him off, telling him that he wouldn't let anybody else hurt him. he (the negro) went on off and never came back. that night there were two hundred white caps looking for him but they didn't find him. another man got into an argument. they went to work and it started to rain. the negro thought that they would stop working because of the rain; so he started home. the man he was working for met him and asked him where he was going. when he told him he started to hit him with the butt end of the gun he was wearing. the negro knocked his gun up, took it away from him, and drawed down and started to kill him when another negro knocked the gun up, and saved the white man's life. but the nigger might as well have killed him because that night seventy-five masked men hunted him. he was hid away by his friends until he got a chance to get away. this man was named matthew collins. there was another case. this was a political one. the colored man wanted to run for representative of some kind. he had been stump speaking. he lived on a white man's place, and the owner came to him and told him he had better get away because a mob was coming after him (not just k.k.k.). he told his wife to go away and stay with his brother but she wouldn't. he hid himself in a trunk and his wife was under the floor with his two children. the white men fired into the house and that didn't do anything, so they throwed a ball of fire into the house and burned his wife and children. then he rose up and came out of the trunk and hollered, "look out i'm coming", and he fired a load of buck shot and tore one man nearly in two and ran away in the confusion. the next day he went to the man on whose place he lived, but he told him he couldn't do anything about it. another man by the name of bob sawyer had a farm near my home and another farm down near maginty's place. he worked the ????[tr: illegible] niggers from one farm to the other. his boy would ride in front with a rifle and he would be in the rear with a big gun swinging down from his hip. there wae one nigger who got out and went down to alexandria (louisiana). he wrote to the officers and they caught the nigger and put him into the stocks and brought him back, and the man hadn't done a thing but run away. after that they worked him with a chain holding his legs together so that he could only make short steps. they had an old white man who worked there and they treated him so mean he ran away and left his wife. they treated the poor whites about as bad as they treated the colored. if bob met a negro carrying cotton to the gin, he would ask "whose cotton is that?", and if the nigger said it was some white man's, he would let him alone. but if he said. "mine", bob would tell him to take it to some gin where he wanted it taken. he was the kind of man that if you seen him first, you wouldn't meet him. one night he slipped up on a nigger man that had left his place and killed him as he sat at supper. i had an aunt with five or six children who worker with him. he married my young mistress after i was freed. i saw him do this. the white folks had a funeral at the church down there one sunday. he came along and young billie ward (white man) was sitting in a buggy driving with his wife. when he saw billie, he jumped down out of his buggy and horse-whipped him until he ran away. all the while, sawyer's mother-in-law was sitting in his buggy calling out, "shoot him, bob, shoot him." this was because billie and another man had done some talk about bob. occupations i came to brinkley, arkansas, march , , and have been in arkansas ever since. why i came, the postmaster where i was rented farm on which i was farming. in march he put hands in my field to pick my cotton. all that was in the field was mine. i knew that i couldn't do anything about it so i left. a couple of years before that i rented five acres of land from him for three dollars as acre (verbal agreement) sowed it down in cotton. it done so well i made five bales of cotton on it. he saw the prospects were so good that he went to the man who furnished me supplies and told him that i had agreed to do my work on a third and fourth (one-third of the seed and one-fourth of the cotton to go to the owner). he get this although if he had stuck to the agreement he would not have gotten but fifteen dollars. so he dealt me a blow there, but i got over it. before this i had bought a piece of timber land in moorehouse parish (louisiana) and was expecting to get the money to finish paying for it from my cotton. the cost was $ . . so when he put hands in my field, it made me mad, and i left. (brooks would have lost most of his cotton if the hands had picked it.) at brinkley, i farmed on halves with will carter, one of the richest men in monroe county (arkansas). i done $ . worth of work for carter and he paid me for it. then he turned around and charged me up with it. when we came to settle up, we couldn't settle. so finally, he said, "figures don't lie." and i said, "no, figures don't lie but men do." when i sed that i stepped out and didn't get scared until i was half way home. but nobody did anything. he sent for me but i wouldn't go back because i knew what he was doing. after that i went to wheatley, arkansas, about five miles west of brinkley. i made a crop for goldberg. jake readus was goldberg's agent. the folks had told the white folks i wasn't no account, so i couldn't get nothing only just a little fat meat and bread, and i got as naked as a jaybird. about the last part of august, when i had done laid by and everything. jake readus came by and told me what the niggers had said and said he knowed it was a lie because i had the best crop on the place. when goldberg went to pay me off, he told dr. beauregard to come and get his money. i said. "you give me my money; i pay my own debts. you have nothing to do with it." when i said that you could have heard a pin drop. but he gave it to me. then i called the doctor and gave him his money and he receipted me. i never stayed there but one year. i moved then down to napel[tr: possibly kapel] slough on dr. west's place. i wanted to rent but dr. west wouldn't advance me anything unless he took a mortgage on my place; so i wouldn't stay there. i chartered a car and took my things back to brinkley at a cost of ten dollars. i stayed around brinkley all the winter. while i was at wheatley, there was a man by the name of will smith who married the daughter of dr. paster, druggist at brinkley. now jim smith, poor white trash, attempted to assault will thomas' daughter. negro girl. when thomas heard it, he hunted jim with a winchester. when that got out, deputy sheriff arrested will and they said that he was chained when he was brought to trial. he got away from them somehow and went to jonesboro. i took my horse and rid seven or eight miles to carry his clothes. another nigger who had promised to make a crop when he left had the blood beat out of his back because he didn't do it. the winter, i worked at the gin and black saw mills. that spring i pulls up and goes to brises. that was in the year . i made a crop with old man wiley wormley one of the biggest niggers there. i fell short. george walker furnished what i had. then i left and went back to brinkley and worked at the sawmill again. that was in . i went to jonesboro. i had just money enough to go to jonesboro, and i had a couple of dollars over. i had never been out before that; so i spent that and didn't get any work. i stayed there three days and nights and didn't get anything to eat. lived in a box car. then i went to work with the cotton belt. my boarding mistress decided to go up to fifteen dollars for board. i told her i couldn't pay her fifteen dollars for that month, but would begin next month. she wouldn't have that and got the officers to look for my money so i caught the train and went back to brinkley and worked on the railroad again from the cotton belt to the rock island. i was getting along all right and i done my job, but when the foreman wanted me to work on the roof and i told him if that was all he had for me to do he could pay me off because that was off the ground and i was fraid of falling. he said that i was a good hand and that he hated to lose me. in march, , , i came here (little rock) and at first rolled concrete in niemeyer's at $ . a day where the other men were getting from two to two and a half dollars. they quit for more wages and i had to quit with them. then i worked around till may when i was hired at the mountain shops as engine wiper for about six or eight months, then painted flues for three or four months, then was wood hauler for about thirteen or more years, then took care of the situation with shavings and oil, then stayed in wash room six or seven years until i was retired. i had control of the ice house, too. ideas about the present young people are just going back to old ante-bellum days. they are going to destruction. they got a way of their own and you can't tell them anything. they don't educate anything but their heads. the heart isn't educated and if my heart is black as my hat, can i do anything for god? the old people are not getting a square deal. some of them are being moved. schooling i did not get much schooling. between the time i was old enough to go to school and the time i went to the field, i got a little. i would go to school from july to september, and also about six weeks in january. they had public school taught by some of the people. i went to a white man once. an old white woman taught there before him. i went to a negro woman, old lady abbie lindsay. she lives here now down on state street. she is about ninety years old. i went to jube williams (white), current lewis, abbie lindsay, and a.g. mertin. they did n't paas you by grades then. i got through the fourth reader. if you got through, they would go back and carry you through again. they had the old blue back speller. i got ready for the fifth reader but i quit. i had just begun to cipher, in arithmetic, but i had to quit because they could n't spare me out of the field. in fact they put me into the field when i was eight years old, but i managed to go to school until i was about twelve years old or something like that. i never got a year's schooling all put together. my mother was a widow and had five or six children, none of them able or big enough to work but my oldest sister. she raised five of us. if i had done as she told me, i might have been a good scholar. but i played around and went off with the other children. i learnt way afterwards when i was grown how to write my name. i could work addition and i could work some in multiplication, but i couldn't work division and couldn't work subtraction. come around any time, specially on sunday afternoons. name of interviewer: velma sample subject: negro lore--the story of casie jones brown casie jones brown was a dearly loved negro servant. he was known for his loving kindness toward children, both black and white. lots of the white children would say, "casie sure is smart" because casie was a funny and witty old darkie. casie has a log house close to his master, mr. brown. they live on what is called the brown plantation. the yard had large old cedars planted all around it. they were planted almost a century ago. the plantation is about six miles from paragould, [tr: possibly baragould] arkansas, where the hills are almost mountains. there have been four generations living in the old house. they have the big sand stone fireplaces. casie has a spiritual power that makes him see and hear things. he says that sometimes he can hear sweet voices somewhere in his fireplace. in the winter time he does all of his cooking in a big black kettle with three legs on it, or a big iron skillet. and when he first settled there he did not have a stove to cook on except the fireplace. he says the singing that comes from somewhere about the fireplace is god having his angels entertain him in his lonely hours. casie is years old and has been in that settlement as long as he can remember. the little white boys and girls like to be entertained by casie. he tells them stories about the bear and peter rabbit. also he has subjects for them to ask questions about and he answers them in a clever way. he was kind enough to let me see the list and the answers. he cannot write but he has little kids to write them for him. he cannot read, but they appoint one to read for him, and he has looked at the list so much that he has it memorized. casie, what does hat mean or use hat for a subject. "de price ob your hat ain't de medjer ob your brain." coat--"ef your coat tail catch afire don't wait till you kin see de blaze 'fo' you put it out." graveyard--"de graveyard is de cheapes' boardin' house." mules--"dar's a fam'ly coolness 'twix' de mule an' de single-tree." mad--"it pesters a man dreadful when he git mad an' don' know who to cuss." crop--"buyin' on credit is robbin' next 'er's crop." christmas--"christmas without holiday is like a candle without a wick." crawfish--"de crawfish in a hurry look like he tryin' to git dar yastiddy." lean houn'--"lean houn' lead de pack when de rabbit in sight." snow flakes--"little flakes make de deepes' snow." whitewash--"knot in de plank will show froo de whitewash." yardstick--"a short yardstick is a po' thing to fight de debbul wid." cotton--"dirt sho de quickes' on de cleanes' cotton." candy--"de candy-pullin' din call louder dan de log-rollin'." apple--"de bes' apple float on de top o' 'ligion heaps de half-bushel." hoe--"de steel hoe dat laughs at de iron one is like de man dat is shamed of his grand-daddy." mule--"a mule kin tote so much goodness in his face dat he don't hab none lef' for his hind legs." walks--"some grabble walks may lead to de jail." cow bell--"de cow bell can't keep a secret." tree--"ripe apples make de tree look taller." rose--"de red rose don't brag in de dark." billy-goat--"de billy-goat gits in his hardes' licks when he looks like he gwine to back out of de fight." good luck--"tis hard for de bes' an' smartes' fokes in de wul' to git 'long widout a little tech o' good luck." blind horse--"blind horse knows when de trough empty." wagon--"de noise of de wheels don't medjer de load in de wagon." hot--"las' 'ear's hot spell cools off mighty fast." hole--"little hole in your pocket is wusser'n a big one at de knee." tim o' day--"appetite don't regerlate de time o' day." quagmire--"de quagmire don't hang out no sign." needle--"one pusson kin th'ead a needle better than two." pen--"de pint o' de pin is de easier in' to find." turnip--"de green top don't medjer de price o' de turnip." dog--"muzzle on de yard dog unlocks de smokehouse." equal to the emergency hebe: "unc isrul, mammy says, hoocume de milk so watery on top in de mornin'." patriarch: "tell you' mammy dat's de bes' sort o' milk, dat's de dew on it, de cows been layin' in de dew." hebe: "an' she tell me to ax you what meck it so blue." patriarch: "you ax your mammy what meck she so black." here are some of casie's little rhymes that he entertained the neighbor children with: look at dat possum in dat holler log. he hidin' he know dis nigger eat possum laik a hog. hear dat hoot owl in dat tree. dat old hoot owl gwine hoot right out at yew. rabbit, rabbit, do you know; i can track you in de snow. one young man lingered at the gate after a long visit, but a lots ob sweethearts do det. his lady love started to cry. he said, "dear, don't cry; i will come to see you again." but she cried on. "oh, darling don't cry so; i will come back again, i sure will." still she cried. at last he said: "love, did i not tell you that i would soon come again to see you?" and through her tears she replied: "yes, but i am afraid you will never go; that is what is the matter with me. we must all go." uncle joshua was once asked a great question. it was: "if you had to be blown up which would you choose, to be blown up on the railroad or the steamboat?" "well," said uncle joshua, "i don't want to be blowed up no way; but if i had to be blowed up i would rather be blowed up on de railroad, because, you see, if you is blowed up on de railroad, dar you is, but if you is blowed up on de steamboat, whar is you?" casie tells me of some of his superstitions: if you are the first person a cat looks at after he has licked hisself, you are going to be married. if you put a kitten under the cover of your bed and leave it until it crawls out by itself, it will never leave home. if you walk through a place where a horse wallows, you will have a headache. if a woodpecker raps on the house, someone is going to die. if an owl screeches, turn the pocket of your apron inside out, tie a knot in your apron string, and he will stop. if a rabbit runs across the road in front of you, to the left, it is a sign of bad luck; if it goes to the right, it is a sign of good luck. if you cut a child's finger nails before it is a year old, it will steal when it grows up. if you put your hand on the head of a dead man, you will never worry about him; he will never haunt you, and you will never fear death. if the pictures are not turned toward the wall after a death, some other member of the family will die. if you see a dead man in the mirror, you will be unlucky the rest of your life. name of interviewer: velma sample subject: slavery days the attack the yankees made on johnnie reaves place given by aunt elcie brown aunt elcie brown (a negro girl age nine years old) was living in the clay hills of arkansas close to centerville, and clinton in amid county on johnnie reeves place. johnnie reeves was old and had a son named henry l. reeves who was married. young reeves got the news that they were to be attacked by the yankees at a certain time and he took his family and all the best stock such as horses, cattle, and sheep to a cave in a bluff which was hid from the spy-glasses of the yankees, by woods all around it. johnnie reeves was left to be attacked by the soldiers. he was blind and almost paralyzed. he had to eat dried beef shaved real fine and the negro children fed him. they ate as much of it as he did. aunt elcie and her brother fed him most of the time. they would get on each side of him and lead him for a walk most every day. the natives thought they would bluff the soldiers and cut the bridge into and thought that the soldiers would be unable to cross beavers creek, but the yankees was prepared. they had made a long bridge for the soldiers to come marching right over. this bridge was just a mile from reeves farm. then the soldiers came they were so many that they could not all come up the big road but part of them came over the hill by the sheeps spring and through the pasture. all the negroes came out of their shacks and watched them march toward their houses. elcie and her brother got scared and ran in the house, crawled in bed and thought they were hid, as they had scrutched down in the middle of the bed with the door locked. but the soldiers bursted in and moved the bed from the corner. one stood over the bed and laughed, then asked the other man to look, then threw the covers off of them. he first took her brother by one arm and one leg and stood him on his feet, patted his head and told him not to be afraid, that they would not hurt them. then took elcie and stood her up. he reached in a bag lined with fur which was strapped on them and gave them both a stick of candy. elcie says she thinks that is why she has always liked stick candy. she also says that that day has stood out to her and she can see everything just like it was yesterday. all the negro homes were close together and the soldiers raided them in small bunches. they were kind to the negro children. wnen they started to the big house where johnnie reeves lived all the negro children followed them. when they entered the house mr. reeves was sitting by the side of the fire-place and every one that passed him kicked him brutely. they ransacked the place all over and when they got up stairs they kicked out all the window pains and tore off all the window-shutters. they took all the things they wanted out of the house, such as silver-ware, and jewelry. the smoke-house, milk-house and store-house was three separate buildings in a row. the first one they entered was the milk-house. it had seven shelves of milk, cream and butter in it. there was eleven crocks of sweet milk larger than a waterbucket. they had forty gallons of butter milk, and over three gallons of butter in a large flat crock. they also had over five gallons of cream. the yankee soldiers ate all the butter and cream and set the milk in the yard and ask the negro kids to finish the milk. they drank it like pigs without a cup, just stuck their heads down and drank like pigs. when they were full the balance of the milk was so dirty it looked like pigs had been in it. the soldiers entered the next building which was the store-room where they stored rice, flour, sugar, coffee, and such like, and they took what they wanted, then destroyed the rest. mr. reeves had just been to town and bought a hogshead of sugar and they took it out and burst it and invited the negro children to help themselves. elcie says that when the kids all got full there was not a half bushel left. the last raid was the smoke-house where stuffed sausage was hanging by the hundred and hams by the dozens. they didn't leave a thing, took lard and everything. it took over two wagons to hold everything. then they crossed over to the next place owned by bill gunley. * * * * * dr. levy tells me of his father being partial to the southerners although he lived in evansville, indiana, and fought as a yankee. he was accused of being partial and they would turn over his wagons and cause him trouble. he had fine wagons and sometimes when he would be turning his wagons back up after them being turned over to contrary him, he would curse gen. grant and call him that g.d. old tobacco spitter. although henry levy seldom did swear as he was french, sometimes they would make him mad and he would do so. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: f. h. brown hickory street, north little rock, arkansas age: [hw: builds church and school] "i was born in marion county, mississippi. columbus is the county-seat. my father's name was hazard brown, and my mother's name was willie brown. she was a rankin before she married. my mother was born in lawrence county, mississippi, and married father there. my father was born in tangipahoa parish, louisiana. i was born in three feet of the line in louisiana. i was born in the old slave quarters. the house was just across the line between mississippi and louisiana. the lower room was in louisiana and the other was in mississippi. there was a three foot hall between the rooms. it was a matter of convenience that i was born in mississippi. i might have been just as well born in louisiana. the house was in both states. "my father's master was black bill warren. black bill was just a title they give him. i think that his name was joe warren, but they nicknamed him black bill, and everybody called him that. my mother belonged to the rankinses. "my mother's mother was named dolly ware. my father's mother was named maria. their papa's father was named thomas, and i forget my mother's father's name. i know it but i forget it just now. i haven't thought over it for a long time. "my father when he died was eighty-five years old. he was treated pretty good in slavery time. he did farm work. his mars had about ninety slaves, that is, counting children and all. when i was a boy, i was in those quarters and saw them. i went back there and though it was some time afterward, taught in them. and later on, i preached in them, since i have been a preacher, of course. i have a cousin there now. he is about a hundred years old. he belongs to the methodist episcopal church. "my father lived to see freedom. he has been dead more than twelve years. he died at my home. "he was so close to the fighting that he could hear the guns and the firing. when they was freed, some white people told him, 'you are just as free as we are.' i was born after the emancipation proclamation. the proclamation was issued in september and i was born in october. it didn't become effective till january first. so i was born a slave any way you take it. "the farm my father worked on was on the pearl river. it was very fertile. it was in mississippi. a very big road runs beside the farm. the road is called the big road. the nigger quarters were across the road on the south side. "my mother's folks treated her nicely too. mr. rankins didn't have any slaves but mrs. rankins had some. her people gave them to her. my grandma who belonged to her had twenty-six children. she got her start off of the slaves her parents gave her, and finally she had about seventy-five. she ran a farm. my mother's work was house woman. she worked in the house. her mistress was good to her. the overseer couldn't whip the niggers, except in her presence, so that she could see that it wasn't brutal. she didn't allow the women to be whipped at all. when an overseer got rough, she would fire him. slaves would run away sometimes and stay in the woods if they thought that they would get a whipping for it. but she would send word for them to come on back and they wouldn't be whipped. and she would keep her word about it. the slaves on her place were treated so good that they were called free niggers by the other white people. when they were whipped, they would go to the woods. "i have heard them speak of the pateroles often. they had to get a pass and then the pateroles wouldn't bother them. they would whip you and beat you if you didn't have a pass. slavery was an awful low thing. it was a bad system. you had to get a pass to go to see your wife. if you didn't have that pass, they would whip you. the pateroles carried on their work for a good while after slavery was over, and the civil war had ended. "i was pretty good when i was a boy. so i never had any trouble then. i was right smart size when i saw the ku klux. they would whip men and women that weren't married and were living together. on the first day of january, they would whip men and boys that didn't have a job. they kept the negroes from voting. they would whip them. they put up notices, 'no niggers to come out to the polls tomorrow.' they would run them off of government land which they had homesteaded. sometimes they would just persuade them not to vote. a negro like my father, they would say to him, 'now, brown, you are too good to get messed up. them other niggers 'round here ain't worth nothing, but you are, and we don't want to see you get hurt. so you stay 'way from the polls tomorrow.' and tomorrow, my father would stay away, under the circumstances. they had to depend on the white people for counsel. they didn't know what to do themselves. the other niggers they would threaten them and tell them if they came out they would kill them. "right after the war, we farmed on shares. when we made our last share-crop, father farmed on senator bilbo's mother's farm on the state line. i nursed senator bilbo when he was a baby. theoda bilbo. he is the one who says negroes should be sent to africa. then there wouldn't be nobody here to raise people like him. he fell into the mill pond one day and i pulled him out and kept him from drowning. if it weren't for that, he wouldn't be here to say, 'send all the negroes to africa.' if i'd see him right now, he'd give me ten dollars. "mrs. bilbo's first husband was a crane. he killed himself. he didn't intend to. it was in a horse race. the horse ran away with him and killed him. then theoda's father married her. he was a poor man. he married that widow and got up in the world. they had a gin mill, and a grist mill, and a sawmill. they got business from everybody. that was theoda's daddy--old man bilbo. "in , we stayed on elisha mcghee's farm. we called him elisha but his name was elijah. i began to remember them. the next year, we farmed for old man william bilbo. but we didn't get along so well there because daddy wouldn't let anybody beat him out of anything that was his. that was theoda's gran'daddy. then we went to (mississippi) miss crane's. the next year she married theoda bilbo's daddy and in , my daddy moved up on his own place at hurricane creek. there he built a church and built a school, and i went to the school on our own place. he stayed there till . in , we moved to holly springs. that was right after the yellow fever epidemic. i went to school there at shaw university. i stayed in that school a good while. it's called rust college now. it's named after the secretary of the freedman's aid society. rust was the greatest donor and they named the school after him. i went to the state school in my last year because they would give you a lifetime certificate when you finished there. i mean a lifetime teaching certificate for mississippi. i finished the course and got the certificate. there is the diploma up there on the wall. j.h. henderson was the principal and he was one of my teachers too. henderson was a wonderful man. you know he died out here in the county hospital sometime ago. sometime i'll tell you all about him. he was a remarkable man. he taught there behind highgate, a northern man. i'll tell you all about him sometime. "i farmed with my father in the early part of my life. when i went to holly springs in , i worked for dr. t.j. malone, a banker there, and a big farmer--president of the holly springs bank. i worked for him mornings and evenings and slept at home of nights. i would work in vacation times too at whatever i could find to do till i got about able to teach. when i first commenced to teach, i taught in several counties--lincoln, simpson, pike, marion (the place i went to school), and copiah. i built the school at lawrence county. i organized the folsom high school there. it was named after president cleveland's wife. i taught there nine years. i married there. my wife's name was narcissa davis. she was a teacher and graduated from the same school i did. she lived in calhoun county. she died in , in conway. "i taught school at conway in faulkner county, and joined the ministry as a local preacher, in . i moved from there to white county and taught in searcy one term. taught at beebe ten years. married again in --annie day. i taught at beebe and lived in white county. then i bought me a home at higginson, and went into the ministry solely. i left higginson and taught and pastored seven years at des arc. i know practically everybody in des arc. i was thinking today about writing brick williams. he is the son of old man williams, the one you know i think. then i come to what is called sixteen section three miles from galloway and taught there seven years and pastored. i presided too as elder some of those years--north little rock district. then i went back and pastored there and taught at west point, arkansas four years. then i pastored at prescott and was on the magnolia district as presiding elder two years. then i presided over the north little rock district again. pastored st. luke circuit in southwest part of arkansas below washington. then i built a church at jonesboro. i pastored twenty-nine years altogether, built five churches, and have been responsible for five hundred conversions. "i think the prospects of the country and the race are good. i don't see much dark days ahead. it is just a new era. you are doing something right now i never saw done before in my life. even when they had the census, i didn't see any colored people taking it. "i don't get any assistance in the form of money from the government. i have been trying to get it but i can't. looks like they cut off a lot of them and can't reach it. won't let me teach school. say i am too old for wpa teaching. superannuate me in the church, and say i'm too old to preach, and still i haven't gotten anything from my church since last january. i get some commodities from the state. i belong to the c.m.e. church. i have lived in this community twenty-five years." interviewer's comment hanging on the wall was the old man's diploma from the mississippi state normal school for colored persons. it was dated may , , and it bore the signatures of j.r. preston, state superintendent; e.d. miller, county superintendent (both members of the board of directors); j.h. henderson, principal; narcissa hill and maria rabb, faculty members. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: george brown route ; box , pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm, i was born in slavery times. i was born in . how old does that leave me? "no ma'am, i wasn't born in arkansas, born in alabama. "jim hart was my white folks. good to me? i'd rather let that alone. plenty to eat? i'll have to let that alone too. i used to say my old missis was 'hell a mile.' her name was sarah. she was a williams but she married jim hart. they had about a hundred and seventy head, little and big together. "me? i was a servant at the house. i didn't do any field work till after surrender. "some women was pretty mean and old miss was one of 'em. "you'll get the truth now--i ain't told you half. "we lived in marengo county. the tombigbee river divided it and sumter county. the war didn't get down that far. it just got as far as mobile. "oh yes'm, i knowed they was a war gwine on. i'd be waitin' on the table and i'd hear the white folks talkin'. i couldn't keep all i heard. "i know i heard 'em say general grant went up in a balloon and counted all the horses and mules they had in vicksburg. "i seen them gunboats gwine down the tombigbee river. and i seen a string of cotton bales as long as from here to there floatin' down the river to mobile. i reckon they was gettin' it away from the yankees. you see we was a hundred and fifty miles north of mobile. "i wish you'd a caught me with my mind runnin' that way. i could open your eyes. "they had a overseer named sothern. one sunday my mammy slipped off and went to church. some of 'em told sothern and he told miss sarah. and she had mammy called out and they had a strop 'bout as wide as any hand and had holes in it, and they started whippin' her. i was runnin' around there with my shirt tail full of bricks and i was chunkin' 'em at that overseer. he would a caught me and whipped me too but tom kelly--that was old miss' son-in-law--said, 'a calf loves the cow,' so he wouldn't let old miss whip me. "i come away from alabama in ' . i lived in tallulah, louisiana eight years and the rest of the time i been here in arkansas. "i've farmed most of the time. i owned one farm, forty-nine acres, but my boy got into trouble and i had to sell it. "then i've been a engineer in sawmills and at gins. i used to be a round man--i could work any place. "me? vote? no, i never did believe in votin'. i couldn't see no sense in it. they was mobbin' and killin' too much for george brown. i was a preacher--baptist. i was a ordained preacher. i could marry 'em. oh lord, i ain't preached in a long time. i got so i couldn't stand on my feet. "i been in the church of god sixty-one years. never been in any lawsuit or anything like that in my life. i always tried to keep out of trouble. "i 'member one time i come nearest to gettin' drowned in the tombigbee river. we boys was in washin' and we got to divin' and i div where it was too deep. when i come up, look like a world of water. a boy in a skiff come and broke right to me. i reckon i was unconscious, i didn't know what. but them boys wasn't unconscious. "i think the younger generation is mighty bad. there's some exceptions but the general run is bad. i've seen the time you could go to a white man and he would help you but these young white folks, they turn from you." interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: j.n. brown west th ave. pine bluff, ark. age: occupation: sells peanuts from wagon "yes'm, i was livin' in slavery times--musta been--i was born in , near natchez, mississippi--in town. "old daniel virdin was my first master. i can halfway remember him. oh lord, i remember that shootin'. used to clap my hands--called it foolishness. we kids didn't know no better. "i was in camden, arkansas when we was freed. colored folks in them days was sold and run. my father was in camden when we got free--he was sold. my mother was sold too. "i heared em say they had a good master and mistis. man what bought em was named brown. they runned us to texas durin' the war and then come back here to camden. "i never went to school. i was the oldest chile my father had out a sixteen and i had to work. we had a kinda hard time. i stayed in camden till i was eighteen and then i runned off from my folks and went to texas. times was so tight in arkansas, and a cattleman come there and said they'd give me twenty-five dollars a month in texas. i thought that would beat just something to eat. i been workin' for the white folks and just gettin' a little grub and not makin' any money. "in texas i worked for some good white folks. john worth bennet was the man who owned the ranch. i stayed there seven years and saved my money. i was just nacherly a good nigger. that was in hopkins county, texas. "i've got a good memory. that's all i got to study bout is how to take care of the situation. i was livin' there in that country in , fore the spanish-american war. "i come back here to arkansas in . my father was named nelson brown. he preached. my mother's name was sally brown. "long in that time we tried to vote but we didn't know 'zactly what we was doin. i think i voted once or twice, but if a man can't read or write and have to have somebody make out his ticket, he don't know what he's votin', so i just quit tryin' to vote. "now about this younger generation, you've asked me a question it's hard for me to answer. with all these nineteenth century niggers, the more education they got, the bigger crooks they is. "we colored people are livin' under the law, but we don't make no laws. you take a one-armed man and he can't do what a two-armed man can. the colored man in the south is a one-armed man, but of course the colored man can't get along without the white folks. but i've lived in this world long enough to know what the cause is--i know why the colored man is a one-armed man." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: lewis brown oak street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm my name is brown--lewis brown. yes'm i lived durin' slavery times. i was born in . "i been workin' this mornin'. i been diggin' up the ground to bed up some onions. no i don't work every day. sometimes i feel ailin'--don't feel like doin' nothin'. "i wasn't big enough to 'member 'bout the war. all i 'member is seein' the soldiers retirin' from the war. they come by my old master's plantation. the yankees was in front--they was the horsebackers. then come the wagons and then the southern soldiers comin' along in droves. "i was born in arkansas. my mother and father belonged to dr. jordan. he was the biggest slaveholder in arkansas. he was called the 'nigger ruler'. if the overseer couldn't make a slave behave, the old doctor went out with a gun and shot him. when the slaves on other plantations couldn't be ruled, they was sold to dr. jordan and he ruled 'em or killed 'em. "i don't 'member much else 'bout my old master but i 'member my old mistress. the last crop she made before freedom, she had two plantations with overseers on 'em and on one plantation they didn't 'low no kind a slave 'cept south carlinans. but on the other plantation the slaves come from different places. "after the war we went to texas and i 'member my old mistress come down there to get her old colored folks to come back to arkansas. lots of 'em went back with her. she called herself givin' 'em a home. i don't know what she paid--i never heard a breath of that but she hoped 'em to get back. i didn't go--i stayed in texas and growed up and married there and then come back to arkansas in . "oh yes'm--the ku klux was plentiful after peace. they went about robbin' people. "some of the colored folks thought they was better off when they was slaves. they was the ones that had good masters. some of the masters didn't 'low the overseers to 'buke the slaves and some wouldn't have overseers. "i never did vote for no president, just for home officers. i don't know what to say 'bout not letting the colored folks vote now. they have to pay taxes and 'spenses and i think they ought to have something to say 'bout things. "'how did you lose your arm?' it was shot off. i got into a argument with a fellow what owed me twenty-four dollars. he decided to pay me off that way. that was when i was 'bout seventy. he's dead now. "i think the people is more wickeder now. the devil got more chances than he used to have and the people can't do right if they want to." name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: humorous tales of slavery days "i was born in and 'co'se i wasn't big enough to work much in slavery times, but one thing i did do and that was to tote watermelons for the overseer and pile 'em on the porch. "i 'member he said if we dropped one and broke it, we'd have to stop right there and eat the whole thing. i know i broke one on purpose so i could eat it and i 'member he made me scrape the rind and drink the juice. i know i eat till i was tired of that watermelon. "and then there was a lake old master told us to stay out of. if he caught you in it, he'd take you by the shirt collar and your heels and throw you back in. "i know he nearly drowned me once." this information given by: lewis brown place of residence: w. eighth, pine bluff, arkansas occupation: retired minister age: name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: child rearing customs of early days "in them days, folks raised one another's chillun. if a child was at your house and misbehaved, you whipped him and sent him home and his mother give him another whippin'. "and you better _not 'spute_ your parents!" this information given by: lewis brown place of residence: w. eighth. pine bluff. arkansas occupation: none, retired minister age: circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave . name and address of informant--lewis brown, pulaski street, little rock . date and time of interview-- . place of interview-- pulaski street, little hock, arkansas . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant-- . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you-- . description of room, house, surroundings, etc.-- personal history of informant state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date-december, subject-ex-slave name and address of informant--lewis brown, pulaski street, little rock. . ancestry--father, lewis bronson; mother, millie bronson. . place and date of birth--born april , in kemper county, mississippi. . family--five children. . places lived in, with dates--lived in mississippi until the eighties, then moved to helena, arkansas. moved from helena to little rock. . education, with dates-- . occupations and accomplishments, with dates--farming. . special skills and interests-- . community and religious activities--belongs to baptist church. . description of informant-- . other points gained in interview--facts concerning child life, status of colored girls, patrollers, marriage and sex relationships, churches and amusements. text of interview (unedited) state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave name and address of informant--lewis brown, pulaski street, little rock. "i was born in , april , in kemper county, mississippi, close to meridian. i drove gin wagons in the time of the war in a horse-power gin. i carried matches and candles down to weigh cotton with in slavery times. "they had to pick cotton till dark. they had to tote their weight hundred pounds, two pounds, whatever it was down to the weighing place and they had to weigh it. whatever you lacked of having your weight, you would get a lick for. on down till they called us out for the war, that was the way it was. they were goin' to give my brother fifty lashes but they come and took him to the army, and they didn't git to whip him. "my father was lewis bronson. he come from south carolina. my mother was stole. the speculators stole her and they brought her to kemper county, mississippi, and sold her. my mother's name was millie. my father's owner was elijah mccoy. old elijah mccoy was the owner, but they didn't take his name. they went back to the old standard mark after the surrender. they went back to the people where they come from, and they changed their names--they changed off of them old names. mccoys was my masters, but my father went back to the name of the people way back over in there in south carolina, where he come from. i don't know nothin' bout them. he was the father of nine children. he had two wives. one of them he had nine by, and the other one he had none by. so he went back to the one he had the nine children by. early life "i was ten years old when war was ended. i had to carry matches and candles to the cotton pickers. it would be too dark for them to weigh up. they couldn't see. they had tasks and they would be picking till late to git their tasks done. matches and candles come from the big house, and i had to bring it down to them. that was two years before the war. "i wasn't big enough to do nothing else, only drive to the gin. i drove horse-power to the gin.--drove mules to the gin. i would drive the cows out to the pasture too. the milk women would milk them. lawd, i could not do no milking. i was too small. the milk women would milk them and i would drive the cows one way and the calves another so that they couldn't mix. and at night i would go git them and they would milk them again. the milk women milked them. what would i know bout milkin. "i never did any playin', 'cept plain marbles and goin' in swimmin'. schooling "the white girls and boys learned us our a-b-c's after the war. they had a free school in kemper county there. my children i learnt them myself or had it done. you couldn't hardly ever find one in kemper country that could spell and go on. they didn't have no time for that. some few of them learned their a-b-c's before the war. but that is all. they learned what they learned after the war in the free government schools mostly. they would not do nothin' to you if they caught you learnin' in slave time. sometimes the white children would teach you your a-b-c's. status of colored girls "they had mighty mean ways in that country. they would catch young colored girls and whip them and make them do what they wanted. there wasn't but one mean one on our place. he was ordered to go to war and he didn't; so they pressed him. he was the one that promised my brother a whipping. he left like this morning and come back a week from today dead. the rest of them was pretty good. the mean one was elijah. master's sons "old man mccoy had four sons; elijah, that was the mean one, redder, nelson, clay. patrollers "sometimes the pateroles would do the devil with you if they caught you out without a pass. you could go anywhere you pleased if you had a pass. but if you didn't have a pass, they'd give you the devil. marriage and sex relationships "you could have one wife over here and another one over there if you wanted to. my daddy had two women. and he quit the one that didn't have no children. people weren't no more 'n dogs them days,--weren't as much as dogs. mother and father's work "in slavery time, my father worked at the field. plowed and hoed and made cotton and corn--what else was he goin' to do. my mother was a cook. sustenance "my master fed us and clothed us and give us something to eat. some of them was hell a mile. some of them was all kinds of ways. our people was good. one of them was mean. father's brother "my father's brother belonged to elijah. i had an auntie over in there too. i don't know what become of them all. they were all in kemper county, mississippi. churches "the white people had churches in slavery times just like they have now. the white people would have service one a month. but like these street cars. white people would be at the front and colored would fill up back. they'll quit that after a while. sometimes they would have church in the morning for the white folks and church in the evening for the colored. they would baptize you just like they would anybody else. "i'll tell you what was done in slave time. they'd sing and pray. the white folks would take you to the creek and baptize you like anybody else. "sometimes the slaves would be off and have prayer meetings of their own--nothing but colored people there. they soon got out uh that. "sometimes they would turn a tub or pot down. that would be when they were making a lot of fuss and didn't want to bother nobody. the white people wouldn't be against the meeting. but they wouldn't want to be disturbed. if you wanted to sing at night and didn't want nobody to hear it, you could just take an old wash pot and turn it down--leave a little space for the air, and nobody could hear it. amusement "the grown folks didn't have much amusement in slavery times. they had banjo, fiddle, melodian, and things like that. there wasn't no baseball in those days. i never seed none. they could dance all they wanted to their way. they danced the dotillions and the waltzes and breakdown steps, all such as that. pick banjo! u-umph! they would give corn huskins; they would go and shuck corn and shuck so much. get through shucking, they would give you dinner. sometimes big rich white people would give dances out in the yard and look at their way of dancing, and doing. violin players would be colored. "have cotton picking too sometimes at night, moonshiney nights. that's when they'd give the cotton pickings. say you didn't have many hands, then they'd go and send you one hand from this place and one from that place. and so on. your friends would do all that for you. between 'em they'd git up a big bunch of hands. then they'd give the cotton picking, and git your field clared up. they'd give you something to eat and whiskey to drink. how freedom came "notice was given to my father that he was free. white people in that country give it to him. i don't know what they said to my father. then the last gun was fired. i don't know where peace was declared. notice come how that everybody was free. told my daddy, 'you're just as free as i am.' some went back to their daddy's name. some went back to their master's name. my daddy went back to his old master's name. right after the war "first year after the war, they planted a crop. didn't raise no cotton during the war, from the time the war started till it ended, they didn't raise no cotton. "after the war, they give the colored people corn and cotton, one-third and one-fourth. they would haul a load of it up during the war i mean, during the time before the war, and give it to the colored people. "they had two crops. no cotton in the time of the war, nothing but corn and peas and potatoes and so on. all that went to the white people. but they divided it. they give all so much round. had a bin for the white and a bin for the colored. the next year they commenced with the third and fourth business--third of the cotton and fourth of the corn. you could have all the peanuts you wanted. you could sell your corn but they would only give you fifty cents for it--fifty cents a bushel. "my father farmed and sharecropped for a while after the war. he changed from his master's place the second year and went on another place. he farmed all his life. he raised all his children and got wore out and pore. he died in kemper county, mississippi. all his children and everything was raised there. life since the war "i came to arkansas in the eighties. come to helena. i did carpenter and farm work in helena. i made three crops, one for phil maddox, two with miss hobbs. i come from helena here. "i married in mississippi in roland forks, sixty miles this side of vicksburg. i had two boys and three girls. two girls died in helena. one died in roland forks before i come to helena. nary one of the boys didn't die. "i don't do no work now. this rheumatism's got me down. i call that age. if i could work, i couldn't git nothing worth while. these niggers here won't pay you nothing they promise you. my boy's got me to feed as long as i live now. i did a batch of work for the colored people round here in the spring of the year and i ain't got no money for it yit. "i belong to the mount zion baptist church; i reckon i do. i got down sick so i couldn't go and i don't know whether they turned me out or no. i tell you, people don't care nothin about you when you get old or stricken down. they pretend they do, but they don't. my mind is good and i got just as much ambition as i ever had. but i don't have the strength. "i haven't got but a few more days to lag round in this world. when you get old and stricken, nobody cares, children nor nobody else." interviewer: miss bailie c. miller person interviewed: mag brown, clarksville, arkansas age: "i was born in north carolina and come south with my white folks. they was trying to git out of the war and run right into it. my mother died when i was a baby. i don't remember my mother no more than you do. i left my white folks. when i was years old, we lived out in the country. they was willing to keep me but after the war they was so poor. the girls told me if i could come to town and find work i had better do it. two of them come nearly to town with me. they told me i was free to come to town and live with the colored folks. i didn't know what it meant to be free. i was just as free as i wanted to be with my white folks. when i got to town i stayed with your aunt awhile then she sent me down to stay with your grandma. a white girl who lived with them, like one of the family, learned me how to cook and iron. i knew how to wash. "i don't know anything about the present generation. i ain't been able to git out for the last year or two. i think i broke my foot, for i had to go on crutches a long time. "the white folks always sung but i don't know what they sung. i didn't pay no tention to it then." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mary brown, clarendon, arkansas age: born in "mama was born in slavery but never sold. grandma and her husband was sold and brung eleven children to crystal springs. they was sold to mr. munkilwell. i was born there. grandma was born in virginia. her back was cut all to pieces where she had been beat by her master. both of them was whooped. he was a hostler and blacksmith. "when grandma was a young woman she didn't have no children, so her master thought sure she was barren. he sold her to taylors. here come 'long eleven children. taylor sold them. after freedom she had another. he was her onliest boy. that was so funny to hear her tell it. i never could forgit it long as i ever know a thing. grandma's baby child was seventy-four years old, 'cepting that boy what was a stole child. she died not long ago at carpendale, mississippi. i got the letter two weeks ago. but she had been dead a while 'fore they writ to me. her name was aunt miny. she didn't have no children. "grandma said the first time she was sold--the first day of july--they put her in a trader yard in virginia. she was crying and says, 'take me back to my mama.' an old woman said, 'you are up to be sold.' "aunt helen, her sister, was taking her husband something in the field. they fooled her away from her five little children. grandma said she never was seen no more. she was much older than grandma. grandma stayed with her slavery husband till he died. "since freedom some people tried to steal my mama. she was a fast runner and could dance. they wanted to make money out of her. they would bet on her races. at lernet school they took about thirty-six children off in wagons. never could get trace of them. never seen nor heard of a one of them again. that was in this state at lernet school years ago but since freedom. "i was born during the war soon after master munkilwell took mama over. he didn't ever buy her. mama died young but grandma lived to be over a hundred years old. she told me all i know about real olden times. "i just looks on in 'mazement at this young generation. they is happy all right. times not hard for them glib and well as they seems. times have changed a sight since i was born in this world and still changing. sometimes it seems like they are all right. ag'in times is tough on old folks like me. this is all in the bible--about the times and folks changing." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mattie brown. helena. arkansas age: "i heard mother say time and ag'in i was a year and two months old the year of the surrender. i was born in montgomery, alabama. mother was a milker and a house woman. father died when i was a baby. mother never married. there was three of us to raise. i'm the youngest. "sister was the regular little nurse girl for mother's mistress. i don't recollect her name. the baby was sickly and fretful. my sister set and rocked that baby all night long in a homemade cradle. mother said she'd nod and go on. mother thought she was too young to have to do that way. mother stole her away the first year of the civil war and let her go with some acquaintances of hers. they was colored folks. mother said she had good owners. they was so good it didn't seem like slavery. the plantation belong to the woman. he was a preacher. he rode a circuit and was gone. they had a colored overseer or foreman like. she wanted a overseer just to be said she had one but he never agreed to it. he was a good man. "mother said over in sight on a joining farm the overseers whooped somebody every day and more than that sometimes. she said some of the white men overseers was cruel. "mother quilted for people and washed and ironed to raise us. after freedom mother sent for my sister. i don't recollect this but mother said when she heard of freedom she took me in her arms and left. the first i can recollect she was cooking for soldiers at the camps at montgomery, alabama. they had several cooks. we lived in our own house and mother washed and ironed for them some too. they paid her well for her work. "i recollect some of the good eating. we had big white rice and big soda crackers and the best meat i ever et. it was pickled pork. it was preserved in brine and shipped to the soldiers in hogheads (barrels). we lived there till mother died and i can recollect that much. when mother died we had a hard time. i look back now and don't see how we made it through. we washed and ironed mostly and had a mighty little bit to eat and nearly nothing to wear. it was hard times for us three children. i was the baby child. my brother hired out when he could. we stuck together till we all married off." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: molly brown age: or over brinkley, ark. one morning early i (irene robertson) got off the bus and started up main street. i hadn't gone far before i noticed a small form of a woman. she wore men's heavy shoes, an old dark dress and a large fringed woolen shawl; the fringe was well gone and the shawl, once black, was now brown with age. i passed her and looked back into her face. i saw she was a negro, dark brown. her face was small with unusually nice features for a woman of her race. she carried a slick, knotted, heavy walking stick--a very nice-looking one. on the other arm was a rectangular split basket with wires run through for a handle and wrapped with a dirty white rag to keep the wire from cutting into her hand or arm. i stopped and said, "auntie, could you direct me to molly brown's house?" "i'm her," she replied. "well, i want to go home with you." "what you want to go out there for?" "i want you to tell me about times when you were a girl," i said. "i'm not going home yet. i got to get somethin' for dinner." "well, you go ahead and i'll follow along." "very well," she said. i window shopped outside, and i noticed she had a box of candy, but it was a ¢ box and had been opened, so i thought it may be nearly anything just put in the box. the next store she went into was a nice-looking meat market and grocery combined, i followed in behind her. a nice-looking middle-aged man gave her a bundle that was large enough to hold a ¢ meat roast. it was neatly tied, and the wrapping paper was white, i observed. she thanked him. she turned to me and said, "give me a nickel." i said, "i don't have one." then i said teasingly, "why you think i have a nickel?" she said, "you look like it." i opened my purse and gave her a dime. she went over to the bread and picked up a loaf or two, feeling it. the same man said, "let that alone." the old woman slowly went on out. i was amazed at his scolding. then he said to me, "she begs up and down this street every day, cold or hot, rain or shine, and i have to watch her from the time she enters that door till she leaves. i give her scrap meat," he added. "how old is she?" "she was about fifty years old sixty years ago when she came to brinkley. she is close to a hundred years. people say she has been here since soon after the town started." he remarked, "she won't spend that dime you gave her." "well, i will go tell her what to buy with it," i replied. i hurried out lest i loose her. she had gained time on me and was crossing the cotton belt ry. tracks. i caught up with her before she went into a small country grocery store on # highway. she had passed several negro stores, restaurants, etc, "i want a nickel's worth of meal, please, sir." i said, "auntie, buy a dime's worth of meal." "i don't want but a nickel's worth." the man handed it to her to put in the basket. "give me a piece candy." the merchant gave her a nice hard stick. she broke it half in to and offered me a piece. i said, "no, thank you, auntie." she really wanted me to have it, but i refused it. she blowed her nose on her soiled old white underskirt. she wormed and went on out. i asked the merchant "how old is she?" "bless her heart, i expect she is ninety years old or more. i give her some hard candy every time she comes in here. i give her a lot of things. she spends her money with me." then i asked if she drew an old age pension. he said, "i think she does, but that is about ¢ and it runs out before she gets another one. she begs a great deal." i lagged behind. the way she made her way across the broadway of america made me scringe. i crossed and caught up with her as she turned off to a path between a garage and blacksmith shop. i said, "auntie, let me take your basket." she refused me. i said, "may i carry your meal or your meat?" "i don't know you." she said shortly. a jolly man at the side of the garage heard me. i said, "i'm all right, am i not" to the man. he said, "aunt molly, let her help you home. she is all right. i'm sure." i followed the path ahead of her. when we turned off across a grassy mesa the old woman said, "here," and handed over her basket. i carried it. when we got to her house across a section of hay land at least a mile from town, she said, "push that door open and go to the fire." an old negro man, not her husband and no relation, got a very respectable rocking chair for me. he had a good fire in the fireplace. the old woman sat on a tall footstool. she was so cold. she said, "bring me some water, please." a young yellow boy stepped out and gave her a cup of water. she drank it all. she put the meat bones and scrap meat on the coals in an iron pot in some water. she had the boy scald the meal, sprinkle salt in it and add a little cold water to it. he put it in an iron pan and put a heavy iron lid over it. the kettle was iron. the boy set it aside and put the bread on hot embers. she sat down and said, "i'm hungry." i said, "auntie, what have you in that box?" she reached to her basket, untied some coins from the corner of the soiled rag--three pennies and a nickel. she untied her ragged hose--she wore two pairs--tied above the knee with a string, and slipped the money to the foot and in her heavy shoes. it looked safe. then the old negro man came in with an armfull of scrub wood and placed it by the fireplace on the floor. he said, "the government sent me here to live and take care of aunt molly. she been sick. i build her fires, and me and that boy wait on her." i asked, "is the boy kin". he said, "no'm, she's all alone." he went away and the boy went away. the old woman called them and offered them candy. she had twelve hard pieces of whitish, stale chocolate candy in the box. the boy refused and went away, but the old man took three pieces. i observed it well, when she passed it to me, for worms. i refused it. it seemed free from bugs though. she ate greedily and the old man went away. we were alone and she was warm. she talked freely till the old negro man returned at one o'clock for dinner. notwithstanding the fact the meal hadn't been sifted and the meat not washed, it looked so brown and nice in two pones and the meat smelled so good i left hurriedly before i weakened, for i was getting hungry from the aroma. "i was born at edgefield county, south carolina, and lived there till after i married." "did you have a wedding?" "i sure did." "tell me about it." "i married at home, at night, had a supper, had a nice dance." "you did?" "i did." "did a colored man marry you?" "colored preacher--jim woods." "did he say the ceremony?" "he read it out of a little book." "did you have a nice supper?" "course i did! white folks helped fix my weddin' supper. had turkey, chickens, baked shoat, pies and cake--a table piled up full. mama helped cook it. it was all cooked on fireplace. "how were you dressed?" "dressed like folks dressed to marry." "how was that?" "i wore three or four starched underskirts trimmed in ruffles and a white dress over em. i wore a long lacy vail of net." "did you go away?" "i lived close to my ma and always lived close bout her. i was called a first class lady then." "you were." "my parents name tempy harris and albert harris. she was a cook. he was a farmer. they had five children. the reason i come to arkansas was cause brother albert and caroline come here and kept writin' for us to come. my folks belong to the harrises. i don't know nothin' bout em--been too long--and i never fooled round their houses. some my folks belong to the joneses. they kinfolks of the harrises. "no, i never saw no one sold nor hung neither. "remember grandpa. his daddy was a white man. his wife was a black woman. mama was a brown woman like i is. "i ain't had narry child. my mother died here in this house. way me an my husband paid for the house, he farmed for jim black and mr. gunn. i cooked for jim woodfin. then i run a roomin' house till four years ago. four years ago i went to south carolina to see my auntie. her name julia. they all had more 'n i had. she'd dead now. all of em dead bout it. she was a light woman--julia. her pa was a white man; her ma a light woman. julia considered wealthy. "i don't know nothin' bout freedom. i seen the soldiers. i seen both kinds. the white folks was good to us. we stayed on. then we went to albany, georgia. we lived there a long time--lived in florida a long time, then come here. "the joneses and harrises had two or three families all i know. they didn't have no big sight of land. they was good to us. i picked up chips, put em in the boxes. picked em up in my dress, course; i fetched up water. we had rocked wells and springs, too. we lived with man named holman in georgia. we farmed. i used to be called a smart woman, till i done got not able. my grandpa was a white man; mama's pa. "what i been doin' from - ? what ain't i done! farmin', i told you. buildin' fences was common. feedin' hogs, milkin' cows, churnin'. we raised hogs and cows and kept somethin' to eat at home. i knit sox. i spin. i never weaved. folks wore clothes then. they don't wear none now. pieced quilts. could i sew? course i did! got a machine there now. (pointed to an old one.) "i never seen no ku klux. i hid if they was about. i sure did hear bout em. they didn't never come on our place. "i told you i never knowed when freedom come on. "i went to school in south carolina. i went a little four or five years. i could read, spell, cipher on a slate. course i learned to write. course i got whoopins; got a heap o' whoopins. people tended to childern then. what kind books did we have? i read and spelled out of the blue back speller. we had numbers on our slates. the teacher set us copies. we wrote with soapstone. some teachers white and some colored. "well, course i got a bible. (disgusted at the question). i go to church and preachin' every sunday. yes. ma'am, now. "i don't study votin'. i don't vote. (disgusted). i reckon my husband and pa did vote. i ain't voted. "course i go to town. i go to keep from gettin' hungry. "me and this old man get demodities and i get some money. "i told you i don't bother young folks business. i thought i told you i don't. if i young i could raise somethin' at home that the reason i go hungry. i give down. i know i do get hungry. "one thing i didn't tell you. i made tallow candles when i was a young woman. "i don't know nothin' bout that civil war." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: peter brown. helena, arkansas age: "i was born on the woodlawn place. it was owned by david and ann hunt. i was born a slave boy. master hunt had two sons and one girl. bigy and dunbar was the boys' names. annie was the girl's name. "my parents' names was jane and william brown. papa said he was a little shirt tail boy when the stars fell. grandma sofa and grandpa peter bane lived on the same place. i'm named after him. my papa come from tennessee to mississippi. i never heard ma say where she come from. "my remembrance of slavery is not at tall favorable. i heard the master and overseers whooping the slaves b'fore day. they had stakes fixed in the ground and tied them down on their stomachs stretched out and they beat them with a bull whoop (cowhide woven). they would break the blisters on them with white oak paddles that had holes in it so it would suck. they be saying, 'oh pray, master.' he'd say, 'better pray fer yourself.' i heard that going on when i was a child morning after morning. i wasn't big enough to go to the field. i didn't have a hard time then. ma had to work when she wasn't able. pa stole her out and one night a small panther smelled them and come on a log up over where they slept in a canebrake. pa killed it with a bowie knife. ma had a baby out there in the canebrake. pa had stole her out. they went back and they never made her work no more. she was a fast breeder; she had three sets of twins. they told him if he would stay out of the woods they wouldn't make her work no more, take care of her children. they prized fast breeders. they would come to see her and bring her things then. she had ten children, three pairs of twins. jonas and sofa, peter and alice, isaac and jacob. "when i was fifteen years old, mother said, 'peter, you are fifteen years old today; you was born march , .' she told me that two or three times and i kept up wid it. i am glad i did; she died right after that. "ma and pa et dinner, well as could be. took cholera, was dead at twelve o'clock that night. it was on monday. ike and jake took it. they got over it. i waited on the little things. one of them said, 'peter, i'm hungry.' i broiled some meat, made a ash cake and put the meat in where i split the ash cake. he et it and went to sleep. he started mending. sister come and got the children and took them to lake providence. i fell in the hands then of some cruel people. they had a doctor named dr. coleman come to see ma and pa. he said, 'don't eat no fruit, no vegetables.' he said, 'eat meat and bread.' i et green plums and peaches like a boy fifteen years old then would do. i never did have cholera. a boy fifteen years old didn't know as much as boys do now that age. the master died b'fore the cholera disease come on. we had moved from the hill place to a place in the bottoms. it was on the same place. none of his family hod cholera but neighbors had it. we buried ma and pa on the neighbor's place. we had kin folks on the harris place. while we was at the graveyard word come to dig two or three more graves. "master's house was set on fire, the smokehouse emptied, the gin burned and the cotton. the mules was drove out of the lot. that turned me ag'in' the yankees. we helped raise that meat they stole. they left us to starve and fed their fat selves on what was our living. i do not believe in parts of slavery. that whooping was cruel, but i know that the white man helped the slave in ways. the slaves was worked too hard. men was no better than they are now. "my owner had two fine black horses name night and shade. clem was a white driver. we lived close to fiat where they had horse races. he told clem to get night ready to win some money. he told clem not to let nobody have their hand on the horse. clem slept in the stable with the horse. they had three horses on the track. they made three rounds. night lost three times, but on friday night come in and won the money. he made two or three thousand dollars and paid clem. i never heard how much. freedom "some men come to our house searching for arms. we had a chest. they threw things winding. said it was freedom. we didn't think much of such freedom. had to take it. we didn't have no arms in the house. we never seen free times and didn't know what to look for nohow. we never felt times as good. we moved to the bottoms and i lost my parents. "i fell in the hands of some mean people. they worked me on the frozen ground barefooted. my feet frostbit. i wore a shirt dress and a britches leg cap on my head and ears. i had no shoes, no underwear. i slept on a bed made in the corner of a room called a bunk. it had bagging over straw and i covered with bagging. aunt july (julie) and uncle mass harris come for me. sister brought my horse pa left for me. they took me from, them folks to stay at mr. w.c. winters. he was good to me. he give me fifty dollars and fed me and my horse. he give me good clothes and a house in his yard. i was hungry. he fattened me and my horse both. "they broke the ku klux up by putting grapevines across the roads. i know about that? i never seen one of them in my life. "election days years gone by was big times. i did vote. i voted regular a long time. the last president i voted for was wilson. "i farmed and worked on steamboats on the mississippi river. i was what they called rousterbout. i loaded and unloaded freight, i worked on the choctaw, jane white, kate adams, and other little boats a few days at a time. kate adams burnt at moons landing. i stopped off here at helena for christmas. some people got drowned and some burned to death. the mud clerk got lost. he went in and got two bags of silver money, put them in his pockets. the stave plank broke and he went down and never come up. he was at the shore nearly but nobody knew he had that silver in his pockets. he never come up and he drowned. people seen him go in but the others swum out. he never come up. they missed him and found him dead and the two bags of silver. i was due to be on there but i wanted to spend christmas with grandma and my wife. the choctaw carried ten thousand bales of cotton at times. i worked at the oil mill sixteen or seventeen years. i night watched on the transfer twenty-two years. i come to helena when i was thirty years old. i'm eighty-six now. the worst thing i ever done was drink whiskey some. i done quit it. i have asthma. the doctors say whiskey is bad on that disease. i don't tetch it now. "i think the present generation is crazy. i wish i had the chance they have now. the present times is getting better. i ask the lord to spare me to be one hundred years old. i'm strong in the faith. i pray every day. he will open the way. the times have changed in my life." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: william brown, hazen, arkansas age: i was born in virginia but i was born after slavery. i heard my folks talk a heap about oldern times. the way i come here was dr. hill brought bout families down to mississippi to work on farms. i come to deer creek close to sunflower, mississippi. i lived there years and i drifted to arkansas. i don't remember if they was in any uprisings or not. if they was any rebellion cept the big rebellion i don't recall it. my whole families was in de heat of the war. my mother and father's owner was john smith. i recollects hearin them talk bout him well as if it was yesterday--we worked on mcfowell place close to petersburg, virginia when i was little. then i worked for miss bessie and mr. john stewart last fore i come with dr. hill. i had lived up there but he come and settled down in mississippi. the first place i worked on in arkansas was the john reeds bout miles from danville. i stayed there years. my folks stayed on there but i rambled to little rock. i worked with mr. l.c. merrill. i milked cows and cut grass, fed cows. he has a automobile company in little rock now. i farmed bout all my life. now i don't own nothing. i stays at my daughters. i been married twice. both my wives dead. the times change so much i don't know whether they any better or not. the black race ain't never had nuthin--some few gets a little headway once in a while. i used to vote some--didn't care nuthin bout it much. never seed no good come of it. heap of them vote tickets like somebody tell em or don't know how dey vote. the young generations better off than the old folks now. the things change so fast i don't know how they will get by. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: william brown w. twenty-fifth street north little rock, arkansas age: [hw: u.s. dictatorship predicted] "i was born in arkansas in cross county at the foot of crowley's ridge on the east side of the ridge and just about twelve miles from old wittsburg, on may , . i got the date from my mother. she kept dates by the old family bible. i don't know where she got her learning. she had a knowledge of reading. i am about her sixth child. she was the mother of thirteen. "my mother's master was named bill neely. her mistress was named mag neely. "my mother was one of the leading plow hands on bill neely's farm. she had a old mule named jane. when the yankees would come down, bill neely and all his friends would leave home. they would leave when they would hear the cannon, because they said that meant the yankees were coming. when neely went away, he would carry my mother to do his cooking. "she would leave the children there and carry just the baby when she went. old aunt malinda--she wasn't our aunt; she was just an old lady we called aunt malinda who cooked for the kitchen--would cook for us while she was gone. when the yankees had passed through, my mother and the master would all come back. "my original name was not brown. it was pope. i became brown after the war was over. i moved on the old barnes' farm. when the soldiers were mustered out in the end of the war, a lot of soldiers worked on that place. peter brown, an old colored soldier mustered out from memphis, met my mother, courted her, and married her. all the other children that were born to her were called brown, and the people called her brown, and just called all the other children brown too, including me. and i just let it go that way. but my father was named harrison pope. he died in the confederate army out there somewheres around little rock. he had violated some of the military laws, and they put him in that thing they had to punish them by, and when they taken him out, he contracted pneumonia and died. i don't know where he is buried. i would to god i did! you know when these southern armies went along they carried colored stevedores to do the work for them. patrollers "i was a little fellow in the time of the pateroles. if the slaves wanted to go out anywhere, they had to get a pass and they had to be back at a certain time. if they didn't get back, it would be some kind of punishment. the pateroles was a mighty bad thing. if they caught you when you were out without a pass, they would whip you unmercifully, and if you were out too late they would whip you. wherever colored people had a gathering, them pateroles would be there looking on to see if they could find anybody without a pass. if they did find anybody that couldn't show a pass, they would take him right out and whip him then and there. ku klux "i know the ku klux must have been in use before the war because i remember the business when i was a little bit of a fellow. they had a place out there on crowley's ridge they used to meet at. they tried to make the impression that they would be old confederate soldiers that had been killed in the battle of shiloh, and they used to ride down from the ridge hollering, 'oh! lordy, lordy, lordy!' they would have on those old uniforms and would call for water. and they would have some way of pouring the water down in a bag or something underneath their uniforms so that it would look like they could drink four or five gallons. "one night when they come galloping down on their horses hollering 'oh! lordy, lordy' like they used to, some yankee soldiers stationed nearby tied ropes across the road and killed about twenty-five of the horses and broke legs and arms of about ten or fifteen. they never used the ridge any more after that. parents "my father's master was shep pope and his wife was named julia pope. i can't remember where my father was born but my mother was born in tuscaloosa county, alabama. i don't know the names of my grandfather and grandmother on either side. slave houses "the old slave house was a log house built out of hewed logs. the logs were scalped on each side to give it the appearance of a box house. and they said the logs would fit together better, too. they would chink up the cracks with grass and dirt--what they called 'dob'. that is what they called chinking to keep the wind and rain out. "i was born in a one-room hut with a clapboard room on one side for the kitchen and storeroom. they would go out in the woods and split out the clapboards. my mother had eight of we children in that room at one time. furniture "as to furniture, well, we had benches for chairs. they were made out of punching four holes in a board and putting sticks in there for legs. that is what we sat on. tables generally were nailed up with two legs out and with the wall to support the other side. the beds were made in a corner with one leg out and the two walls supporting the other sides. they called that bed the 'georgia horse'. we had an old cupboard made up in a corner. food "food was generally kept in the old cupboard my mother had. when she had too much for the cupboard, she put it in an old chist. right after the war "my mother had eight children to feed. after the emancipation she had to hustle for all of them. she would go up to work--pick cotton, pull corn, or what not, and when she came home at night she had on old dog she called 'coldy'. she would go out and say, 'coldy, coldy, put him up.' and a little later, we would hear coldy bark and she would go out and coldy would have something treed. and she would take whatever he had-'possum, coon, or what not-and she would cook it, and we would have it for breakfast the next morning. "mother used to go out on neighboring farms and they would give her the scraps when they killed hogs and so on. one night she was coming home with some meat when she was attacked by wolves. old coldy was along and a little yellow dog. the dogs fought the wolves and while they were fighting, she slipped home. next morning old coldy showed up cut almost in two where the wolves had bitten him. we bandaged him up and took care of him. and he lived for two or more years. the little yellow dog never did show up no more. mother said that the wolves must have killed and eaten him. schooling "i put in about one month schooling when i was a boy about six or seven years old. then i moved into st. francis county and went two weeks to a subscription school a few miles below forrest city. later i went back and took the examination in cross county and passed it, and taught for a year. i got the bulk of my education by lamp light reading. i have done some studying in other places--three years in shorter college where i got the degreee of b.d. and d.d. at the age of fifty-five. i have preached for fifty-seven years and actually pastored for forty-four years. i followed farming in my early days. when i first married my wife, we farmed there for ten or twelve years before i entered the ministry. i have been married fifty-seven years. marriage "i was married january , . i am now in the fifty-seventh year of marriage. my wife was named mary ellen stubbs. she was from baldwyn, mississippi. they moved from mississippi about the winter of and they made one crop in arkansas before we married. they stopped in our county and attended our church. i met her in that way. the most remarkable thing was that during the time i was acquainted with her our pastor became incapacitated and i took charge of the church. i ran a revival and she was converted during the revival. but she joined the c.m.e. church. i belong to the a.m.e. slave sales "i remember my mother carrying the children from the bill neely place to the pope place. that saturday evening after we got there, there came along some slave traders. they had with them as i remember some ten or twelve boys and girls and some old folks that were able to work. they had them chained. i asked my mother what they were going to do with them and she said they were carrying them to louisiana to work on a cane farm. one boy cried a lot. the next morning they put those slaves in the road and drove them down to wittsbarg the same as you would drive a drove of cattle, wittsburg was where they caught the boat to go down to louisiana. that was the best mode of travel in those days. opinions "in a few words, my opinion of the present is that our existence as democrats and republicans is about played out. "if mr. roosevelt is elected for a third term, i think we will go into a dictatorship just as russia, germany, and italy have already done. i think we are nearer to that now than we heve ever been before. i do not think that mr. roosevelt will become a dictator, but i do believe that his being elected a third time will cause some one else to become dictator. my opinion is that he is neither democrat nor republican. "our young people are advancing from a literary point of view, but i claim that they are losing out along moral lines. i don't believe that we value morals as well as the people did years ago who didn't know so much. i believe that the whole nation, white and black, is losing moral stamina. they do not think it is bad to kill a man, take another man's wife or rob a bank, or anything else. they desecrate the churches by carrying anything into the church. there is no sacred place now. carnivals and everything else are carried to the church. "if mr. roosevelt is not reelected again, the country is going to have one of the bloodiest wars it has ever had because we have so many european doctrines coming into the united states. i have been living seventy-eight years, and i never thought that i would live to see the day when the government would reach out and take hold of things like it has done--the wpa, the fera, and the rfc, and other work going on today. we are headed for communism and we are going to get in a bloody war. there are hundreds of men going 'round who believe in communism but who don't want it to be known now." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: maggie broyles. forrest city. arkansas age: about ? "i was born in decatur, tennessee. mother was sold on the block at public auction in st. louis. master bob young bought a boy and a girl. my father was a full-blood irishman. his name was lassiter. she didn't have no more children by him. he was hired help on bob young's place. "bob young had one thousand five hundred acres of land. he had several farms. little hill and creek farms. they had a rock walk from the kitchen to the house. i slept in a little trunnel bed under my mother's mistress' bed. the bed was corded and had a crank. they used no slats in them days. we called master bob young's wife miss nippy; her name was par/nel/i/py. they was good old people. his boys was rough. they drunk and wasted the property. "the white folks had feather beds and the slaves had grass beds. we'd pull grass and cure it. it made a'good bed. miss nippy learnt us to work. i know how to do near 'bout anything now. she kept an ash hopper dripping all the time. we made all our soap and lye hominy by the washpots full. mother cooked and washed and kept house. she took the lead wid the house-work. miss nippy ride off when she got ready. mother went right on wid the work. i took care of the chickens and took the cows to the pasture. i helped to wash clothes. i stood on a block to turn meat. we had a brick stove and a grill to fry meat on. we had good clothes and good to eat. after i was grown i'd go back to see miss nippy. she raised me. she say, 'i thought so much of your mama. i love you. i hope you live a long time.' mama had a hard time and miss nippy knowd all about it. "after bob young bought mother he went back and bought aunt sarah. they growed up together. they could dance with a glass of water on their heads and never spill a drap. "ma said when she married they had a corn shucking and a big dinner four o'clock in the morning. her name was luiza. she had two children by him. aunt jane on welches place took him away from her. he quit mother cold to go wid her. after freedom she married ben pitts. the way she married at the corn shucking, they jumped over the broom back'ards and master bob young 'nounced it. she was killed no time after freedom, but she had had six children. miss nippy kept me. she was good to me and trained me to read. we all never left after freedom. i never left till i was good and grown. "i always thought master bob young buried his money during the war. children wasn't allowed to watch and ask questions. i was standing in the chimney corner and seen him bury a box of something in the flower garden. i was in miss nippy's room. i never did know if it was money or what. he had a old yaller dog followed him all the time. truman was a speckled dog set about on the front porch to bark. "sam, the boy that was bought when i was in st. louis, was hard to control. bob young beat him. he died. they said he killed him. they buried him in the white folks' cemetery. "they celebrated christmas visiting and big parties. we would have eggnog and ten or fifteen cakes. master bob young was a consumptive. he had it thirty-five years. they all died out with it. they kept a big ten or fifteen gallon demijohn with willow woven around the bottom full of whiskey, all the time upstairs. they kept the door locked. "i stole miny ah drink. find the door unlocked. i got too much one time. it made me sick. i thought i had a chill. she thought i been upstairs. they was particular with the children, both black and white then. they put the children to bed by sundown and they would set around the fire and talk. she raised elnora and the baby altona after mother got killed. she give them good clothes and good to eat. their papa took the boy. he left after mother got killed. we took a pride in the place like it was our own. we didn't know but what it was our very own. "we had a acre in garden. we raised everything. we had three or four thousand pounds of meat and three cribs of corn. i ketched it when i left them. i made thirty-three crops in my life. my children all grown and gone. my son-in-law died. he had dropsy eight months. he had a dead liver. i've wanted since he died. i've had a hard time since he died. he was a worker and so good to us all. "mother worked with a white woman. mother was full-blood indian herself. the woman's husband got to dealing with his daughter. she had three babies in all. they said they put them up in the ceiling, up in a loft. this old man got mad with bob young and burnt his gin. mother seen him slipping around. they ask her but she wouldn't tell on him, for she didn't see him set it on fire. they measured the tracks. he got scared mother would tell on him. one night a colored man on the place come over. her husband was gone somewhere and hadn't got home. she was cooking supper. they heard somebody but thought it was a pig come around. hogs run out all time. the step was a big limestone rock. she opened the door and put the hot lid of the skillet on it to cool. stood it up sideways. then they heard a noise at that door. it was pegged. so she went along with the cooking. it wasn't late. he found a crack at the side of the stick and dirt chimney, put the muzzle of the gun in there and shot her through her heart. the man flew. she struggled to the edge of the bed and fell. the children was asleep and i was afraid to move. the moon come up. i couldn't get her on the bed. i put a pillow under her head and a quilt over her, but i didn't think she was dead. the baby cried in the night. i was so scared i put the eight-months-old baby down under there to nurse. it nursed. she was dead then, i think now. when four o'clock come it was daylight. the little brother said, 'i know what's the matter, our mama's dead.' i went up to mr. bob young's. he brought the coroners. i was so young i was afraid they was going to take us to jail. i asked little brother what they said they was going to do. he said, 'they are going to bury mama in a heep (deep) hole. they set out after her husband and chased him clear off. they thought he shot her by him not coming home that night and her cooking supper for him. "this white man left and went to texas. his wife said the best woman in decatur had been killed. they put him on the gallows for killing his daughter's babies, three of them and put them in the loft. he told how he killed mother. he had murdered four. he was afraid mother would tell about him. she knowd so much. she didn't tell. indians don't tell. she was with his girl when the first baby was born, but she thought it died and she thought the girl come home visiting, so his wife said she had told her to keep her from telling. it was a bad disgrace. his wife was a good, humble, kind woman. "master bob young sent for ben pitts after they'd run him off, and he let him have his pick of us. he took the boy and lived on the place. her other husband come and got his two children. miss nippy took our baby girl and the other little girl. i was raised up at her house, so she kept me on. kept us all till we married off. "i'd feel foolish to go try to vote. i'm too old now. "i don't get help from the government yet. we are having a hard time to scratch around and not go hungry." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: ida bryant, hazea. arkansas (very very black negro woman) age: "my mother was hulda williams. grandpa was jack williams. her mistress was a widow woman in slavery times. they lived in louisiana. i was born close to bastrop in morehouse parish. my father died when i was ten years old. he was old. i was a child. things look different to you then you know. grandpa was hansen terry, grandma aggie terry. they called pa major terry but he belong to bill talbot. hansen terry was a free man. _he molded his own money._ he died in south carolina. pa come from edgefield, south carolina to alabama. stayed there awhile then come on to louisiana. he slipped off from his master. between south carolina and louisiana he walked forty miles. he rode all the other time. my folks always farmed. "times have been getting some better all along since i was a chile. times is a heap better now than i ever seen in my life. the young men depends on their wives to cook and make a living. they don't work much--none of em. we old niggers doin' the wash in' and the young women doin' cookin' and easy jobs. none of the men ain't workin' to do no good! a few months in the year ain't no workin'. "i get commodities. i owns this house now. i bout paid it out. i washes three washin's a week. the rest of the time i pieces up quilts for myself. i need cover." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: belle buntin, marianne, arkansas age: up in 's "i never was sold. i was born in oakland, mississippi. my master said he wanted all he raised. he never sold one. he bought my mother in lexington county. she was a field hand. our owners was master johnson buntin and mistress sue buntin. they had two children--bob and fannie. he had a big plantation and four families of slaves. charlotte was the cook. myra worked at the house and in the field. he had seven little colored boys and two little colored girls. i spent most of my time up at the house playing with bob and fannie. when mistress whooped one she whooped all three. she would whoop us for stealing her riding horse out. we would bridle it and all three ride and ride. we got several whoopings about that. "i have seen colored folks sold at oakland. they had a block and nigger traders come. one trader would go and see a fine baby. he keep on till he got it. i've seen them take babies from the mother's arm and if the mother dare cry, they would git a beatin'. they look like they bust over their grief. "if you was out after seven o'clock the patrollers git you. they would beat and take you home. some masters say to them, 'you done right,' and some say, 'you bring my hands home; i'll whoop them myself.' "the patrollers caught one of gaddises women and whooped her awful for coming to town on sunday. i never did know why she went to town that way. "that selling was awful and crowds come to see how they sell. they acted like it was a picnic. some women was always there, come with their husbands. some women sold slaves and some bought them. "i never did see none sell naked. i seen men took from their wives and mothers and children. let me tell you they didn't have no squalling around or they would get took off and a beating. "master alex buntin was dr. buntin. he said, 'i worked like one of my slaves and bought my slaves with what i made and i am not going to have them 'bused by the patrollers. george and kit and johnson was his cousins. kit wasn't so good to his slaves. "it was my job to brush the flies off the table. i had a fly brush. i would eat out of bob's and fannie's plates. miss sue say, 'bell, i'm going to whoop you.' i say, 'miss sue, please don't, i'm hungry too.' she say, 'you stop playing and eat first next time.' then she'd put some more on their plates. we sat on a bench at the table. we et the same the white folks did all cooked up together. "one time dr. buntin got awful mad. the dogs found some whiskey in a cave one of his slaves had hid there. they would steal and hide it in a cave. he got a beating and they washed it in salt water to keep them from getting sore and stiff. "some folks kept dogs trained to hunt runaway niggers. they was fat, and you better not hit one or hurt it if it did bite or you would git a awful beating. "master alex was a legislator. he had to leave when the yankees come through. they killed all the legislators. i loved him. he run a store and we three children went to the store to see him nearly every day. he took us all three on his knees at the some time. i loved him. when he was gone, i said, 'miss sue, where is master alex?' she say, 'maybe he be back pretty soon.' while he was gone they had a battle in a little skirt of woods close by. we hung to miss sue's skirt tail. i seen the yankees run by on horses and some walking. mr. jordan, a southern soldier, was shot in his ribs. mr. buford was shot in his knee. some of the other southern soldiers drug them up to our house. miss sue nursed them. i think they got well and went home. "three days before master alex left they sent all the stock off and put the turkeys and geese under the house, and chickens too. it was dark so they kept pretty quiet. when the yankees got there they stripped the smoke-house. we had a lots of meat and they busted the storehouse open and strowed (strewed) meat and flour all along the road. they hired mammy (charlotte) to cook a big meal for them. she told the man she was 'fraid miss sue whoop her. he said, 'whooping time near 'bout out.' he asked her 'bout some chickens but she wasn't goin' to tell him 'cause it was her living too for them to waste up. they never found the geese, turkeys, and chickens. they rambled all through the house looking for master alex and went through every drawer and closet upstairs and down. it was scandalous. they had miss sue walking and crying and us three children clinging to her skirt tail scared to death and crying too. when they left, the big lieutenant rode off ahead on a fine gray horse. they come back when we just got the table sot and et every crumb of our dinner. they was a lively gang. i hate 'em. i was hungry. rations was scarce. they wasted the best we had. master alex hod three stores and he kept the middle one. freedom "mistress told all master alex's slaves they had been freed. the men all left. my mother left and took me. i got mad and went back and lived there till i married. master alex come back after two weeks. my mother soon died after the surrender. she died at batesville, mississippi. lots of the slaves died. their change of living killed lots of 'em. my father lived on sam bronoy's (branough's) place. master alex wanted to buy him but he took him on to texas before i was born. i never did see him. "i been farming, cooking, wash and iron along. i been in arkansas twelve or fourteen years. "how am i supported? i'm not much supported. my boy don't have work much of the time. i don't get the pension. i trusts in the lord. i belong to new bethel baptist church down here. "times--i don't know what to think. my race is the under folks and i don't never say nothing to harm 'em. i'm one of 'em. times is hardest in my life. i have to sit. i can't walk a step--creeping paralysis." interviewer: miss irene robertson parson interviewed: jeff burgess, clarendon, arkansas age: born in or , forgot which "i was born in granville, texas. my master was strathers burgess and mistress polly burgess. my master died 'fore i was born. he died on the way to texas, trying to save his slaves. keep them from leaving him and from going into the war. they didn't want to fight. his son was killed in the war. my folks didn't know they was free till three years after the war was over. they come back to caloche bay, the old home place. there was a bureau at de valls bluff. they had to let the slaves go and they was citizens then. my folks wasn't very anxious to leave the white owners because times was so funny and they didn't have nowhere to go. the courts was torn up powerful here in arkansas. "heap of meanness going on right after the war. one man tell you do this and another man say you better not do that you sho get in trouble. it was hard to go straight. they said our master was a good man but awful rough wid his slaves and the hands overseeing too. guess he was rough wid his family too. "times is hard with me, i gits $ pension every month. i got no home now. i got me three hogs. i lives three miles from here (clarendon). "if i wasn't so old and no account i'd think the times the best ever. it's bad when you get old. i jess sees the young folks. i don't know much about them. seems lack they talk a lot of foolish chat to me. i got a lot and a half in town. they tore down my house and toted it off for fire wood. it was rented. then they moved out and wouldn't pay no rent. they kept doing that way. i never had a farm of my own. "i was good with a saw and axe. i cleared land and farmed. once i worked on the railroad they was building. i drove pile mostly. farming is the best job and the best place to make a living. i found out that myself." interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: norman burkes west eleventh street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i didn't quite make slavery. me and freedom came here together. "i was born in union county, arkansas. my mother was born in virginia and my father was an alabamian. "i've heered 'em say how they done in slavery times. whupped 'em and worked 'em and didn't feed 'em much. said they'd average about three pounds of meat a week and a peck of meal, a half gallon of molasses. that was allowed the hands for a week. no sugar and no coffee. and they'd issue flour on saturday so they could have sunday morning biscuits. "my father was sold to virginia and he and my mother was married there and they moved with their white people here to arkansas. "they called their owner old master. yes'm, i can remember him. many times as he whipped me i ought to remember him. i never will forget that old man. they claimed he was pretty good to 'em. he didn't whup 'em much, i don't think. "if my mother was livin' she could tell you everything about virginia. she was one hundred and two when she died. my folks is long livers. "my oldest brother was sold in virginia and shipped down into texas about ten years before i was born and i ain't never seen him. "they sold wives from their husbands and children from their parents and they couldn't help it. just like this war business. come and draft 'em and they couldn't help it. "i think the way things is now, they're goin to build up another war." extra comment i was interviewing this man on the front porch and at this point, he got up and went into the house, so the interview was ended as far as he was concerned. interviewer: miss irene robertaon person interviewed: will burks, sr. pine city, ark.-- mi. from holly grove age: "my parents names was katherine hill and bill burks. they had five boys and three girls. their owners fur as i knows was frank and polly burks. they had a heap of slaves. they was good white folks. my folks stayed on two or three years. they was both field hands. they had to go to the house and master frank burks told em they was free. in judge scott paid their way and i come wid them to forrest city. there was a crowd. he bought em out here to farm. we come christmas . i never will forgit that. it was jes different in a new country and left some of our folks an all that. "i was born close to columbia, tennessee. i used to see the soldiers pass long the big road, both sides. seem lack theyd be in strings a mile long. i never heard much bout the war. they wouldn't let white nor black children set round and hear what they was talkin' bout. why they send em off to play--build playhouses outer rocks and hay, leaves, any little thing they throw way we take it to play house. white children played together then cause it was a long ways between white folks house, and colored children raised up wid em. i don't see none that now. "one thing i done a long time was stay at the toll gate. they had a heap of em when i was a boy. the fences was rock or rail and big old wooden gates round and on it marked, "toll gate." i'd open and shut the gate. walkers go free. horseback riders--fifteen cents. buggies--twenty-five cents. wagons--fifty cents. the state broke that up and made new roads. some they changed a little and used. after that i stand 'bout on roads through fields--short ways folks went but where the farmers had to keep closed up on count of the crops. i open and shut the gate. they'd throw me a nickel. that was first money i made--stayin' at toll gates about columbia, tennessee. "ku klux come to our house and took my papa off wid em. mama was cryin', she told us children they was goiner hurt him. i recollect all bout it. they thought my papa knowed about some man bein' killed. my papa died wid knots on his neck where they hung him up wid ropes. it hurt him all his life after that. it made him sick what all they done to him tryin' to make him tell who killed somebody. he was laid up a long time. i recollect that. when they found out papa didn't know nothin' bout it, they said they was sorry they done him so mean. "i vote a republican ticket lack my papa till i cluded it not the party, it is the man that rules right. i voted fur mr. roosevelt. i know he is. (a democrat) i know'd it when i voted for him. times is tough but they was worse 'fo he got elected. things you buy gets higher and higher that makes it bad. we got two hogs, one cow, few chickens and a home. i owns my home for a fact. my wife is . i am purty nigh years old. what make it hard on us, we is bout wore out. "i been farmin' and carpenterin' all my life. last years i been farmin' wid mr. l.m. osborne at osborne. we work forty acres and made bales. i had a team and he had a team. so i worked it on halves. that was long time ago. in i believe. best farmin' i ever done. we got twenty cents pound." interviewer: mrs. annie l. lacotts person interviewed: adeline burris, dewitt, arkansas age; adeline burris is a little old white-haired wrinkled-faced mulatto or yellow negro woman who says she was old enough to be working in the fields when the war began. according to her story she must have been about then, which would make her at least years old now. she looks as though she might be a hundred. she is stooped and very feeble but can get around some days by the help of a stout walking stick; at other times she cannot leave her bed for days at a time. she owns nothing and is living in the home of her daughter-in-law who is kind to her and cares for her as best she can. she says she was born in murry county, tennessee. columbia was the county seat. when asked if she was born during slavery time she said, "yes, honey, my mammy was one of de slaves what belonged to mr. billie and miss liza renfroe. lord bless her heart she was good to my mammy and her chillun! i had two little brothers, twins, and when dey come to dis world i can remember how our old mistress would come every day to see about dem and my mammy. she'd bring things to eat, clothes for the babies and everything else. yes sir! my mother didn't want for _anything_ as long as she stayed with miss liza, not even after de negroes was _freed_. when i was a little girl i was give to my young mistress, and i stayed with her till my folks was coning to arkansas and i come too." "why did your folks move to arkansas?" "well, you see we heard this was a good country and there was a white man come there to get a lot of niggers to farm for him down on the river and we come with him. he brought a lot of families on a big boat called a flatboat. we were days and nights floating down the river. we landed at st. charles. i married in about two years and haven't ever lived anywhere else but arkansas county and i've always been around good white folks. i'd been cold and hungry a lot of times if it wasn't for some of dese blessed white folkes' chillen; dey comes to see me and brings me things to eat and clothes too, sometimes." "how many tines did you marry, aunt add.?" "just one time; and i just had four chillen, twins, two times. one child died out of each sit--just left me and becky and bob. bob and dover, his wife, couldn't get along but i think most of it's his fault, for dover's just as good to me as she can be. my own child couldn't be better to me den she is. "i don't know, honey, but looks to me like niggers was better off in dem days den they are now. i know dey was if dey had good white folks like we did. dey didn't have to worry about rent, clothes, nor sumpin to eat. dat was there for them. all they had to do was work and do right. course i guess our master might not of been so good and kind ef we had been mean and lazy, but you know none of us ever got a whippin' in our life. "honey, come back to see aunt add. sometime. i likes to talk to you." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: jennie butler short main street, little rock, arkansas age: between and [hw: nurses ? ? ?][tr: illegible] "i was born february , in richmond, virginia. i was a nurse raised by our white folks in the house with the adamses. sue stanley (white and indian) was my godmother, or 'nursemother' they called em then. she was a sister-in-law to jay goold's wife. she married an adams. i wasn't raised a little nigger child like they is in the south. i was raised like people. i wasn't no bastard. my father was henry crittenden, an indian full blooded creek. he was named after his father, henry crittenden. my mother's name was louisa virginia. her parents were the gibsons, same nationality as her husband. my 'nursemother' was a white woman, but she had english and indian blood in her. my mother and father were married to each other just like young people are nowadays. none of my people were slaves and none of them owned any slaves. house "in richmond, they lived in a little log cabin. before i had so much trouble i could tell you all about it, but i never forget that little log cabin. that is near oak grove where lincoln and garfield and nat turner met and talked about slavery. furniture "we had oak furniture. we had a tall bed with a looking glass in the back of it, long bolsters, long pillow cases just like we used to make long infant dresses. there were four rooms in the cabin. it was in the city. the kitchen was a little off from the house. you reached it by going through a little portico. food "we ate bananas, oranges, hazelnuts, apples, fruit for every month in the year for breakfast, batter cakes, egg bread. the mornings we had egg bread we had flesh. for dinner and supper we had milk and butter and some kind of sweetness, and bread, of course. we had a boiled dinner. we raised everything-even peanuts. clothes "we made everything we wore. raised and made the cloth and the leather, and the clothes and the shoes. contacts with slaves and slave owners "i don't know nothin' about slavery. i didn't have nothin' to do with them folks. we picked em up on our way in our travels and they had been treated like dogs and hadn't been told they were free. we'd tell em they was free and let em go. leaving richmond "all i can tell you is that we come on down and never stopped until we got to memphis, and we tarried there twenty-five years. we came through louisiana and georgia on our way out here and picked up many slaves who didn't know they was free. they was using these little boats when we came out here. in louisiana and georgia when we came out here, they weren't thinkin' bout telling the niggers they were free. and they weren't in clarksville either. we landed in little rock and made it our headquarters. occupations "christian work has been the banner of my life-labor work, giving messages about the bible, teaching. mostly they kept me riding--i mean with the doctors. when we were riding, the doctors didn't go in a mother's room; he sent the rider in. they call em nurses now and handle them indifferently. the doctor jus' stopped in the parlor and made his money jus' sitting there and we women did all the work. in , i gave up my riding license. it was too rough for me in arkansas. and then they wouldn't allow me anything either. "now i have a poor way of making a living because they have taken away everything from me. i prays and lives by the bible. i can't get nothin' from my husband's endowment. he was an old soldier in the civil war on the confederate side and i used to get $ a month from pine bluff. he was freed there. wilson was president at the time i put in for an increase for him in the days of his sickness. he was down sick thirty years and only got $ a month. the pension was increased to $ for about one year. he died in , march , and was in his ninetieth year or more from what he told me. the picture shows it too. voting "paying my taxes was the votin' i ever done. they never could get me to gee nor haw. there wasn't any use voting when you can see what's on the future before you. i never had many colored friends. none that voted. and very few indians and just a few others. and them that stood by me all the while, they're sleeping. thoughts of young people "don't know nothin' bout these young folks today. don't nothin' spoil a duck but his bill. i have had a hard time. i am heavy and i'm jus' walkin' bout. a little talk with jesus is all i have. i'll fall on my knees and i'll walk as jesus says. my heart's bleeding. i know i'm not no more welcome than a dog. "i pays for this little shack and when you come to see me, you might as well come to that kitchen door. i ain't going to use no deceit with nobody. i'll show you the hole i have to go in." interviewer's comment i understand that sister butler gets a pension of $ a month. although her voice is vigorous, her mental powers are somewhat weak. she cannot remember the details of anything at all. she evidently had heard something about nat turner, but it would be hard to tell what. the nat turner rebellion, so called, a fanatical affair which was as much opposed by the negroes as by the whites, took place in southampton county, virginia, in august and september , the same year in which jennie butler claims birth. she would naturally hear something about it, but she does not remember what. she had a newspaper clipping undated and minus the reading matter showing her husband's picture, and another showing herself, february , , the arkansas democrat. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: e.l. byrd n. cedar, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in . i just can remember the yankees. they come through there and got horses and money and anything else they wanted. to my reasoning that's the reason the north has got more now. they got all the money they could find. and they took one fellow belonged to the same man i did. "my owner's name was jack byrd. we stayed with him about a year and then we farmed for ourselves. "i never went to school much. "my mother was a widow woman and i had to work. that was in south carolina. "i come to arkansas in . i didn't marry till i was about thirty-seven. i got one child living. that's my daughter; i live with her. she's a bookkeeper for perry's undertaking company. "when i come to arkansas i stopped down here in ashley county. i farmed till i come to pine bluff. i been here forty years. i worked at the stave mills. i just worked for three different firms in forty years. "i used to own this place, but i had to let it go on account of taxes. then my daughter bought it in. "i been tryin' to get a pension but don't look like i'm go in' to get it. "i have to stay here with these children while my daughter works. it takes all she makes to keep things goin'." interviewer: miss irene robertson. person interviewed: emmett augasta byrd, marianna, arkansas age: "i was born in washington county, missouri. i'm eighty-three years old. mother's owner was william byrd. he got killed in a dispute over a horse. a horse trader shot him. his name was cal dony.[tr: there is a mark that may be a line over the 'o' or a tilde over the 'n'.] father's owner was byrd too. mother was miss harriett byrd's cook. yes, i knowed her very well. i was nine years old when i was stole. "me and my older brother was both stole. his name was hugh byrd. we was just out. it was in september. a gang out stealing horses stole us. it was when price made his last raid to missouri. it was some of the soldiers from his gang. we was playing about. they overtook us and let us ride, then they wouldn't let us git off. they would shot us if we had. in a few days we was so far off. we cried and worried a heap. "it was eighteen years before i see my mother. the old snag i was riding give out and they was leading so they changed me. i cried two or three days. they didn't pay my crying no 'tention. they had a string of nigger men and boys, no women, far as from me 'cross to that bank. i judge it is three hundred yards over there. "after the battle of big blue river my man got killed and another man had charge of me and somebody else went off with my brother. i never seen him. that battle was awful, awful, awful! well, i certainly was scared to death. they never got out of missouri with my brother. in he went to st. louis to my mother. she was cooking there. my father went with the yankees and was at jefferson barracks in the army during the war. he was there when we got stole but she went later on before he died. he was there three months. he took pneumonia. they brought me in to kansas and back by ft. smith. "talking about hard times, war times is all the hard times i ever seen. no foolin'! it was really hard times. we had no bread, shoot down a cow and cut out what we wanted, take it on. we et it raw. sometimes we would cook it but we et more raw than cooked. when we got to ft. smith we struck good times. folks was living on parched corn and sorghum molasses. they had no mills to grind up the corn. times was hard they thought. further south we come better times got. when we landed at arkadelphia we stayed all night and i was sold next day. mr. spence was the hotel keeper. he bought me. he give one hundred fifty dollars and a fine saddle horse for me. i never heard the trade but that is what i heard 'em say afterwards. mr. spence was a cripple man. john merrican left me. he been mean to me. he was rough. hit me over the head, beat me. he was mean. he lived down 'bout warren, down somewhere in the southern part of the state. i never seen him no more. mr. spence was good to me since i come to think about it but then i didn't think so. we had plenty plain victuals at the hotel. he meant to be good to me but i expected too much i reckon. then it being a public place i heard lots what was said around. i come to think i ought to be treated good as the boarders. now i see it different. mr. spence walked on a stick and a crutch. he couldn't be very cruel to me if he had wanted to. he wasn't mean a bit. i was the bellboy and swept 'round some and gardened. "in , in may, i run off. i went to dallas county across ouachita river. i stayed there with matlocks and russells and welches till i was good and grown. mr. spence never tried to find me. i hoped he would. they wasn't so bad but i had to work harder. they never give me nothing. i seen mr. spence twice after i left but he never seen me. if he did he never let on. i never seen his wife no more after i left her. i didn't see him for four years after i left, then in three more years i seen him but the hotel had burned. freedom "mr. spence told me i was free. i didn't leave. i didn't have sense to know where to go. i didn't know what freedom was. so he went to the free mens' bureau and had me bound to him till i was twenty-one years old. he told me what he had done. he was to clothe me, feed me, send me to school so many months a year, give me a horse and bridle and saddle and one hundred fifty dollars when i was twenty-one years old. that would have been eight or nine years. seemed too long a time to wait. i thought i could do better than that. i never done half that good. i never went to school a day in my life. i was sorry i run off after it was too late. "i heard too much talking at the hotel. they argued a whole heap more than they do now. they set around and talk about slavery and freedom and everything else. it made me restless and i run off. i was ashamed to be seen much less go back. folks used to have shame. ku klux "in i lived with john welch one year. i seen the going out and coming in. i heard what they was doing. i wasn't afraid of them then. i lived with one of 'em and i wasn't afraid of 'em. i learned a good deal about it. they called it uprising and i found out their purpose was to hold down the nigger. they said they wanted to make them submissive. they catch 'em and beat 'em half to death. i heard they hung some of 'em. no, i didn't see it. i knew one or two they beat. they took some of the niggers right out of the cotton patch and dressed them up and drilled 'em. when they come back they was boastful. then they had to beat it out of 'em. some of 'em didn't want to go back to work. since i growed up i thought it out that mr. spence was reasonably good to me but i didn't think so then. it was a restlessness then like it is now 'mong the young class of folks. the truth is they don't know what they want nor what to do and they don't do nothing much no time. "i went to see my mother. i wrote and wrote, had my white folks write till i found my folks. i went back several times. mother died in . we used to could beat rides on freight trains--that was mighty dangerous. we could work our way on the boats. i got to rambling trying to do better. i come to phillips county. they cut it up, named it lee. i got down in here and married. i was jus' rambling 'round. i been in lee county sixty-one years. i married toreckly after i come here. i been married twice, both wives dead. i was about twenty-three years old when i married. i had four children. my last child got killed. a limb fell on him twenty years ago in april. he was grown and at work in the timber. "i farmed all my life--seventy years of it. i like it now and if i was able i would not set up here in town a minute. jus' till i could get out there is all time it would take for me to get back to farming. i owned two little places. i sold the first fifty acres when my wife was sick so i could do for her. she died. my last wife got sick. i was no 'count and had to quit work. mr. dupree built that little house for me, he said for all i had done for 'im. he said it would be my home long as i live. he keeps another old man living out there the same way. mr. dupree is sick--in bad health--skin disease of some sort. we lives back behind this house. mr. dupree is in this house now. (mr. dupree has eczema.) i used to work for him on the farm and in the store. "i never was a drunkard. that is ruining this country. it is every saturday night trade and every day trade with some of them. no, but i set here and see plenty. "the present times is better than it used to be 'cause people are cleverer and considerate in way of living. a sixteen-year-old boy knows a heap now. five-year-old boy knows much as a ten-year-old boy used to know. i don't think the world is going to pieces. it is advancing way i see it. the bible says we are to get weaker and wiser. young folks not much 'count now to do hard work. some can. "i get eight dollars and i work about this place all i am able. it keeps us both going." images provided by the library of congress, manuscript division. [tr: ***] = transcriber note [hw: ***] = handwritten note slave narratives a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress washington volume ii arkansas narratives part prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of arkansas informants vaden, charlie vaden, ellen van buren, nettie vaughn, adelaide j. wadille [tr: waddille], emmeline wadille (waddell), emmeline (emiline) waldon, henry walker, clara walker, henry walker, jake walker, jake wallace, willie warrior, evans washington, anna washington, eliza washington, jennie washington, parrish watson, caroline watson, mary wayne, bart weathers, annie mae weathers, cora webb, ishe wells, alfred wells, douglas wells, john wells, sarah wells, sarah williams wesley, john wesley, robert wesmoland, maggie west, calvin west, mary mays wethington, sylvester whitaker, joe white, julia a. white, lucy whiteman, david whiteside, dolly whitfield, j.w. whitmore, sarah wilborn, dock wilks, bell williams, bell williams, charley williams, charlie williams, columbus williams, frank williams, gus williams, henrietta williams, henry andrew (tip) williams, james williams, john williams, lillie williams, mary williams, mary williams, mary williams, rosena hunt williams, iii, william ball (soldier) williamson, anna williamson, callie halsey willis, charlotte wilson, ella wilson, robert windham, tom wise, alice wise, frank withers, lucy woods, anna woods, cal woods, maggie word, sam worthy, ike wright, alice wright, hannah brooks yates, tom young, annie young, john folklore subjects name of interviewer: irene robertson subject: negro lore story:--information this information given by: charlie vaden place of residence: hazen, green grove, ark. occupation: farming age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] charlie vaden's father ran away and went to the war to fight. he was a slave and left his owner. his mother died when he was five years old but before she died she gave charlie to mrs. frances owens (white lady). she came to des arc and ran the city hotel. he never saw his father till he was grown. he worked for mrs. owens. he never did run with colored folks then. he nursed her grandchildren, guy and ira brown. when he was grown he bought a farm at green grove. it consisted of a house and forty-seven acres of land. he farmed two years. a fortune teller came along and told him he was going to marry but he better be careful that they wouldn't live together or he might "drop out." he went ahead and married like he was "fixing" to do. they just couldn't get along, so they got divorced. they had the wedding at her house and preacher isarel thomas (colored) married them and they went on to his house. he don't remember how she was dressed except in white and he had a "new outfit too." next he married lorine rogers at the green grove church and took her home. she fell off the porch with a tub of clothes and died from it just about a year after they married. he married again at the church and lived with her twenty years. they had four girls and four boys. she died from the change of life. the last wife he didn't live with either. she is still living. had another fortune teller tell his fortune. she said, "uncle, you are pretty good but be careful or you'll be walking around begging for victuals." he said it had nearly come to that now except it hurt him to walk. (he can hardly walk.) he believes some of what the fortune tellers tell comes true. he has been on the same farm since , which is forty-nine years, and did fine till four years ago. he can't work, couldn't pay taxes, and has lost his land. he was paralized five months, helpless as a baby, couldn't dress himself. an herb doctor settled at green grove and used herbs for tea and poultices and cured him. the doctors and the law run him out of there. his name was hopkins from popular bluff, missouri. charlie vaden used to have rheumatism and he carried a buckeye in each pants pocket to make the rheumatism lighter. he thought it did some good. he has a birthmark. said his mother must have craved pig tails. he never had enough pig tails to eat in his life. the butchers give them to him when he comes to hazen or des arc. he said he would "fight a circle saw for a pig tail." he can't remember any old songs or old tales. in fact he was too small when his mother died (five years old). he believes in herb medicine of all kinds but can't remember except garlic poultice is good for neuralgia. sassafras is a good tea, a good blood purifier in the spring of the year. he knows a weather sign that seldom or never falls. "thunder in the morning, rain before noon." "seldom rains at night in july in arkansas." he has seen lots of lucky things but doesn't remember them. "it's bad luck to carry hoes and rakes in the living house." "it's bad luck to spy the new moon through bushes or trees." he doesn't believe in witches, but he believes in spirits that direct your course as long as you are good and do right. he goes to church all the time if they have preaching. green grove is a baptist church. he is not afraid of dead people. "they can't hurt you if they are dead." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: ellen vaden devalls bluff, ark. age: "i am years old. my mother come from georgia. she left all her kin. our owner was dave and luiza johnson. they had two girls and a boy--meely, colly and tobe. my mother's aunt come to memphis in slavery time and come to see us. she cooked and bought herself free. the folks what owned her hired her out till they got paid her worth. she died in memphis. i never heard father say where he come from or who owned him. he lived close by somewhere. "my mother cooked. me and dave johnson's boy nursed together. when they had company, miss luiza was so modest she wouldn't let tobe have 'titty'. he would come lead my mother behind the door and pull at her till she would take him and let him nurse. she said he would lead her behind the door. "i don't remember freedom. i know the ku klux was bad around augusta, arkansas. one time when i was little a crowd of ku klux come at about dusk. they told dave johnson they wanted water. he told them there was a well full but not bother that woman and her children in the kitchen. dave johnson was a ku klux himself. they went on down the road and met a colored woman. she knowed their horses. she called some of them by name and they let her alone. "one time a colored man was settin' by the fire. his wife was sick in bed. he seen the ku klux coming and said 'lord god, here comes the devil.' he run off. they didn't bother her. she told them she was sick. when she got up and well she wouldn't live with that husband no more. "up at bowens ridge they took some colored men out one night and if they said they was republicans they let them go but if they said they was democrats they whooped them so hard they nearly killed some of them. some said they was bushwhackers or carpet baggers and not ku klux. "i am a country-raised woman. i had a light stroke and cain't work in the field. i get $ . and commodities. i like to live here very well. i don't meddle with young folks business. seems like they do mighty foolish things to me. times been changing ever since i come in this world. it is the people cause the times to change. i wouldn't know how to start to vote." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: nettie van buren, clarendon, arkansas ex school-teacher age: "my mother was named isabel porter smith. she come from springville. rev. porter brought her to mississippi close to holly springs. then she come to batesville, arkansas. he owned her. he was a circuit rider. i think he was a presbyterian minister. i heard her say they brought her to arkansas when she was a small girl. she nursed and cooked all the time. after freedom she went with reverend porter's relatives to work for them. i know so very little about what she said about slavery. "my father was raised in north carolina. his name was jerry smith and his master he called judge smith. my father made all he ever had farmin'. he knew how to raise cotton. he owned a home. this is his home (a nice home on river street in clarendon) and acres. he sold this farm two miles from here after he had paralysis, to live on. "my parents had two girls and two boys. they all dead but me. my mother's favorite song was "oh how i love jesus because he first loved me." they come here because my mother had a brother down here and she heard it was such fine farmin' land. "when i was a little girl my father was a presbyterian so he sent me to boardin' school in cotton plant and then sent me to jacksonville, illinois. i worked my board out up there. mrs. dr. carroll got me a place to work. my sister learned to sew. she sewed for the public till her death. she sewed for both black and white folks. i stretches curtains now if i can get any to stretch and i irons. it give me rheumatism to wash. i used to wash and iron. "my husband cooks on a government derrick boat. he gets $ . and his board. they have the very best things to eat. he likes the work if he can stay well. he can cook pies and fancy cookin'. they like that. say they can't hardly get somebody work long because they want to be in town every night. "we have one child. i used to be a primary teacher here at clarendon. "i never have voted. my husband votes but i don't know what he thinks about it. "i try to look at the present conditions in an encouraging way. the young people are so extravagant. the old folks in need. the thing most discouraging is the strangers come in and get jobs home folks could do and need and they can't get jobs and got no money to leave on nor no place to go. people that able to work don't work hard as they ought and people could and willin' to work can't get jobs. some of the young folks do sure live wild lives. they think only of the present times. a few young folks are buying homes but not half of them got a home. they work where they let 'em have a room or a house. different folks live all kinds of ways." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: adelaide j. vaughn cross street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in huntsville, alabama. my mother brought me from there when i was five years old. she said she would come to arkansas because she had heard so much talk about it. but when she struck the arkansas line, she didn't like it and she wanted to go back. i have heard her say why but i don't remember now; i done forgot. she thought she wouldn't like it here, but she did after she stayed a while. "my bronchial tubes git all stopped up and make it hard for me to talk. phlegm gits all around. i been bothered with them a good while now. "my mother, she was sold from her father when she was four years old. the rest of the children were grown then. master hickman was the one who bought her. i don't know the one that sold her. hickman had a lot of children her age and he raised her up with them. they were nice to her all the time. "once the pateroles came near capturing her. but she made it home and they didn't catch her. "mr. candle hired her from her master when she was about eighteen years old. he was nice to her but his wife was mean. just because mother wouldn't do everything the other servants said mis' candle wanted to whip her. mother said she knew that mis' candle couldn't whip her alone. but she was 'fraid that she would have sallie, another old negro woman slave, and kitty, a young negro woman slave, to help whip her. "one day when it was freezing cold, she wanted mother to stand out in the hall with sallie and clara and wash the glasses in boiling hot water. she was making her do that because she thought she was uppity and she wanted to punish her. when mother went out, she rattled the dishes 'round in the pan and broke them. they was all glasses. mis' candle heard them breaking and come out to see about it. she wanted to whip mother but she was 'fraid to do it while she was alone; so she waited till her husband come home. when he come she told him. he said she oughtn't to have sent them out in the cold to wash the glasses because nobody could wash dishes outside in that cold weather. "the first morning she was at mis' candle's, they called her to eat and they didn't have nothing but black molasses and corn bread for mother's meal. the other two ate it but mother didn't. she asked for something else. she said she wasn't used to eating that--that she ate what her master and mistress ate at home. "mis' candle didn't like that to begin with. she told my mother that she was a smart nigger. she told mother to do one thing and then before she could do it, she would tell her do something else. mother would just go on doing the first thing till she finished that, and mis' candle would git mad. but it wasn't nobody's fault but her own. "she asked mother to go out and git water from the spring on a rainy day. mother wouldn't go. finally mother got tired and went back home. her mistress heard what she had to tell her about the place she'd been working. then she said mother did right to quit. she had worked there for three or four months. they meant to keep her but she wouldn't stay. mis' hickman went over and collected her money. "when mother worked out, the people that hired her paid her owners. her owners furnished her everything she wanted to eat and clothes to wear, and all the money she earned went to them. "mis' candle begged mr. hickman to let him have mother back. he said he'd talk to his wife and she wouldn't mistreat her any more but mama said that she didn't want to go back and mrs. hickman said, 'no, she doesn't want to go back and i wouldn't make her.' and the girls said, 'no, mama, don't let her go back.' and mis' hickman said, 'no, she was raised with my girls and i am not going to let her go back.' "the hickmans had my mother ever since she was four years old. my grandfather was allowed to go a certain distance with her when she was sold away from him. he walked and carried her in his arms. mama said that when he had gone as far as they would let him go, he put her in the wagon and turned his head away. she said she wondered why he didn't look at her; but later she understood that he hated so bad to 'part from her and couldn't do nothing to prevent it that he couldn't bear to look at her. "since i have been grown i have worked with some people at newport. i stayed with them there and married there, and had all my children there. "i heard the woman i lived with, a woman named diana wagner, tell how her mistress said, 'come on, diana, i want you to go with me down the road a piece.' and she went with her and they got to a place where there was a whole lot of people. they were putting them up on a block and selling them just like cattle. she had a little nursing baby at home and she broke away from her mistress and them and said, 'i can't go off and leave my baby.' and they had to git some men and throw her down and hold her to keep her from goin' back to the house. they sold her away from her baby boy. they didn't let her go back to see him again. but she heard from him after he became a young man. some one of her friends that knowed her and knowed she was sold away from her baby met up with this boy and got to questioning him about his mother. the white folks had told him his mother's name and all. he told them and they said, 'boy, i know your mother. she's down in newport.' and he said, 'gimme her address and i'll write to her and see if i can hear from her.' and he wrote. and the white people said they heard such a hollering and shouting goin' on they said, 'what's the matter with diana?' and they came over to see what was happening. and she said, 'i got a letter from my boy that was sold from me when he was a nursing baby.' she had me write a letter to him. i did all her writing for her and he came to see her. i didn't get to see him. i was away when he come. she said she was willing to die that the lord let her live to see her baby again and had taken care of him through all these years. "my father's name was peter warren and my mother was named adelaide warren. before she was married she went by her owner's name, hickman. my daddy belonged to the phillips but he didn't go in their name. he went in the warren's name. he did that because he liked them. phillips was his real father, but he sold him to the warrens and he took their name and kept it. they treated him nice and he just stayed on in their name. he didn't marry till after both of them were free. he met her somewheres away from the hickman's. they married in alabama. "mama was born and mostly reared in virginia and then come to alabama. that's where i was born, in alabama. and they left there and came here. i was four years old when they come here. "i never did hear what my father did in slavery time. he was a twin. the most he took notice of he said was his brother and him settin' on an old three-legged stool. and his mother had left some soft soap on the fire. his brother saw that the pot was goin' to turn over and he jumped up. my father tried to get up too but the stool turned over and caught him, caught his little dress and held him and the hot soap ran over his dress and on to his bare skin. it left a big burn on his side long as he lived. his mother was there close to the house because she knowed the soap was on and those two little boys were in there. she heard him crying and ran in and carried him to her master. he got the doctor and saved him. my father's mother didn't do nothing after that but 'tend to that baby. her master loved those little boys and kept her and _didn't sell her because of them_. (the underscoring is the interviewer's--ed.) that was his last master--warren. warren loved him more than his real father did. warren said he knew my father would never live after he had such a burn. but he did live. they never did let him do much work after the accident. "i think my father's master, warren--i can't remember his first name--farmed for a living. "my father and mother had five children. i don't know how many brothers my father had. i have heard my mother say she had four sisters. i never heard her say nothin' 'bout no brothers--just sisters. "i had six children. got three living and three dead. they was grown though when they died. i had three boys and three girls. i got two boys living and one girl. the boy in st. louis does pretty well. but the other in little rock doesn't have much luck. if he'd get out of little rock, he would find more to do. the one in st. louis don't make much now because they done cut wages. he's a dining-car waiter. this girl what's here, she does all she can for me. she has a husband and my husband is dead. he's been dead a long time. "i belong to bethel a.m.e. church. you know where that is. rev. campbell is a good man. we had him eight years. then we got brother wilson one year and then they put campbell back. "i don't know what to think of these young people. some of them is running wild. "when i was working for myself, i was generally a maid. but that is been a long time ago. i washed and ironed and done laundry work when i was able a long time ago. but i can't do it now. i can't do it for myself now. i washed for myself a little and i got the flu and got in bad health. that was about four years ago. i reckon it was the flu; i never did have no doctor. when i take the least little cold, it comes back on me." interviewer's comment this old lady appears nearer eighty than sixty-nine, and she speaks with the sureness of an eyewitness. interviewer: mrs. blanche edwards person interviewed: emmeline waddille (deceased) lonoke county, arkansas age: she immigrated with her owner, l.w.c. waddille, to lonoke county in , coming to hickory plains and then to brownsville. they moved from hayburn, georgia in a covered wagon drawn by oxen. she lived with a great-granddaughter, mrs. john high, seven miles north of lonoke, until , when she died. she had nursed six generations of the waddille family. she was born a deaf-mute but her hearing and speech were restored many years ago when lightening struck a tree under which she was standing. emmeline told of how they would stop for the night on the rough journey, and while the men fed the stock, the women and slaves would cook the evening meal of hoecake, fried venison, and coffee. the women slept in the wagons and the men would sleep on the creek watching for wild life. with other pioneers, they suffered all the hardships and dangers incident to the settling of the new country more than three-fourths of a century ago. emmeline always had good care. she worked hard and faithfully and was amply rewarded. [hw: high] circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--blanche edwards address--lonoke, arkansas date--october , subject--an old slave [tr: emiline waddell] [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] . name and address of informant--mrs. john g. high, living nine miles north of lonoke, arkansas. . date and time of interview--october , . place of interview--at the home of mrs. john g. high, nine miles north of lonoke. . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant-- . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you-- . description of room, house, surroundings, etc. text of interview emiline waddell, a former slave of the l.w. waddell family, lived to be years old, and was active up to her death. she was born a slave in at haben county, georgia, a slave of claybourne waddell, who emigrated to brownsville, in , in covered wagons, oxen drawn. her "white folks" were three weeks making the trip from the ferry across the mississippi to old brownsville; after traveling all day through the bad and boggy woods, at the end of their rough journey at eventide, the movers dismounted and began hasty preparations for the night. while the men were feeding the stock and providing temporary quarters, the women assisted the slaves in preparing the evening meal, of hoe-cake, fried venison and coffee. then the women and children would sleep in the wagons while the men kept watch for wild life. mammy emiline was a faithful old black mammy, true to life and traditions, and refused her freedom, at the close of the war, as wanted to stay and raise "old massa's chilluns," which she did, for she was nursing her sixth generation in the waddell family at the time of her death. even to that generation there was a close tie between the southern child and his or her black mammy. a strange almost unbelievable thing happened to emiline; she was born a deaf mute, but her hearing and speech was restored many years before her death, when lightening struck a tree under which she was standing. superstitious beliefs were strong in her and her tales of "hants" were to "her little white chilluns", really true but hair-raising. then she would talk and live again the "days that are no more", telling them of the happy prosperous, sunny land, in her negro dialect, and then tell of the ruin and desolation behind the yankees; the hard times my white folks had in the reconstruction days--negro and carpetbag rule; then give them glimpses of good--much courage, some heart and human feeling; perhaps ending with an outburst of the negro spiritual, her favorite being, "swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home." after a faithful service of years, emiline died in at the home of mrs. john g. high, a great-granddaughter of l.w.c. waddell living nine miles north of lonoke, and the grown up great-great-grandchildren still miss mammy. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: henry waldon walnut street. north little rock, arkansas age: "i was plowing when they surrendered. i had just learned to plow, and was putting up some land. my young master come home and was telling me the war was ended and we was all free. "i was born in lauderdale county, mississippi. i think it was about . my father's name [hw: was] ----, my mother's [hw: was] ----, i knew them both. "my mother belonged to sterling and my father belonged to a man named huff--richmond huff. "we lived in lauderdale county. huff wouldn't sell my father and my people wouldn't sell my mother. they lived about a mile or so apart. they didn't marry in them days. the niggers didn't, that is. father would just come every saturday night to see my mother. his cabin was about three miles from her's. we moved from lauderdale county to scott county, mississippi, and that separated mama and papa. they never did meet again. of course, i mean it was the white people that moved, but they carried mama and us with them. papa and mama never did meet again before freedom, and they didn't meet afterwards. "my mother had twelve children--eight girls and four boys. she had one by a man named peter smith. she was away from her husband then. she had four by my father--two boys and two girls; my father's name was peter huff. my mother's name was mary sterling. i never did see my father no more after we moved away from him. "my father made cotton and corn, plowed and hoed in slavery time. his old master had seventy-five or eighty hands. his old master treated him pretty rough. he whipped them about working. he never hired no overseer over them. when he whipped them he took their shirts off and whipped them on their naked backs. he cut the blood out of some of them. he never did rub no salt nor vinegar in their wounds. his youngest son done his overseeing. he would whip them sometime but he wasn't tight on them like some that i knowed. "a fellow by the name of jim holbert was mean to his slaves as a man could be. he would whip them night and day. work them till dark; then they would eat supper. cook their own supper. had nothing to cook but a little meat and bread and molasses. then they would go back and bale up three or four bales of cotton. some nights they work till twelve o'clock then get up before daylight--'round four o'clock--and cook their breakfast and go to work again. that was on jim holbert and lard moore's place. them was two different men and two different places--plantations. they whipped their slaves a good deal--always beating down on somebody. they made their backs sore. their backs would be bleeding just like they cut it with knives. then they would wash it down with water and salt. "on my master's farm, each one cooked in his own cabin. while the hands were working, my master left one child, the largest, stay there and taken care of the little ones. "they had bloodhounds too; they'd run you away in the woods. send for a man that had hounds to track you if you run away. they'd run you and bay you, and a white man would ride up there and say, 'if you hit one of them hounds, i'll blow your brains out.' he'd say 'your damn brains.' them hounds would worry you and bite you and have you bloody as a beef, but you dassent to hit one of them. they would tell you to stand still and put your hands over your privates. i don't guess they'd have killed you but you believed they would. they wouldn't try to keep the hounds off of you; they would set them on you to see them bite you. five or six or seven hounds bitin' you on every side and a man settin' on a horse holding a doubled shotgun on you. "my old miss's sister hired slave women out to old jim holbert once. one of them was in a delicate state, and they dug a hole and put her stomach down in it and whipped her till she could hardly walk. "holbert lived to see the niggers freed. all of his slaves left him pretty well when freedom come. he managed to hold on to his money. he didn't go to the war. he was pretty old. he had two sons in the war--his wife had one in there and he had one. one of them got wounded but he didn't die. "my mistress's oldest son, ed sterling, got shot in the civil war. he got shot right in the side at franklin, tennessee. it tore his whole side off--near about killed him. but he lived to ride paterole. he was mean. catch a man in bed with his wife at night, he'd whip him and make him go home. he was the meanest man in the world. all the other sons were better than he was. his name was ed sterling. "the first thing i remember was work. you weren't allowed to remember nothing but work in slave times and you got whipped about that. you weren't allowed to go nowhere but carry the mules out to the pasture to eat grass. sometimes they jump the fence and go over in the field and eat corn. me and another fellow named sandy used to watch them all day sunday. watching the mules and working in the fields through the week was the first work i remember. me and my sister worked on one row. the two of us made a hand. she is down in texas somewheres now. they taken her from old lady sterling's place. she give them to her son and he carried them down in texas. he had a broken leg and never did go to the war. if he did, i never knowed nothing about it. "none of the masters never give me anything. none of them as i knows of never give anything to any of the slaves when they freed 'em. never give a devilish thing. told them that they was free as they was and that they could stay there and help them make crops if they wanted to. the biggest part of them stayed. the rest went away. their husbands taken them away. "right after the war my mother married an old fellow who used to be old holbert's nigger driver. he stayed on sterling's place one night. he stayed there a year. then he married my mother and went to old holbert's place and of course, we had to go too. i stayed there and worked for him. and my mama too and the two youngest sisters and the youngest brother stayed with me. i run away from him in ' . i went down the railroad about five miles and an old colored fellow give me a job. he used to belong to the railroad boss. "i worked nearly two years on that railroad; then i left and come on down to arkansas. i have been right here on this spot about forty years. i don't know how long it is been since i first come here, but it is been a long time ago. i paid fire insurance on this place for thirty-nine years. i lived over the river before i came to north little rock. i worked for the railroad company thirty-eight years. it's been fifteen years since i was able to work--maybe longer. "i belong to little bethel church (a.m.e.) here in north little rock. i been a member of that church more than thirty-five years. "i have been married twice, and i am the father of three children that are living and two that dead--tommy, jim, ewing, mayzetta, and the baby. he was too young to have a name when he died. "i think things is worse than they ever was. everything we get we have to pay for, and then pay for paying for it. if it wasn't for my wife i could hardly live because i don't get much from the railroad company." interviewer: mary d. hudgins person interviewed: aunt clara walker aged: home: "flatwoods" district, garland county. own property. story by aunt clara walker "you'll have to wait a minute ma'am. dis cornbread can't go down too fas'. yes ma'am, i likes cornbread. i eats it every meal. i wouldn't trade just a little cornbread for all de flour dat is. where-bouts was i born? i was born right here in arkansas. dat is it was between an on de borders of it an dat state to de south--yes ma'am, dat's right, louisiana. my mother was a slave before me. she come over from de old country, she was a-runnin' along one day front of a--a--dat stripedy animal--a tiger? an' a man come along on an elephant and scoop her up an' put her on a ship. yes ma'am. my name's clara walker. i was born clara jones, cause my pappy's name was jones. but lots of folks called me clara cornelius, cause mr. cornelius was de man what owned me. did you ever hear of a child born wid a veil over its face? well i was one of dem! what it mean? why it means dat you can see spirits an' ha'nts, an all de other creatures nobody else can see. yes ma'am, some children is born dat way. you see dat great grandchild of mine lyin' on de floor? he's dat way. he kin see 'em too. is many of 'em around here? lawsey dey's as thick as piss-ants. what does dey look like? some of 'em looks like folks; an' some of 'em looks like hounds. when dey sees you, dey says "howdy!" an' if you don't speak to 'em dey takes you by your shoulders an dey shakes you. maybe dey hits you on de back. an' if you go over to de bed an lies in de bed an' goes to sleep, dey pulls de cover off you. you got to be polite to 'em. what makes 'em walk around? well, i got it figgured out dis way. dey's dissatisfied. dey didn't have time to git dey work done while dey was alive. dat greatgrandchild of mine, he kin see 'em too. now my eight grandchildren an' my three children what's alivin' none of 'em can see de spirits. guess dat greatgrandchild struck way back. i goes way back. my ol' master what had to go to de war, little 'fore it was over told me when he left dat i was years old. somebody figgured it out for me dat i's now. dat makes me pretty old, don't it? there was another fellow on a joinin' plantation. he was a witch doctor. brought him over from africa. he didn't like his master, 'cause he was mean. so he make a little man out of mud. an' he stick thorns in its back. sure 'nuff, his master got down with a misery in his back. an' de witch doctor let de thorn stay in de mud-man until he thought his master had got 'nuff punishment. when he tuck it out, his master got better. did i got to school. no ma'am. not to book school. dey wouldn't let culled folks git no learnin'. when i was a little girl we skip rope an' play high-spy (i spy). all we had to do was to sweep de yard an go after de cows an' de pigs an de sheep. an' dat was fun, cause dey was lots of us children an we all did it together. when i was years old my ol' mistress put me wid a doctor who learned me how to be a midwife. dat was cause so many women on de plantation was catchin' babies. i stayed wid dat doctor, dr. mcgill his name was, for years. i got to be good. got so he'd sit down an' i'd do all de work. when i come home, i made a lot o' money for old miss. lots of times, didn't sleep regular or git my meals on time for three--four days. cause when dey call, i always went. brought as many white as culled children. i's brought most , white an' black since i's been in hot springs. brought a little white baby--to de wards it was--dey lived jest down de lane--brought dat baby 'bout year ago. i's brought lots of 'em an' i ain't never lost a case. you know why. it's cause i used my haid. when i'd go in, i'd take a look at de woman, an' if it was beyond me, i'd say, 'dis is a doctor case. dis ain't no case for a midwife. you git a doctor.' an' dey'd have to get one. i'd jes' stan' before de lookin' glass, an' i wouldn't budge. dey couldn't make me. i made a lot of money for ol' miss. but she was good to me. she give me lots of good clothes. those clothes an my mother's clothes burned up in de fire i had a few years ago right on dis farm. lawsey i hated loosin' dose clothes i had when i was a girl more dan anything i lost. an' i didn't have to work in de fields. in between times i cooked an' i would jump in de loom. yes, ma'am i could weave good. did my yards every day. i weave cloth for dresses--fine dresses you would use thread as thin as dat you sews wid today--i weaves cloth for underclothes, an fo handkerchiefs an for towels. den i weaves nits and lice. what's dat--well you see it was kind corse cloth de used for clothes like overalls. it mas sort of speckeldy all over--dat's why dey called it nits and lice. law, i used to be good once, but after i got all burned up i wasn't good for so much. it happened dis way. a salt lick was on a nearby plantation. ever body who wanted salt, dey had to send a hand to help make it. i went over one day--an workin' around i stepped on a live coal. i move quick an' i fall plum over into a salt vat. before dey got me out i was pretty near ruined. what did dey do? dey killed a hog--fresh killed a hog. an' dey fry up de fat--fry it up wid some of de hog hairs an' dey greesed me good. an' it took all de fire out of de burns. dey kept me greezed for a long time. i was sick nearly six months. dey was good to me. an one day, young miss, she married. ol' miss give me to her 'long of others. twenty four was all she could spare an' keep some for herself an save enough for de other children. we went to california. young miss was good, but her husband was mean. he give me de only white folks whippin i ever had. ol' miss never had to whip her slaves. i was tryin' to cook on an earth stove--dat's why it happen. did you ever hear of an earth stove? well, dey make sort of drawers out of dirt. you burn wood in 'em. after you git used to it you kin cook on it good. but dat day i was busy an' i burned de biscuits. an' he whip me. i run off. i knew in general de way home. when i come to de brazos river it looked most a mile across. but i jump in an' i swim it. one day i done found a pearl handled pocket knife. a few days later i meet up wid a white boy. an' he say its his knife, an' i say, 'white boy, i know dat ain't your knife, an' you know it ain't. but if you'll write me out a free pass, i'll give it to you.' an' so he wrote it. after dat, i could walk right up to de front gates an ask for somthin' to eat. cause i had a paper sayin' i was clara jones an' i was goin' home to my ol' mistress mis' cornelius. please paterollers to leave me alone. an' folks along de way, dey'd take me in an' feed me. dey'd give me a place to stay an fix me up a lunch to take along. dey'd say, "clara, you's a good nigger. you's a goin' home to your ol' miss, so we's goin' to do for you." an' i got within five miles of home before dey catch me. an' my ol' miss won't let me go back. she keep me an' send another one in my place. an' de war kept on, an ol' massa had to go. an' word come dat he been killed. yes, 'em, some folks run off, an' some of 'em stayed. finally ol' miss refugeed a lot of us to california. what is it to refugee. well, you see, suppose you was afraid dat somebody go in' to take your property an' you run 'em away off somewhere--how you come to know. when de war was over, young miss she come in an she say, 'clara, you's as free as i am.' 'no, i ain't.' says i. 'yes, you is,' says she. 'what you goin' to do?' 'i's goin' to stay an' work for you.' says i. 'no' says she, 'you ain't cause i can't pay you.' 'well,' says i, 'i'll go home to see my old mother.' 'tell you what,' says she, 'i ain't got nuff money to send you, only part--so you go down to whar' dey is a'pannin' gold. you kin git a job at $ . per day.' many's a day i've stood in water up to my waist pannin' gold. in dem days dey worked women jest like men. i worked hard, an' young miss took care of me. when i got ready to come home i bought my stage fare an' i carried $ on me back to my ol' mother. de trip took six weeks. everywhere de stage would stop young miss had writ a note to somebody and de stage coach men give it to 'em an dey took care of me--good care. when i got home to my mother i found dat ol' miss had give all of 'em somthin' along with settin 'em free. my mother had children so she git de mos'. she git a horse, a milk cow, killin' hogs and bushels of corn. she moved off to a little house on ol' miss's plantation and make a crop on halvers. she stay on dar for three--four years. den she move off into another county where she could go to meetin without havin' to cross de river. an' i stayed on wid her an help her farm--i could plow as good as a man in dem days. finally i hear dat you could make more money in hot springs, so i come to see. my mother was dead by dat time. de first year i made a crop for mr. clay--my granddaughter cooks and tends to children for some of his folks today. when i went to town an i washed at de arlington hotel. it wasn't de fine place it is today. it was jest boards like dis cabin of mine. an i washed at another hotel--what was it--down across de creek from de arlington. yes ma'am, dat's it. de grand central--it was grand too--for dem days. an' i cooked for dr. mcmasters. an' i cooked for colonel rector--de rectors had lots of money in dem days. i could make a weddin' cake good as anybody--with, a 'gagement ring in it. i could make it fine--tho i don't know but two letters in de book an' thoses is a and b. i married mr. walker. he was a hod carrier when dey built de old red brick arlington. i remember lots of things dat happened here. i remember seein' de smoke from de fire--dat big one. we was a livin' near picket springs--you don't know whare dat is. well, does you know where de soldier's breast work was--now i git you on to remembering. den, later on we moved out an' got a farm near hawes. i traded dat place for dis one. yes, ma'am i likes livin' in de country. never did like livin' in town. i don't right know whether culled folks wanted to be free or not. lots of 'em didn't rightly understand, ol' miss was good to hers. some of 'em wasn't. she give 'em things before an she give 'em things after. of course, we went back an' we washed for 'em. but one mortal blessin. ol' miss had made her girls learn how to cook an' wait on themselves. now take de combinders. dey was on de next plantation. dey was mean. many a time you could hear de bull whip, clear over to our place, plop, plop. an' if dey died, dey jest wrapped 'em in cloth an' dig a trench, an' plow right over 'em. an' when de war was over, dey wouldn't turn dey slaves loose. an de federals marched in an' marched 'em off. an' ol' mis' combinder she holler out an she say, 'what my girls goin' to do? dey ain't never dressed deyselves in dey life. we can't cook? what we do?' an' de soldiers didn't pay no attention. dey just marched 'em off. an' ol' man combinder he lay down an' he have a chill an' he die. he die because day take his property away from him. yes, ma'am, thank you for the quarter. i's goin' to buy snuff. i gets along good. my grandson he hauls wood for de paper mill. an' my granddaughters dey works for folks cooks an takes care of children. i had a good crop dis year. i'll have meat, i got lots of corn, an' i got other crops. we're gettin' along nice, mighty nice. thank you ma'am." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: henry walker, hazen, arkansas age: i was born nine miles south of nashville, tennessee. the first i ever knowed or heard of a war, i saw a lot of the funniest wagons coming up to the house from the road. i called the old mistress. she looked out the window and pushed me back up in the corner and shot the door. she was so scared. i thought them things they had on their coats (buttons) was pretty. i found out they was brass buttons. i peeped out a crack it was already closed 'cept a big crack, i seed through. well, the wagons was high in front and high in the back and sunk in the middle. had pens in the wheels instead of axels. wagon had a box instead of a bed. the wagons would hold a crib full of corn. they loaded up everything on the place there was to eat and carried it off. my folks and the other folks was in the field. colored folks didn't like 'em taking all they had to eat and had stored up to live on. they didn't leave a hog nor a chicken, nor anything else they could find. they drove off all the cows and calves they could find. colonel sam williams, the old master, soon did go to war then. the folks had a hard time making a living. old mistress had four girls and her baby ed was one day older than i was. the children of the hands played around in the woods and every place and stayed in the field if they was big enough to do any work. old mistress had all the children pick up scaley barks and hickory nuts and chestnuts and walnuts. she put them in barrels. she sold some of them. she had a heap of sugar maple trees. they put an elder funnel to run the sap in buckets. we carried that and she boiled it down to brown sugar. she had up pick up chips to burn when she simmered it down or made soap. she kept all the children hunting ginsing up in the mountains. she kept it in sacks. a man come by and buy it. we hunted chenqupins down in the swamps. there was lots of walnut trees in the woods. no the slaves didn't leave colonel williams. he left them. he brought me and ed and we went back and moved to the old williams farm on arkansas river close to little rock. then he sent for my folks. they come in wagons. they worked for him a long time and scattered about. i stayed at his house till he said "henry, you are grown; you better look out for yourself now." ed was gone. he sent all the girls off to school and ed too. they taught me if i wanted to learn but i didn't care much about it. i went to the colored school and ed to the white school. he learned pretty well. i never did like to 'sociate or stay 'bout colored folks and i didn't like to mind 'em. old mistress show did brush me out sometimes and they called my mother to tend to me. when i was real little they drove the hands to the block to be sold out along the road. old mistress say: "if you don't be good and mind we'll send yare off and sell you wid 'em." that scared me worse than a whooping. never did see anybody sold. heard them talk a heap about it. when one of them wouldn't work and lay out in the woods, or they wouldn't mind they soon got sold off. they mated a heap of them and sold them for speculation. no mam i didn't like slavery. we had plenty to eat but they worked for all they got. had good fires and good warm houses and good clothes but i did not like the way they give out the provisions. they blowed a horn and measured out the weeks paratta for every family. they cooked at the cabins for their own families. there was several springs and a deep rock walled well at old mistress' house. old mistress always lived in a fine house. i slept at my mother's house nearly all the time. she had a big family. white folks raised me up to play with ed till i thought i was white. they taught me to do right and i ain't forgot it. i never was arrested. i married three times, bought three marriage license all in prairie county. all three wives died. i owns dis house 'cept a mortgage of $ . one of my boys got in a difficulty. i don't know where he is to get him to pay it off. the other boy he's not man enough either to pay it off. i never did know jess when the civil war did close. i kept hearing 'em say we are free. i didn't see much difference only when colonel williams come back times wasn't so hard. then he sold out and come to arkansas. then each family raised his own hogs and chickens and finally got to have cows. i was as scared of the ku klux klan as of rattlesnakes. in tennessee they come up the road and back just after dark. they rode all night and if you wasn't on your master's own land and didn't have a pass from him or the overseer they would set the dogs on you and run you home. sometimes they would whip them. take them home to the old master. i never heard of no uprisings. people loved each other better then than now. they didn't have so much idle time. there was always some work to be doing. when they didn't mind they run them with dogs and whipped them. the overseer and paddyrollers seed about that. the first day of the year everybody went up to hear the rules and see who was to be the overseer. then they knowed what to do for the year. they never did kill nobody. no mam that was too costly. they had work according to their strength and age. the ku klux was to keep order. i been living in hazen forty or fifty years. all i ever have done was farm sometimes one-half-for-the-other and sometimes on share-crop. i have voted but not lately. i votes a republican ticket. i votes that way because it was the republicans that set us free, i always heard it said. i jess belongs to that party. seems lack we gets easier times when the democrats reign. colonel williams was a democrat. the young folks are not as well off as i was at their age. they are restless and won't work unless they gets big pay and they spends the money too easy. the colored people are too idle and orderless. they fight and hate one another and roam around in too much confusion. i gets from $ to $ last month from the sociable welfare. my children helps me mighty little. they got their own children to see after and don't make much. colonel williams and ed are both dead. they did give me a lot of fine clothes when i went to see them as long as they lived. i don't know where the girls hab gone. scattered around. i oughter never left my good old home and white folks. they was show always mighty good to me. i never could sing much. i used to give the rebbel yell. colonel yopp give me a dime every time i give it. since he died i ain't yelled it no more. i learned it from colonel williams. i jess took it up hearing him about the place. folklore subjects name of interviewer: irene robertson subject: ex-slave-hunting story:--information this information given by: henry walker place of residence: hazen, arkansas occupation: farmer. age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] henry walker was born nine miles south of nashville, tennessee. remembered the soldiers and ran to the windows to see them pass. one day he saw a lot of soldiers coming to the house. henry ran in ahead and said out loud, "them yankeys are coming up here." the mistress slapped henry, hid him and slammed the doors. the soldiers did not get in but they did other damage that day. they took all the mules out of the lot and drove them away. they filled their "dugout wagons" with corn. a dugout wagon would hold nearly a crib full of corn. they were high in front and back and came down to a point, nearly touched the ground between the wheels. the wheels had pens instead of axles in them. the children ran like pigs every morning. the pigs ran to eat acorns and the children--white and black--to pick up chestnuts, scaly barks and hickory nuts. there were _lots_ of black walnuts. "we had barrels of nuts to eat all winter and the mistress sold some every year at nashville, tennessee. the woods were full of nut trees and we had a few maple and sweet gum trees. we simmered down maple sap for brown sugar and chewed the sweet gum. we picked up chips to simmer the sweet maple sap down. we used elder tree wood to make faucets for syrup barrels. there were chenquipins down in the swamps that the children gathered." henry walker said that they were sent upon the hills to find ginsing and often found long beds of it. they put it in sacks and a man came and bought it from the mistress. the mistress' name was mrs. williams. she kept the money for the ginsing and nuts too when she sold them. henry said he ate at mrs. williams', but the other children ate at the cabin. on saturday evening the horn would sound and every slave would come to get his allowance of provisions. they used a big bell hung up in a tree to call them to meals and to begin work. they could also hear other farm bells and horns. colored folks could have dances if they would get permission. some masters were overseers themselves and some hired overseers. patty rell was a white man and the bush-wackers give us trouble sometimes. on january first every year everybody ate peas and "hog jole" and received the new rules. the masters would say, "don't be running up here telling me on the overseer." they had a bush harbor church and the white preacher came to preach to black and white sometimes. they taught obedience and the golden rules. no schools--henry said since freedom the white men had cheated him out of all he had ever made, with pen-and-ink. he rather be whipped with a stick than a writing pen. he said mr. and mrs. williams were good people. henry learned to knit his socks and gloves at night watching the grown people. they made a certain number of broches every night. he liked that. henry said mr. williams let him carry his gun hunting with him and taught him how to shoot squirrels. they were plentiful. he had a lot of dogs. the master went to the deer stand and henry managed the twelve hounds. he didn't like to fox hunt. about a hundred men and thirty dogs, horns, etc. out for the chase. they came from nashville and in the country. a fox make three rounds from where he is jumped and then widens out. they brought "fine whiskey" out on the chases. when they had corn shuckings one negro would sit on the fence and lead the singing, the others shuck on each side. the master would pour out a tin cup full of whiskey from a big jug for each corn shucker, and mrs. williams would give each a square of gingerbread. mr. williams set aside a certain number of acres of land every year to be cleared, fenced and broke for cultivation by spring. six or eight men worked together. they used tong-hand sticks to carry the logs to the piles where they were burning them. a saw was a side show, they used mall, axe and wedge. after the log rolling there would be a big supper and a good one. the visitors got what they wanted from the table first. "that was manners." "we took turns going to the methodist church at nashville with mr. and mrs. williams. they went in the fine carriage and the maid held the baby but anybody else rode along behind on horseback. the carriage horses were curried every day, kept up and ate corn and fodder. mr. and mrs. williams came to nashville to big weddings and dances often." after henry walker came to hazen, colonel yopp had him feed his dogs and attend him on big fox hunting trips. since colonel yopp died january henry seldom, or perhaps has never sung the song he sang to colonel for dimes if he needed a little change. he learned the song and whoop back in in slavery days. he said william dorch (colored boy) took it up from hearing him sing for colonel yopp and would write it for me and sing it and give it with the old carolina, georgia and tennessee whoop. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: jake walker short w. ninth avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: "well, i was here--i was born in , august the th. that makes me ninety-five in the clear. if i live till next august i'll be ninety-six. "no ma'am, i wasn't born in arkansas, i was born in alabama. i been here in arkansas bout forty or fifty years. i used to live in mississippi when i first left the old country. "oh yes'm, i was bout big enough to go durin' the war, but i wouldn't run off. couldn't a had no better master. that's the reason i'm livin' like i do. always took good care of myself. never had no exposure. "i _did_ work fore the war, i'll say! done anything they said. "john carmichael was my old master and miss nancy was old missis. "oh yes ma'am, i seed the yankees. they stopped there. i wasn't askeered of nobody. i have went to the well and drawed water for em. "i member when the war was gwine on. i didn't know why they was fightin'. if i did i done forgot--i'll be honest with you. i didn't know nothin' only they was fightin'. most of my work was around the house. i never paid no tention to that war. i was livin' too fine them days. i was livin' a hundred days to the week. yes ma'am, i did get along fine. "oh yes ma'am, i had good white folks. i never was sold. no ma'am, i born right on the old home place. "patrollers? had to get a pass from your master to go over there. oh yes, i know all about them. i have seed the ku klux too. yes ma'am, i know all about them things. "i never been to school but half a day. i went to work when i was eight years old and been workin' ever since. "my father died in slave times and my mother died the fourth year after surrender. "after freedom, i worked there bout the course of three or four years. then i emigrated and come on to mississippi. the most i done them times was farmin'. reckon i stayed in mississippi five or six years. "the most work i done here in arkansas is carpenter work. i'm the first colored man ever contracted in pine bluff. "if i wasn't able to work, i don't think i'd stay here long. "used to drive the mule in the gin in slave times. "we didn't have a bit of expense on us. our doctor bills was paid and had clothes give to us and had plenty of something to eat. "yes'm, i used to vote but it's been for years since i voted. voted republican. i don't know why the colored people is republican. you askin' me something now i don't know nothin' about, but i believe in votin' for the man goin' to do good--do the country good. "oh, don't talk about the younger generation--i jist can't accomplish em, i sure can't. they ain't got the 'regenious' and get-up about em they had in my time. they is more wiser, that's about all. the young race these days--i don't know what's gwine come of em. if twasn't for we old fogies, don't know what they'd do. "we ain't never had that world war yet told about in the bible. called this last war the world war but twasn't. "i've always tried to keep my place and i ain't never been in any kind of trouble." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: jake walker, wheatley, arkansas age: "i was born seven or eight miles from hernando, mississippi. my pa was a slave over twenty years. he belong to master will walker, and his white mistress was ann. they brought him from 'round athens, georgia. he was heired through his master. his own mother died at his birth and he was the son of a peddler through the country. he was a furriner but pa never could tell. his young master never told him. his ma was the nurse about the place. the peddler was a white man of some kind. he kept coming about selling goods. the dogs made a bad racket. they never bought nothing much. old master suspicioned him trying to get away with something about the place. he come right out and accused him to being up to something. he denied it. he told the peddler not to come back. he never. after it was over she told her mistress. he wanted her to go on off with him. that made them mad. but he never was seen about there. "when will walker got married he wanted my pa and he was give to him, a horse and buggy, two mules, a lamb, and five young cows. he had some money and he come to mississippi. i reckon he did buy some land. he got to be a slave owner before freedom. pa said he drove the horse to the buggy and his master rode a mule, led a mule and brought his cows, and they kept the lamb in the buggy with them nearly all the way. "i think they was good to him. his young mistress cried so much they all went back once before freedom. they went on christmas time. only time he ever was drunk. he got down and nearly froze to death. the white folks heard he was somewhere down. they went and got him one sunday morning in a two-horse wagon. he was nearly dead. that was his first and last spree. "pa said he nursed three of his young mistress' babies, alfred, tom, and kenneth. "after freedom pa went to texas with alfred walker. he owned a ranch out on the desert and raised texas ponies and big horn cows. they sent a carload of young cattle to st. louis and pa stopped back in mississippi and married ma. she was a walker too, libbie walker. there was fourteen of us children. they nearly all went to louisiana to work in the timber. i come to clarendon. i been married three times. my last wife left me and took my onliest child. only child i ever had. they was at hot springs last account i had of them. she was cooking for a woman over there. my girl is up 'bout grown now. she come to clarendon to see me three years ago. i sent for her but she wouldn't stay. she writes to me, but i have to get somebody to write for me and somebody to read her letters. i can read print real good. i never went to school a day in my whole life. we had to work early and late when i come up. "i farmed, sawmilled, worked in the timber. i do public work, haul wood, cut wood, and work in the field by day labor. "i votes a republican ticket. i haven't voted since mr. taft run. i don't have no way to keep up with elections now. folks used to talk more, now they keeps quiet. "i never heard pa say how he come to know about freedom. ma said she was refugeed to texas and when they brung them back, master will walker met them at the creek on his place and he said, 'you all are free now. you can go on my place or hunt other places.' they went on his place and they lived there a long time. i don't remember ever living on that place. pa wasn't there then. i don't know where be could been. ma and pa was both walkers but no blood kin. ma didn't talk much about old times. she was sold once, she said. bass kelly bought her. i don't know if will walker traded for her. she never did say. bass kelly was mean to her. he beat her and one time she hid and kept hid till she nearly starved, she said. she hid in the corn crib. it was a log house. she didn't enjoy slavery. pa had a very good time, better than us boys had it when we come up. he worked and kept us with him. he and ma died the same week. they had pneumonia in mississippi. "i got one sister. she lives close to shreveport. she keeps up with us all. i go down there every now and then. she's not stove up like i am. she wants me to stay with her all the time. i gets work down there easier but i have the rheumatism bad down there. "i don't know what will become of young folks. i wish i had their chance. they can't wait for nothing. they in too big a hurry for the crop to grow. busy living by the day. when the year gone they ain't no better off. times is good in places. hard in places. times better in louisiana than up here. work easier to get. folks got more living. "i'm chopping cotton on mr. hill's place. i gets ninety cents a day. i can't get over the ground fast." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: willie wallace th and georgia streets, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in green county, alabama. elihu steele was my old master. miss julia was old missis. she was elihu's wife. her mother's name was penny hatter. miss penny give my mother to her daughter julia. "i was a twin and they choosed us for the cook and washer and ironer, but surrender come along 'fore we got big enough to do anything. "my father was crippled and couldn't work in the field, and i remember he used to carry the children out to the field to be suckled. "they had a right smart of slaves. my mother had twelve children and i'm the baby. "i remember they'd make up a big pot of corn bread and pot-liquor and they'd say, 'eat, chillun, eat.' "i remember one time the white folks had some stock tied out, and i know my sister's little boy didn't know no better and he showed the yankees where they was. "i remember when they said the people was free, but our folks stayed right on there--i don't know how many years--'cause my mother thought a heap of her old missis, penny. "i went to school after freedom and learned how to read and write and figger. i worked in the field till i got disabled. i never did wash and iron and cook for the white folks. "i was fifteen--somewhere in there--when i married and i'm the mother of twelve children. "i have lived in thomas, west virginia; pittsburg, pennsylvania; cumberland, maryland; milliken, louisiana; and birmingham, alabama. i just lived in all them places following my children around. "i fell through a trestle in birmingham and injured myself comin' from church. "i think the people is gettin' terrible now. you think they're gettin' better? i think they're gettin' wuss. "i got a book here called 'uncle tom' and i hates to read it sometimes 'cause the people suffered so. "i don't think old master had any overseers. miss julia wouldn't 'low any of her people to be beat." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: evans warrior e. rd avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born here in arkansas in dallas county. i don't know zackly what year but i was bout five when they drove us to texas. stayed there three years till the war ceasted. "old master's name was nat smith. he was good to me. i was big enough to plow same year the war ceasted. "yankees come through texas after peace was 'clared. they'd come by and ask my mother for bread. she was the cook. "we left arkansas 'fore the war got busy. everything was pretty ragged after we got back. white folks was here but colored folks was scattered. my folks come back and went to their native home in dallas county. "never did nothin' but farm work. worked on the shares till i got able to rent. paid five or six dollars a acre. made some money. "i heered of the ku klux. some of em come through the clemmons place and put notice on the doors. say vacate. all the women folks got in one house. then the boss man come down and say there wasn't nothin' to it. boss man didn't want em there. "i went to school a little. kep' me in the field all the tims. didn't get fur enuf to read and write. "yes'm, i voted. voted the republican ticket. that's what they give me to vote. i couldn't read so i'd tell em who i wanted to vote for and they'd put it down. some of my friends was justice of the peace and constables. "i been in pine bluff bout four years--till i got disabled to work. "i been married five times. all dead but two. don't know how many chillun we had--have to go back and study over it. "some of the younger generation is out of reason. ain't strict on chillun now like the old folks was." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: anna washington, clarendon, arkansas (back of mrs. maynard's home in the alley) age: "i've forgot who my mother's owner was. she was born in virginia. she was put on a block and sold. she was fifteen years old and she never seen her mother again after she left her. her master was george birdsong. he bought my papa too. they was onliest two he owned. he wanted them both light so the children would be light for house girls and waiting boys. light colored folks sold for more money on the block. "the boss man over grandpa and grandma in virginia was john glover. but he was not their owner. my grandpa was about white. he said his owners was good to him but now grandma had a pided back where she had been whooped. grandpa come down from the washington slaves so my papa said. that is the reason i holds to his name and my boy holds to it. papa said he had to plough and clean up new ground for master birdsong. he was a young man starting out and papa and mama was young too. (she left and came back with some old scraps of yellow and torn papers dimly written all over: anna washington, born at hines county at big rock. mother born at capier county. father born at white county, virginia--ed.) "this is what was told to me by my papa: his grandmother was born of george washington's housemaid. that was one hundred forty years ago. his papa was educated under a fine mechanic and he help build the old state-house at washington. major rousy paten was the washington nigger 'ministrator. "i had a sister named martha curtis after his young wife. i had a brother named housy patton. they are both dead now. pa lived to be ninety-eight years old. my mama was as white as you is but she was a nigger woman. pa was lighter than i is now. i'm getting darker 'cause i'm getting old. my pa was named benjamin washington. "i heard my pa talk about nat turner. (she knew who he was o.k.--ed.) he got up a rebellion of black folk back in virginia. i heard my pa sit and tell about him. moses kinnel was a rich white man wouldn't sell nellie 'cause of what his wife said. she was a housemaid. he wrote own free pass book and took her to maryland. father's father wanted to buy nellie but her owner wouldn't sell her. he took her. "my mother had fourteen children. we and archie was the youngest. "moses kinnel was a rich white man and had lots of servants. he promised never to sell nellie and keep her to raise his white children. she was his maid. he promised that her dying bed. but father's father stole her and took her to maryland. "pa run away and was sold twice or more. when he was small chile his mother done fine washing. she seat him to go fetch her some fine laundry soap what they bought in the towns. two white men in a two-wheel open buggy say, 'hey, don't you want to ride?' 'i ain't got time.' 'get in buggy, we'll take you a little piece.' one jumped out and tied his hands together. they sold him. they let him go to nigger traders. they had him at a doctor's examining his fine head see what he could stand. the doctor say, 'he is a fine man. could trust him with silver and gold--his weight in it.' they brung him to mississippi and sold him for a big price. he had these papers the doctor wrote on him to show. "then he sent for my mama after they sat him free. his name was ben washington. "he never spoke much of freedom. he said his master in mississippi told them and had them sign up contracts to finish that year's crop. he took back his old virginia name and i don't recollect that master's name. heard it too. yes ma'am, heap er times. my recollection is purty nigh gone. "i don't get no younger in feelings 'cause i'm getting old." folklore subjects name of interviewer: s.s. taylor subject: slave memories--birth, mother, father, separation house subject: slaves--dwellings, food, clothes subject: corn shucking, dances, quiltings, weddings among slaves subject: slaves--fight with master (junior); slave uprisings subject: confederate army negroes; ex-slave occupations story:--information [tr: topics moved from subsequent pages.] this information given by: eliza washington place of residence: west seventeenth little rock, arkansas occupation: washing and ironing (when able) age: about [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] the first thing i remember was living with my mother about six miles from scott's crossing in arkansas, about the year . i know it was because it was the year after the surrender, and we know the surrender was in . i know the dates after . you don't know nothin' when you don't know dates. if you get up in court and say somethin', the lawyers ask you when it happened and then they ask you where did it happen, and if you can't tell them, they say "witness is excused. you don't know nothin'." mother and father my mother was born in north carolina in mecklinberg in henderson county. i don't know when she came to arkansas, and i don't know when she went to tennessee. my father was born in tennessee. i don't know the county like i did in north carolina. i don't know the town either, but i think it was in the rurals somewhere. the white folks separated my mother and father when i was a little baby in their arms. the people to whom my father belonged stayed in tennessee, but my mother's people came to arkansas. it must have been along in the time of the war that they come to arkansas. dwelling my mother lived in a log house chinked with wood chinks. the chinks looked like gluts. you know what a glut is? no? well a glut looks like the pattern of a shoe. they lay the logs together, and then chink up the cracks with wood blocks made up like the pattern of a shoe. these were chinks, wooden things about a foot long, shaped like a wedge. they were used for chinking. after the logs were laid together, chinks would be needed to stop up the holes between the logs. after the chinking was finished, clay was stuffed in to stop up the cracks and make the house warm. i've seen a many a one built. wide planks were used for the floors. the doors were hung on wooden hinges. the doors were never locked. they didn't have any looks on them. you could bar them on the inside if you wanted to. they didn't have no fear of burglars in them days. people wasn't bad then as they is now. they had just one window and one door in the house. the chimney was built up like a ladder and clay and straw was stuffed in the framework. i have seen such houses built right down here in scott's. my mother was a field hand. she lived in such a house in tennessee. there wasn't no brick about the house, not even in the chimney. in later years, they have covered up all those logs with weather boards and made the houses look like what they call "modern", but theyr'e the same old log houses. food my mother said her white folks fed her well. she had whatever they had. when she came to arkansas, they issued rations, but she never was issued rations before. when they issued rations, they gave them so much food each week--so much corn meal, so much potatoes, so much cabbage, so much molasses, so much meat--mostly rubbish-like food. we went out in the garden and dug the potatoes and got the cabbage. but in tennessee, my mother got what ever she wanted whenever she wanted it. if she wanted salt, she went and got it. if she wanted meat, she went to the smokehouse and got it. whatever she wanted, she went and got it, and they didn't have no times for issuing out. social affairs--corn shuckings, quiltings and dances the biggest time i remember on the plantations was corn shucking time. plenty of corn was brought in from the cribs and strowed along where everybody could get to it freely. then they would all get corn and shuck it until near time to quit. the corn shucking was always at night, and only as much corn as they thought would be shucked was brought from the cribs. just before they got through, they would begin to sing. some of the songs were pitiful and sad. i can't remember any of them, but i can remember that they were sad. one of them began like this: "the speculator bought my wife and child and carried her clear away." when they got through shucking, they would hunt up the boss. he would run away and hide just before. if they found him, two big men would take him up on their shoulders and carry him all around the grounds while they sang. my mother told me that they used to do it that way in slave time. dances they didn't dance then like they do now all hugged up and indecent. in them days, they danced what you call square dances. they don't do those dances now, they're too decent. there were eight on a set. i used to dance those myself. quiltings i heard mother say she went to a lot of quiltings. i suppose they had them much the same as they do now. everybody took a part of the quilt to finish. they talked and sang and had a good time. and they had somethin' to eat at the close just as they did in the corn shucking. i never went to a quilting. worship some of the niggers went to church then just as they do now, and some of them weren't allowed to go. reverend winfield used to preach to the colored people that if they would be good niggers and not steal their master's eggs and chickens and things, that they might go to the kitchen of heaven when they died. an old lady once said to me, "i would give anything if i could have maria in heaven with me to do little things for me." my mother told me that the niggers had to turn the pots down to keep their voices from sounding when they were praying at night. and they couldn't sing at all. weddings i can remember that they used to have weddings when i was a child around the years and . my mother told me of marriages and weddings. she never saw no paint on anybody's face. they used to have powder, but they never used any paint. girls were better then than they are now. fight with master my mother's first master was named rasly, and her second was named neely. she and her young master, john mcneely, who was raised with her and who was about the same age as she was, got to fighting one day and she whipped him clear as a whistle. after she whipped him that fight went all over the country. she was between sixteen and seventeen years old an he was about the same. she had never been whipped by the white folks. she was in the kitchen. i don't know what the trouble started over. but they had an argument. there were some other white boys in the kitchen with her young master, and they kept pushing the two of them up to fight. he wanted to show off; so he told her what he would do to her if she didn't hush her mouth. she told him to just try it, and the fight was on. so they fought for about an hour, and the other white boys egged them on. she said that her old master never did whip her, and she sure wasn't going to let the young one do it. i never heard that they punished her for whipping her young master. i never heard her say that anybody tried to whip her at any other time. my mother was a strong woman. she could lift one end of a log with any man. slave uprisings my mother used to say that when she was about fourteen years old, (that was about the time that the stars fell, and the stars fell in [hw:*]. so she must have been born in . in , she was sold for a fourteen year old girl. that was the only time that she ever was sold. that left her about eighty-three years old when she died in .) she used to say that when she was about fourteen years old, and was living in north carolina in mecklinburg co, in henderson county, that the white folks called all the slaves up to the big house and kept them there a few days. there wasn't no trouble on my mother's place, but they had heard that there was an uprising among the slaves, and they called all the niggers up to the house. they didn't do nothin' to them. they just called them up to the house, and kept them there. it all passed over soon. i don't know nothin' else about it. confederate army negroes i've "heered" old brother zachary who used to belong to bethel church tell about the surrender. brother zachary is dead now. he was a soldier in the confederate army. he fought all through the war and he used to tell lots of stories about it. you know, lee was a tall man, fine looking and dignified. grant was a little man and short. those two generals walked up to each other with a white flag in their hands. and they talked and agreed just when they would fight. and then they both went back to their armies, and they fought the awfulest battle you ever "heered" of. the men lay dead in rows and rows and rows. the dead men covered whole fields. and general lee said that there wasn't any use doing any more fighting. general grant let all the rebels keep their guns. he didn't take nothin' away from them. i saw general grant when he came to little rock. there was an old white man who had never been to little rock in his life. he said "i just had to come up here to see this great general that they are talking about." occupations we always worked in the field in slave time. i don't know nothin about share cropping because i always did days work. i used to get four and five dollars a week for washing. but now they wants the young folks and they don't pay them five dollars for everything. i can't get a pension. why you reckon they won't give me one. they don't understand that that little house i own doesn't even keep itself up. my daughter-in-law is good to me but she needs everything she makes. i can't get much to do now, and what little i gets, they don't pay me much for. i don' remember nothin' else. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: jennie washington, devalls bluff, arkansas age: "my mother was a slave and my father too i recken. they belonged to jack walton when i remembered. i was born at st. charles. my mother died in time of the war at st. louis. this is whut i remembers. my mother was sold twice. the prices owned her and the wakefields owned her before she was owned by old jack walton. i was the youngest child. i had one brother went to war and he drawed a pension long as he lived. we children all got scattered out. mr. walton bout the age of my father and he said some day all these niggers be set free and warnt long fore they sho was. i had one older sister i recollect mighty well. my mother named fannie, my father named abe walton. he had a young master james walton. "when i was nuthin but a chile i remembers james dressed up like ku klux klan and scared me. the old master sho did whoop him bout that. they take care of the little black children and feed em good an don't let em do too hard er work to stunt em so they take em off and sell em for a good price. "i remembers the little old log house my granma and granpa way back over on the place stayed in till they died. we went back after the war and lived ten years on the same place. we lived close to the white folks in a bigger house. "i don't recollect no big change after freedom cept they quit selling and working folks without giving them money. i was too small to notice much change then i speck. times has always been tight wid me. i ain't never had very much. i did work an a livin is all i ever got out of it. never could make enough to get ahead. "the white folks never give the darky nothing when freedom declared. we used to raise tobacco and sell it to smoke and make snuff. and he had em make ax handles to sell on the side for money till the crops gathered. "if you believe in the bible you won't believe in women votin' i never did vote. i ain't goner never vote. "the present condition is fine. mrs. robinson carries a great big truck load to her farm every day to pick cotton. she sent word up here she take anybody whut wanter work. i wish i was able to go. i loves to pick cotton. she pay em seventy-five cents a hundred. she'll pay em too! i don't know what they do this winter. set by the fire i recken. but next spring she'll let hoe that crop. she took em this past year to hoe out that very cotton they pickin now. her husband, he's sick. he keeps their store up town. she takes a few white hands too if they wanter work. i don't think the present generation no worse en they ever been. they drawed up closer together than they used to be. they buys everything now an they don't raise nuthin. it's the bible fulfillin. everything so high they caint save nuthin! "i married twice. first time in the church, other time at home. i had four children. i had two in detroit. i don't know where my son is. he may be there yet. my daughter there got fourteen children her own. i don't know where the others are. nom [hw: long "o" diacritical] they don't help me a bit, do well helpin theirselves. i gets the welfare sistance and i works my garden back here." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: parrish washington spruce street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in --born in arkansas. sam warren was my old master. "i remember some of the rebel generals--general price and general marmaduke. "we had started to texas but the yankees got in ahead of us in the saline bottoms and we couldn't go no further. "my boss had so much faith in his own folks he wouldn't leave here 'til it was too late. he left home on saturday night and got into the bottoms on sunday and made camp. then the yankees got in ahead of him and he couldn't go no further, so we come back to jefferson county. "the yankees had done took little rock and come down to pine bluff. "my father died in and my mother in . "i can remember when they whipped the slaves. never whipped me though--they was just trainin' me up. "had an old lady on the place cooked for the children and we just got what we could. "i remember when peace was declared, the people shouted and rejoiced--a heavy load had fell off. "all the old hands stayed on the place. i stayed there with my uncle and aunt. we was treated better then. i was about years old when i left there. "i farmed 'til ' . then i joined the conference and preached nearly forty years when i was superannuated. "i remember when the rebels was camped up there on my boss's place. i used to love to see the soldiers. used to see the horses hitched to the artillery. "two or three of sam warren's hands run off and joined the yankees. they didn't know what it was goin' to be and two of 'em come back--stayed there too. "i used to vote the republican ticket. i was justice of the peace four years--two terms. "i went to school here in pine bluff about two or three terms and i was school director in district number two about six or seven years. "i have great hope for the young people of the future. 'course some of 'em are not worth killin' but the better class--i think there is a bright future for 'em. "but for the world in general, if they don't change they goin' to the devil. but god always goin' to have some good people in reserve 'til the judgment." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: caroline watson e. st avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in ' in march on the th on sunday morning in time for breakfast. i was born in mississippi. i never will forget my white folks. oh, i was raised good. i had good white folks. wish i could see some of em now. "well, i specs i do remember when the war started. i member when twas goin' on. oh lord, i member all bout it. old mistress' name was miss ellen shird. "oh the yankees used to come around. i can see us chillun sittin' on the gallery watchin' em. i disremember what color uniform they had on, but i seen a heap of em. "my old master, i can see him now--old joe shird. just as good as they could be. "i should say i do remember when they surrendered. i know everybody was joyous. but they done better fore surrender than they did afterwards--that is them that had to go off to themselves. "i was always so fast tryin' to work i wasn't studyin' bout no books, but i went to school after surrender. my father and mother was smart old folks and made us work. "i just been married once. i did pretty well. i like to been married since he's dead but i seen so many didn't do so well. i has four sons and one daughter. my son made me quit workin'. they gets me anything i want. i got a religion that will do to die with. i done give up everything. "younger generation? what we goin' do with em? they ought to be sent off some place and put to work. they just gone to the dogs. the lord have mercy. my heart just aches and moans and groans for em." circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] . name and address of informant--mary watson, cross street, little rock. . date and time of interview-- . place of interview-- cross street, little rock. . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant-- . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you-- . description of room, house, surroundings, etc.-- personal history of informant . ancestry--father, abram mccoy; mother, louise mccoy. . place and date of birth--mississippi. no date. . family-- . places lived in, with dates--lived in mississippi until then moved to arkansas. . education, with dates-- . occupations and accomplishments, with dates-- . special skills and interests-- . community and religious activities-- . description of informant-- . other points gained in interview--this person tells very little of life, but tells of her parents. text of interview (unedited) "my mother and father were mccoys. his name was abram and her name was louise. my mother died right here when brewer was pastor of wesley. you ought to remember her. my mother died in . my father died in when joe sherrill was pastor. joe sherrill went to africa, you know. he was a missionary. "my mother was owned by bill mitchell. he came from alabama. i can't call the name of the town, just now. yes, i can; it was tuscaloosa. my father came from south carolina. mccoy was his owner. but how come him to leave south carolina he was sold after his master died and the property was divided. he was sold away from his family. he had a large family--about nine children. my mother was sold away from her mother too. she was little and couldn't help herself. my grandma didn't want to come. and she managed not to; i don't know how she managed it. "before freedom my father was a farmer. my mother was a farmer too. my mother wasn't so badly treated. she was a slave but she worked right along with the white children. she had two brothers. the other sister stayed with her mother. she was sold--my mother's mother. but i don't know to whom. "my father was a preacher. he could word any hymn. how could he do it, i don't know. on his sunday, when the circuit rider wasn't there, he would have me read the bible to him and then he could get up and tell it to the people. i don't know how he managed it. he didn't know how to read. but he had a wonderful memory. he always had his exhorting license renewed and he exhorted the people both methodists and baptists. after freedom, when i went to school i knew and always helped him. "my father voted on the election days all the time. be was a republican, and he rallied to them all the time. before the war, my father farmed. he commenced in the early fall hauling the cotton from abbeville, south carolina to augusta, georgia. that was his business--teamster, hauling cotton. he never did talk like his owners were so mean to him. of course, they weren't mean. when her master died and the property had to be sold, his master bought her and her babies. "my father met my mother before the war started. colored people were scarce in the locality where she lived. these white people saw my father and liked him. and they encouraged her to marry him. she was only seventeen. my father was much older. he remembered the dark day in may and when the stars fell. "he didn't show his age much though till he came to little rock. he had been used to farming and city life didn't agree with him. he left about seven years after coming here. "my father and mother met and married in mississippi. he came from south carolina and she came from alabama. they had nine children. all of them were born after the war. i am the oldest. lee mccoy is my youngest brother. you know him, i'm sure. he is the president of rust college. i was born right after the war. don't put me down as no ex-slave. i was born right after the war. "right after the war, my father farmed in mississippi. he took a notion to come to arkansas in . he brought his whole family with him. and i have been out here ever since. "i never saw any slave houses. i wasn't a slave. i have been to the place where my mother was raised. i was teaching school near there and just wanted to see. after her master died, sam mccallister, his cousin, took the slave children and was their guardian. years later it come up in court and they took all his land. bill mitchell was her first master. he died during slave time. mccallister was made administrator of the estate. he was made guardian of all the children too. he was made guardian of the white children and of the colored children. he raised them all. there was ma and her auntie and three or four children of her auntie's. later on, way after the war, there was a lawsuit. i was grown then. the courts made him pay the white children their share as far as he was able. of course, the colored children got nothing because they were slaves when he took them. "i don't know nothing about the ku klux klan bothering my family. i don't remember anything except that i hear them talking about the ku klux and the pateroles. i wasn't here. "don't put me down as an ex-slave. i am not an ex-slave. i was born after the war. i don't know nothing about slavery except what i heard others say. i expect i have talked too much anyway." extra comment the constant reiteration of the phrase, "i'm not an ex-slave" roused my curiosity and drove me to a superficial investigation. persons who are acquainted with her and her family estimate that mary watson is nearer eighty than seventy. she started her story pleasantly enough. but when she got the obsession that she would be put down as an ex-slave, she refused to tell more. there is one thing not to be overlooked. mary watson has a mind that is still keen. she tells what she wants to tell, and she doesn't state a thing that she does not want to state. the hidden facts are to be discerned only by subtle inference. this trait interested me, for her younger brother, mentioned in the story, is a distinguished character, president of rust college, holly springs, mississippi, and known to be experienced and efficient in his work. whatever she may have reserved or stated, in reading her story, we are reading at least a sidelight on a family of which some of the members have done some fine work within the race. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: bart wayne, helena, arkansas age: "i was born at holly springs in . it was in the springtime. ma said i was born two years after the surrender. ma was named mary and pa dan--dan wayne. they never was sold. in dr. leard was living in a big fine house at sardia, mississippi. he was our last owner. mallard jones owned them too. pa didn't have no name. he was called for his owners. i don't know if he named hisself dan wayne or not. the way i think it was, mr. jones give dr. leard's wife them. he give her a big plantation. i knowed dr. leard my own self all my life. i'd go to see him. "the present times is hard. i get ten dollars a month. i don't know what to say about folks now--none of them." interviewer: pernella anderson person interviewed: annie mae weathers east bone street el dorado, ark. age: ? "i was born bout the second year after surrender right down here at caledonia. now the white folks that ma and pa and me belonged to was named fords. we farmed all the time. the reason we farmed all the time was because that was all for us to do. you see there wasn't nothin' else for us to do. there wasn't no schools in my young days to do no good, and this time of year we was plowin' to beat the band and us always planted corn in february and in april our corn was. "we fixed our ground early and planted early and we had good crops of everything. we went to bed early and rose early. we had a little song that went like this: early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise. and the early bird catches the worm. cooked breakfast every morning by a pine torch. "i member hearin' my pa say that when somebody come and hollowed: 'yer niggers is free at last' say he just dropped his hoe and said in a queer voice: 'thank god for that.' it made old miss and old moss so sick till they stopped eating a week. pa said old moss and old miss looked like their stomach and guts had a law suit and their navel was called in for a witness, they was so sorry we was free. "after i got a good big girl i was hired out for my clothes and something to eat. my dresses was made out of cotton stripes and my chemise was made out of flannelette and my under pants was made out of homespun. "our games was 'honey, honey bee,' 'ball i can't yall,' and a nother one of our games was 'old lady hypocrit.'" interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: cora weathers chester street, little rock, arkansas age: "i have been right on this spot for sixty-three years. i married when i was sixteen and he brought me here and put me down and i have been here ever since. no, i don't mean he deserted me; i mean he put me on this spot of ground. of course, i have been away on a visit but i haven't been nowheres else to live. "when i came here, there was only three houses--george winstead lived on chester and eighth street; dave davis lived on ninth and ringo; and george gray lived on chester and eighth. rena lee lived next to where old man paterson stays now, chester. rena thompson lived on chester and tenth. the old people that used to live here is mostly dead or moved up north. "on seventh and ringo there was a little store. it was the only store this side of main street. there was a little old house where coffin's drug store is now. the branch ran across there. old man john peyton had a nursery in a little log house. you couldn't see it for the trees. he kept a nursery for flowers. on the next corner, old man sinclair lived. that is the southeast corner of ninth and broadway. next to him was the hall of the sons of ham. "that was the first place i went to school. lottie stephens, robert lacy, and gus richmond were the teacher. hollins was the principal. that was in the sons of ham's hall. "i was born in dallas county, arkansas. it must have been 'long 'bout in eighty-fifty-nine, 'cause i was sixteen years old when i come here and i been here sixty-three years. "during the war, i was quite small. my mother brought me here after the war and i went to school for a while. mother had a large family. so i never got to go to school but three months at a time and only got one dollar and twenty-five cents a week wages when i was working. my father drove a wagon and hoed cotton. mother kept house. she had--lemme see--one, two, three, four--eight of us, but the youngest brother was born here. "my mother's name was millie stokes. my mother's name before she was married was--i don't know what. my father's name was william stokes. my father said he was born in maryland. i met richard weathers here and married him sixty-three years ago. i had six children, three girls and three boys. children make you smart and industrious--make you think and make you get about. "i've heard talk of the pateroles; they used to whip the slaves that was out without passes, but none of them never bothered us. i don't remember anything myself, because i was too small. i heard of the ku klux too; they never bothered my people none. they scared the niggers at night. i never saw none of them. i can't remember how freedom came. first i knowed, i was free. "people in them days didn't know as much as the young people do now. but they thought more. young people nowadays don't think. some of them will do pretty well, but some of them ain't goin' to do nothin'. they are gittin' worse and worser. i don't know what is goin' to become of them. they been dependin' on the white folks all along, but the white folks ain't sayin' much now. my people don't seem to want nothin'. the majority of them just want to dress and run up and down the streets and play cards and policy and drink and dance. it is nice to have a good time but there is something else to be thought of. but if one tries to do somethin', the rest tries to pull him down. the more education they get, the worse they are--that is, some of them." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: ishe webb cross street, little rock, arkansas age: , or more "i was born october . that was in slavery time. the record is burnt up. i was born in atlanta, georgia. my father's master was a webb. his first name was huel. my father was named after him. i came here in , and i was a boy eleven or twelve years old then. "my father was sold to another man for seventeen hundred dollars. my mother was sold for twenty hundred. i have heard them say that so much that i never will forget it. webb sold my father and bought him back. my mother's folks were calverts. the calverts and the webbs owned adjoining plantations. "my grandmother on my mother's side was a calvert too. her first name was joanna. i think my father's parents got beat to death in slavery. grandfather on my mother's side was tied to a stump and whipped to death. he was double jointed and no two men could whip him. they wanted to whip him because he wouldn't work. that was what they would whip any one for. they would run off before they would work. stay in the woods all night. "my grandma calvert was buried over here in galloway on the rock island road on the john eynes plantation. "my folks' masters were all right. but them nigger drivers were bad, just like the county farm. a man sitting in the house and putting you over a lot of men, you gwinter go up high as you want to. "my father was a blacksmith and my mother was a weaver. there was a lot of those slavery folks 'round the house, and they tell me they didn't work them till they were twenty-one, they put them in the field when they were twenty-two. if you didn't work they would beat you to death. my father killed his overseer and went on off to the war. "the pateroles used to drive and whip them. they would catch the slaves off without a pass and whip them and then make the boss pay for them when they took them back. i never seen the pateroles but i have seen the ku klux and they were the same thing. "the jayhawkers would catch you when the pateroles didn't. they would carry you to the pateroles and get pay for you, and the pateroles would turn you over to the owners. you had to have a pass. if you didn't the pateroles would catch you and wear you out, keep you till the next morning, and then send you home by the jayhawkers. they didn't call them that though, they called them bushwhackers. "the ku klux came after the war. they was the same thing as the pateroles--they come out from them. i know where the ku klux home is over here on eighteenth and broadway. that is where they broke up. it ain't never been open since. (not correct--ed.) "i saw the yankees come in the yard on the webb place. that was in the time of the war. the old man got on his horse and flew. the yankees went in the smokehouse, broke it open, got all the meat they wanted. they didn't pay you nothing in slavery time. but what meat the yankees didn't take for themselves, they give to the niggers. "my folks never got anything for their work that i know of. i heard my mother say that nobody got paid for their work. i don't know whether they had a chance to make anything on the side or not. "the yankees, when they come in the yard that morning, told my father he was free. i remember that myself. they come up riding horses and carryin' long old guns with bayonets on them, and told him. they rode all over the country from one place to another telling the niggers they were free. master didn't get a chance to tell us because he left when he saw them comin'. "when my mother and father were living on the plantation, they lived in an old frame building. a portion of it was log. my father stayed with the calverts--his wife's white folks. at first old man webb sold him to them; then he bought him back and bought my mother too. they were together when freedom came. you know they auctioned you off in slavery time. every year, they would, they put you up on the auction block and buy and sell. that was down in georgia. we was in georgia when we was freed--in atlanta. my father and mother had fourteen children altogether. my mother died the year after we came out here. that would be about . i never had but three children because my wife died early. two of them are dead. "right after freedom, my father plaited baskets and mats. he shucked mops, put handles on rakes and did things like that in addition to his farming. he was a blacksmith all the time too. he used to plait collars for mules. he farmed and got his harvests in season. the other things would be a help to him between times. "my father came here because he thought that there was a better situation here than in georgia. of course, the living was better there because they had plenty of fruit. then he worked on a third and fourth. he got one bale of cotton out of every three he made. the slaves left many a plantation and they would grow up in weeds. when a man would clear up the ground like this and plant it down in something, he would get all he planted on it. that was in addition to the ground that he would contract to plant. he used to plant rice, peas, potatoes, corn, and anything else he wanted too. it was all his'n so long as it was on extra ground he cleared up. "but they said, 'cotton grows as high as a man in arkansas.' then they paid a man two dollars fifty cents for picking cotton here in arkansas while they just paid about forty cents in georgia. so my father came here. times was good when we come here. the old man cleared five bales of cotton for himself his first year, and he raised his own corn. he bought a pony and a cow and a breeding hog out of the first year's money. he died about thirty-five years ago. "when i was coming along i did public work after i became a grown man. first year i made crops with him and cleared two bales for myself at twelve and a half cents a pound. the second year i hired out by the month at forty-five dollars per month and board. i had to buy my clothes of course. after seven years i went to doing work as a millwright here in arkansas. i stayed at that eighteen months. then i steamboated. "we had a captain on that steamboat that never called any man by his name. we rolled cotton down the hill to the boat and loaded it on, and if you weren't a good man, that cotton got wet. i never wetted my cotton. but jus' the same, i heard what the others heard. one day after we had finished loading, i thought i'd tell him something. the men advised me not to. he was a rough man, and he carried a gun in his pocket and a gun in his shirt. i walked up to him and said, 'captain, i don't know what your name is, but i know you's a white man. i'm a nigger, but i got a name jus' like you have. my name's webb. if you call webb, i'll come jus' as quick as i will for any other name and a lot more willing. if you don't want to say webb, you can jus' say "let's go," and you'll find me right there.' he looked at me a moment, and then he said, 'where you from?' i said, 'i'm from georgia, but i came on this boat from little hock.' he put his arm around my shoulder and said, 'come on upstairs.' we had two or three drinks upstairs, and he said, 'you and your pardner are the only two men i have that is worth a damn.' then he said, 'but you are right; you have a name, and you have a right to be called by it.' and from then on, he quit callin' us out of our names. "but i only stayed on the boat six months. it wasn't because of the captain. them niggers was bad. they gambled all the time, and i gambled with them. but they wouldn't stop at that. they would argue and fight and cut and shoot. a man would shoot a man down, and then kick him off into the river. then when there was roll call, nobody would know what became of him. i didn't like that. i knew that i was goin' to kill somebody if i stayed on that boat 'cause i didn't intend for nobody to kill me. so i stopped. "after that, i went back to the man that i worked for the month for and stayed with him till i married. i took care of the stock. i was only married once. my wife died the fourteenth of october. we had three children, and i have one daughter living. "i have voted often. i never had no trouble. i am a colored man and i ain't got nothin' but my character, but i take care of that. i let them know i am in arkansas. i ain't been out of arkansas but to memphis and vicksburg, and i took them trips on the boat i was working on. i was a good man then. "i can't say nothing about these wild-headed young people. they ain't got no sense. take god to handle them. "some parts of politics are all right and some are all wrong. it is like grant. he was straddled the fence part of the time. i believe roosevelt wants eight more years. of course, he did a great deal for the people but the working man isn't getting enough money. prices are so high and wages so low that a man keeps up to the grindstone and never gets ahead. they don't mean for a colored man to prosper by money. senator robinson said a nigger wasn't worth but fifty cents a day. but the nigger is coming anyhow. he is stinching hisself and doing without. the young folks ain't doing it though. these young folks doing every devilishment on earth they can. look at that boy they caught the other day who had robbed twenty houses. this young race ain't goin' to stan' what i stood for. they goin' to school every day but they ain't learning nothin'. what will take us through this tedious journey through the world is his manners, his principle, and his behavior. money ain't goin' to do it. you can't get by without principles, manner, and good behavior. niggers can't do it. and white folks can't either." pine bluff district folklore subjects name of interviewer: martin - barker subject: (negro lore)--ex-slave story:--information this information given by: alfred wells place of residence: occupation: age [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] i has de eye of an eagle. one in my haid, de other in my chest. sometimes us slaves would stay out later at night than ole marster seid we could and they send the patrols out for us. and we started a song; "run nigger run, the petlo' catch you, run nigger run, its almost day." my brother run off and hid in the pasture. i wuz a small boy, dey called me nigger cowboy, cause i drive de cows up at night, and took em to de paster in the mornings. i knowed my brother runned off, but i wouldn't tell on him. he run off to join the yankees. they never found him, although, they used the nigger dogs, who were taken out by men who were looking for runaway nigger slaves. ef i had my choice, i'd ruther be a slave. but we cant always have our ruthers. them times i had good food, plenty to wear, and no more work than was good for me. now i is kinder miliated, when i think of what a high stepper i used to be. having, to hang around with a sack on my back begging de government to keep me fum starving. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: douglas wells alabama street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i'se just a kid 'bout six or seven when the war started and 'bout ten or twelve when it ceasted. "i'se born in mississippi on miss nancy davis' plantation. old jeff davis was some relation. "my brother jeff jined the yankees but i never seen none till peace was declared. "i heered the old folks talkin' and they said they was fightin' to keep the people slaves. "i 'member old mistress, miss nancy. she was old when i was a kid. she had a big, large plantation. she had a lot of hands and big quarter houses. oh, i 'member you could go three miles this way and three miles that way. oh, she had a big plantation. i reckon it was mighty near big as this town. i 'member they used to take the cotton and hide it in the woods. i guess it was to keep the yankees from gettin' it. "i lived in the quarters with my father and mother and we stayed there after the war--long time after the war. i stayed there till i got to be grown. i continued there. i 'member her house and yard. had a big yard. "i can read some. learned it at miss nancy davis' plantation after the war. they had a little place where they had school. i went to church some a long time ago. "abraham lincoln was a white man. he fought in the time of the war, didn't he? oh, yes, he issued freedom. the yankees and the rebels fought. "after the war i worked at farm work. i ain't did no real hard work for over a year." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: john wells, edmondson, arkansas age: "i was born down here at edmondson, arkansas. my owner was a captain in the rebel war (civil war). he run us off to texas close to greenville. he was keeping us from the yankees. in fact my father had planned to go to the yankees. my mother died on the way to texas close to the arkansas line. she was confined and the child died too. we went in a wagon. uncle tom and his wife and uncle granville went too. he left his wife. she lived on another white man's farm. my master was captain r. campbell jones. he took us to texas. he and my father come back in the same wagon we went to texas in. my father (joe jones wells) told captain r. campbell jones if he didn't let him come back here that he would be here when he got here--beat him back. that's what he told him. captain brought him on back with him. "what didn't we do in texas? hooeee! i had five hundred head of sheep belonging to j. gardner, a texan, to herd every day--twice a day. carry 'em off in the morning early and watch 'em and fetch 'em back b'fore dark. i was a shepherd boy is right. i liked the job till the snow cracked my feet open. no, i didn't have no shoes. little round cactuses stuck in my feet. "i had shoes to wear home. captain jones gave leather and everything needed to uncle granville. he was a shoemaker. he made us all shoes jus' before we was to start back. captain jones sent the wagon back for us. my father come back right here at edmondson and farmed cotton and corn. uncle tom and uncle granville raised wheat out in texas. they didn't have no overseer but they said they worked harder 'an ever they done in their lives, 'fore or since. "my father went to war with his master. captain jones served 'bout three years i judge. my father went as his waiter. he got enough of war, he said. "captain r. campbell jones had a wife, miss anne, and no children. i seen mighty near enough war in texas. they fit there. yes ma'am, they did. i seen soldiers in greenville, texas. i seen the cavalry there. they looked so fine. prettiest horses i ever seen. "freedom! master campbell jones come to us and said, 'you free this morning. the war is over.' it been over then but travel was slow. 'you all can go back home, i'll take you, or you can go root hog or die.' we all got to gatherin' up our belongings to come back home. tired of no wood neither, besides that hard work. we all share cropped with captain r. campbell jones two years. i know that. we got plenty wood without going five or six miles like in texas. after freedom folks got to changing 'bout to do better i reckon. i been farmin' right here all my life. we didn't have a lot to eat out in texas neither. mother was a farm woman too. "i never seen a ku klux. bad ku klux sound sorter like good santa claus. i heard 'em say it was real. i never seen neither one. "i did own ten acres of land. i own a home now. "my father drove a grub wagon from memphis to lost swamp bottom--near edmondson--when they built this railroad through here. "father never voted. i have voted several times. "present times is tougher now than before it come on. things not going like it ought somehow. we wants more pension. us old folks needs a good living 'cause we ain't got much more time down here. "present generation--they are slack--i means they slack on their parents, don't see after them. they can get farm work to do. they waste their money more than they ought. some folks purty nigh hungry. that is for a fact the way it is going. edmondson, arkansas "master henry edmondson owned all the land to the chatfield place to lehi, arkansas. he owned four or five thousand acres of land. it was bottoms and not cleared. they had floods then, rode around in boats sometimes. colored folks could get land through andy flemming (colored man). mr. henry edmondson and whole family died with the yellow fever. he had several children--miss emma, henry, and will i knowed. it is probably his father buried at far side of this town. a rattlesnake bit him. lake rest or scantlin was a boat landing and that was where the nearest white folks lived to the edmondsons. i worked for mr. henry edmondson, the one died with yellow fever. he was easy to work for. land wasn't cleared out much. he was here before the civil war. good many people, in fact all over there, died of yellow fever at indian mound. me and my brother waited on white folks all through that yellow fever plague. very few colored folks had it. none of 'em i heered tell of died with it. white folks died in piles. now when the smallpox raged the colored folks had it seem like heap more and harder than white folks. smallpox used to rage every few years. it break out and spread. that is the way so many colored folks come to own land and why it was named edmondson. named for master henry--edmondson, arkansas. "mrs. cynthia ann earle wrote a diary during the civil war. it was partly published in the crittenden county times--west memphis paper--fridays, november and december , . she tells interesting things happening. mentions two books she is reading. she tells about a flood, etc. she tells about visiting and spending over a thousand dollars. mrs. l.a. stewart or mrs. h.e. weaver of edmondson owns copies if they cannot be obtained at the printing office at west memphis." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: sarah wells w. sixteenth street, little rock, arkansas age: occupation: field hand "i was born in warren county, mississippi, on ben watkins' plantation. that was my master--ben worthington. i don't know nothin' about the year but it was before the war--the civil war. i was born on christmas day. "isaac irby was my father. i don't know how you spell it. i can't read and write. i can tell you this. my mother's dead. she's been dead since i was twelve years old. her name was jane irby. my name is wells because i have been married. willis was my husband's name. i have just been married once. i was married to him fifty years. he has been dead thirteen years the fifteenth of october. i don't know how old i was when i was married. but i know i am eighty-four years old now. i must have been about twenty or twenty-one when i married. slave houses "the slaves lived in log houses, dirt chimneys, plank floors. they had beds made out of wood--that's all i know. i don't know where they kept their food. they kept it in the house when they had any. the slaves didn't have to cook much. mars ben had a slave to cook for them. they all et breakfast together, and lunch in the fiel'. food and cooking "there was a great big shed. they'd all go up there and eat--the slaves would all go up and eat. i don't know what the grown folks had. they used to give us children milk and corn bread for breakfast. they'd give us greens, peas, and all like that for dinner. didn't know nothin' about no lunch. work and runaways; day's work "my mother and father worked in the field hoeing, plowing and all like that--doing whatever they told 'em to do. they raised corn and ground meal. some of the slaves would pick five hundred pounds of cotton in a day; some of them would pick three hundred pounds; and some of them only picked a hundred. if you didn't pick two hundred fifty pounds, they'd punish you, put you in the stocks. if you'd run off, they put the nigger hounds behind you. i never run off, but my mother run off. "she would go in the woods. i don't know where she'd go after she'd get in the woods. she would go in the woods and hide somewheres. she'd take somethin' to eat with her. i couldn't find her myself. she take somethin' to eat with her. she didn't know what flour bread was. i don't remember what she'd take--somethin' she could carry. sometimes she would stay in the woods two months, sometimes three months. they'd pay for the nigger hounds and let them chase her back. she'd try to get away. she never took me with her when she ran away. buying and selling "my mother and her sister were bought in old virginny. ben watkins was the one that bought her. he bought my father too. then he sold my father to the leightons. leighton bought my father from ben watkins for a carriage driver. i was never bought nor sold. i was born on ben watkins' plantation and freed on it. patrollers "i've heered them say the pateroles is out. i don't know who they was. i know they'd whip you. i was a child then. i would just know what i was told mostly. how freedom came "the yankees told my mother she was free. they had on blue clothes. they said them was the yankees. i don't know what they told her. i know they said she was free. that's all i know. "sometimes the soldiers would do right smart damage. they set a lot of houses on fire. they done right smart damage. jeff davis "i have seen jeff davis. i never seen lincoln. they said it was jeff davis i seen. i seen him in vicksburg. that was after the war was over. ku klux klan "i have heered about the ku klux, but i don't know what it was i heered. they never bothered me. right after the war "right after the war, my mother and father hired out to work. they did most any kind of work--whatever they could get to do. mother cooked. father would generally do house cleaning. mother didn't live long after the war. blood poisoning "i lost my finger because of blood poisoning. i had a scratch on my finger. pulled a hangnail out of it. i went around a lady who had a high fever and she asked me to sponge her off and i did it. i got the finger in the water that i sponged with and it got blood poisoned. i like to have died. father's death "i was married and had three children when my father died. i don't know what he died with nor what year. "my mother had had seven children--all girls. i had seven children. but three of mine were boys and four were girls. ain't none of them living now. little rock "my son was living in little rock and he kept after me to come here and i come. after i come, he left and went to kansas city. he died there. i used to do laundry work. i quit that. i commenced to do sellin' for different companies. i sold for mack brady, crawford & reeves, and a lot of 'em. opinions "i don't know what i think about the young people. they ain't nothin' like i was when i was a gal. things have changed since i come along. i better not say what i think." interviewer's comment the interviewee says she is eighty-four, and her story hangs together. her husband died thirteen years ago, and they had been married fifty years when he died. she "recollects" being about twenty years old when she married. she says she was about twelve years old when her mother died, one year after the close of the civil war. this data seems to be rather conclusive on the age of eighty-four. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: sarah williams wells, biscoe, arkansas age: born "i jess can't tell much; my memory fails me. my white folks was john and mary williams but i was born two years after the surrender. soon after the surrender they went to lebanon, tennessee. my folks stayed on wha i was born round in murry county. my father was killed after the war but i was little. my mother died same year i married. i heard em say there was john and frank. they may be living over there now. i heard em talking bout war times. they said my father was a blacksmith in the war. i come here wid four little children on a ticket to crocketts bluff. we was sick all that year. made a fine crop. the man let another man have us to work. he was a colored man. his wife she was mean to us. she never come to see or do one thing when we all had fever. the babies nearly starved. took all for doctor bills and medicine. had $ when all bills settled out of the whole crop. in all i had fifteen children. but two girls and one boy all that livin now. i farmed and washed and ironed all my life. my husband was born a slave. (he recently died.) "the present generation ain't got no religion. they dances and cuts up a heap. they don't care nothing bout settlin down. when they marry now, that man say he got the law on her. she belongs to him. he thinks he can make her do like he wants her all the time and they don't get along. now that's what i hear round. i sho got married and we got along good till he died. we treated one another best we knowed how. the times is what the folks making it. time ain't no different, is like the folks make. this depression is whut the folks is making. some so scared they won't get it all. they leave mighty little for the rest to get. they ain't nothin matter with nothin but the greedy people want it all to split through wid. i don't know what going to come of it all. nothin i tell you bout it ain't no good. young folks done smarter than i is. they don't listen to nobody." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: john wesley, helena, arkansas age: ? "i was full grown when the civil war come on. i was a slave till 'mancipation. i was born close to lexington, kentucky. my master in kentucky was master griter. he was 'fraid er freedom. father belong to averys in tennessee. he was a farm hand. they wouldn't sell him. i was sold to master boone close to moscow. i was sold on a scaffold high as that door (twelve feet). i seen a lot of children sold on that scaffold. i fell in the hands of george coggrith. we come to helena in wagons. we crossed the river out from memphis to hopefield. i lived at wittsburg, arkansas during the war. they smuggled us about from the yankees and took us to texas. before the war come on we had to fight the indians back. they tried to sell us in texas. george coggrith's wife died. mother was the cook for all the hands and the white folks too. she raised two boys and three girls for him. she went on raising his children during the war and after the war. during the war we hid out and raised cotton and corn. we hid in the woods. the yankees couldn't make much out in the woods and canebrakes. we stayed in texas about a year. four years after freedom we didn't know we was free. we was on his farm up at wittsburg. that is near madison, arkansas. mother wouldn't let the children get far off from our house. she was afraid the indians would steal the children. they stole children or i heard they did. the wild animals and snakes was one thing we had to look out for. grown folks and children all kept around home unless you had business and went on a trip. "my wife died three years ago. i stay with a grandchild. i got a boy but i don't know where he is now. "i had a acre and a home. i got in debt and they took my place. "i voted. the last time for president wilson. we got a good president now. i voted both kinds of tickets some. i think they called me a democrat. i quit voting. i'm too old. "i farmed in my young days. i oil milled. i saw milled. i still black smithing (in helena now). i make one or two dollars a week. work is hard to git. times is tight. i don't get help 'ceptin' some friend bring us some work. i stay up here all time nearly. "i don't know about the young generation. "well, we had a gin. during of the war it got burnt and lots of bales of cotton went 'long with it. "the ku klux come about and drink water. they wanted folks to stay at home and work. that what they said. we done that. we didn't know we was free nohow. we wasn't scared." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: robert wesley, holly grove, arkansas age: "i was born in shelby county, alabama. my parents was mary and thomas wesley. their master was mary and john watts. "john watts tried to keep me. i stayed round him all time and rode up behind him on his horse. he was a soldier. "both my parents was sold but i don't know how it was done. there was thirteen children in our family. the white folks had a picnic and took colored long to do round. some heard bout freedom and went home tellin' bout it. we stayed on and worked. "the ku klux sure did run some of em. seem like they didn't know what freedom meant. some of em run off and kept goin'. never did get back. i don't know a thing bout the ku klux. i heard em say they got whoopin's for doin' too much visitin'. i was a baby so i don't know. "i do not vote. i voted for mckinley in mississippi. "i been farmin' all my life. i got one hog and a garden, three little grand babies. my daughter died and their papa went off and left em. course i took em--had to. i pay $ house rent. i get $ from the pwa. "the times is mighty fast. i recken the young folks do fair. there has been big changes since i come on." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: maggie wesmoland, brinkley, arkansas age: "i was born in arkansas in slavery time beyond des arc. my parents was sold in mississippi. they was brought to arkansas. i never seed my father after the closing of the war. he had been refugeed to texas and come back here, then he went on back to mississippi. mama had seventeen children. she had six by my stepfather. when my stepfather was mustered out at de valls bluff he come to miss (mrs.) holland's and got mama and took her on wid him. i was give to miss holland's daughter. she married a cargo. the hollands raised me and my sister. i never seen mama after she left. my mother was jane holland and my father was smith woodson. they lived on different places here in arkansas. i had a hard time. i was awfully abused by the old man that married miss betty. she was my young mistress. he was poor and hated negroes. he said they didn't have no feeling. he drunk all the time. he never had been used to negroes and he didn't like em. he was a middle age man but miss betty holland was in her teens. "no, mama didn't have as hard a time as i had. she was miss holland's cook and wash woman. miss betty told her old husband, 'papa don't beat his negroes. he is good to his negroes.' he worked overseers in the field. nothing miss betty ever told him done a bit of good. he didn't have no feeling. i had to go in a trot all the time. i was scared to death of him--he beat me so. i'm scarred up all over now where he lashed me. he would strip me start naked and tie my hands crossed and whoop me till the blood ooze out and drip on the ground when i walked. the flies blowed me time and again. miss betty catch him gone, would grease my places and put turpentine on them to kill the places blowed. he kept a bundle of hickory switches at the house all the time. miss betty was good to me. she would cry and beg him to be good to me. "one time the cow kicked over my milk. i was scared not to take some milk to the house, so i went to the spring and put some water in the milk. he was snooping round (spying) somewhere and seen me. he beat me nearly to death. i never did know what suit him and what wouldn't. didn't nothing please him. he was a poor man, never been used to nothin' and took spite on me everything happened. they didn't have no children while i was there but he did have a boy before he died. he died fore i left dardanelle. when miss betty holland married mr. cargo she lived close to dardanelle. that is where he was so mean to me. he lived in the deer and bear hunting country. "he went to town to buy them some things for christmas good while after freedom--a couple or three years. two men come there deer hunting every year. one time he had beat me before them and on their way home they went to the freemens bureau and told how he beat me and what he done it for--biggetness. he was a biggity acting and braggy talking old man. when he got to town they asked him if he wasn't hiding a little negro girl, ask if he sent me to school. he come home. i slept on a bed made down at the foot of their bed. that night he told his wife what all he said and what all they ask him. he said he would kill whoever come there bothering about me. he been telling that about. he told miss betty they would fix me up and let me go stay a week at my sister's christmas. he went back to town, bought me the first shoes i had had since they took me. they was brogan shoes. they put a pair of his sock on me. miss betty made the calico dress for me and made a body out of some of his pants legs and quilted the skirt part, bound it at the bottom with red flannel. she made my things nice--put my underskirt in a little frame and quilted it so it would be warm. christmas day was a bright warm day. in the morning when miss betty dressed me up i was so proud. he started me off and told me how to go. "i got to the big creek. i got down in the ditch--couldn't get across. i was running up and down it looking for a place to cross. a big old mill was upon the hill. i could see it. i seen three men coming, a white man with a gun and two negro men on horses or mules. i heard one say, 'yonder she is.' another said, 'it don't look like her.' one said, 'call her.' one said, 'margaret.' i answered. they come to me and said, 'go to the mill and cross on a foot log.' i went up there and crossed and got upon a stump behind my brother-in-law on his horse. i didn't know him. the white man was the man he was share croppin' with. they all lived in a big yard like close together. i hadn't seen my sister before in about four years. mr. cargo told me if i wasn't back at his house new years day he would come after me on his horse and run me every step of the way home. it was nearly twenty-five miles. he said he would give me the worst whooping i ever got in my life. i was going back, scared not to be back. had no other place to live. "when new year day come the white man locked me up in a room in his house and i stayed in there two days. they brought me plenty to eat. i slept in there with their children. mr. cargo never come after me till march. he didn't see me when he come. it started in raining and cold and the roads was bad. when he come in march i seen him. i knowed him. i lay down and covered up in leaves. they was deep. i had been in the woods getting sweet-gum when i seen him. he scared me. he never seen me. this white man bound me to his wife's friend for a year to keep mr. cargo from getting me back. the woman at the house and mr. cargo had war nearly about me. i missed my whoopings. i never got none that whole year. it was mrs. brown, twenty miles from dardanelle, they bound me over to. i never got no more than the common run of negro children but they wasn't mean to me. "when i was at cargo's, he wouldn't buy me shoes. miss betty would have but in them days the man was head of his house. miss betty made me moccasins to wear out in the snow--made them out of old rags and pieces of his pants. i had risings on my feet and my feet frostbite till they was solid sores. he would take his knife and stob my risings to see the matter pop way out. the ice cut my feet. he cut my foot on the side with a cowhide nearly to the bone. miss betty catch him outer sight would doctor my feet. seem like she was scared of him. he wasn't none too good to her. "he told his wife the freemens bureau said turn that negro girl loose. she didn't want me to leave her. he despised nasty negroes he said. one of them fellows what come for me had been to cargo's and seen me. he was the negro man come to show patsy's husband and his share cropper where i was at. he whooped me twice before them deer hunters. they visited him every spring and fall hunting deer but they reported him to the freemens bureau. they knowed he was showing off. he overtook me on a horse one day four or five years after i left there. i was on my way from school. i was grown. he wanted me to come back live with them. said miss betty wanted to see me so bad. i was so scared i lied to him and said yes to all he said. he wanted to come get me a certain day. i lied about where i lived. he went to the wrong place to get me i heard. i was afraid to meet him on the road. he died at dardanelle before i come way from there. "after i got grown i hired out cooking at $ . a week and then $ . a week. when i was a girl i ploughed some. i worked in the field a mighty little but i have done a mountain of washing and ironing in my life. i can't tell you to save my life what a hard time i had when i was growing up. my daughter is a blessing to me. she is so good to me. "i never knowed nor seen the ku klux. the bushwhackers was awful after the war. they went about stealing and they wouldn't work. "conditions is far better for young folks now than when i come on. they can get chances i couldn't get they could do. my daughter is tied down here with me. she could do washings and ironings if she could get them and do it here at home. i think she got one give over to her for awhile. the regular wash woman is sick. it is hard for me to get a living since i been sick. i get commodities. but the diet i am on it is hard to get it. the money is the trouble. i had two strokes and i been sick with high blood pressure three years. we own our house. times is all right if i was able to work and enjoy things. i don't get the old age pension. i reckon because my daughter's husband has a job--i reckon that is it. i can't hardly buy milk, that is the main thing. the doctor told me to eat plenty milk. "i never voted." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: calvin west, widener, arkansas age: "mother belong to parson renfro. he had a son named jim renfro. she was a cook and farm hand too. i never heard her speak much of her owners. pa's owner was dr. west and miss jensie west. he had a son orz west and his daughter was miss lillie west. i never was around their owners. some was dead before i come on. my pa was a cripple man. his leg was drawn around with rheumatism. during slavery he would load up a small cart wid cider and ginger cakes and go sell it out. he sold ginger cakes two for a nickel and i never heard how he sold the cider. i heard him tell close speriences he had with the patrollers. some of the landowners didn't want him trespassing on their places. he got a part of the money he sold out for. i judge from what he said his owner got part for the wagon and horse. he sold some at stores before freedom. he farmed too. his name was phillip west and mother's name was lear west. he was a crack hand at making ginger cakes. he sold wagon loads in town on saturday till he died. i was a boy nearly grown. they had ten children in all. i was born in tate county, mississippi. "mr. miller had land here. i didn't work for him but he wanted me to come here and work his land. he give us tickets. he said this was new land and we could do better. we work a lot and make big crops and don't hardly get a living out of it. we come on the train here. "we come in . the way we got down here now it is bad. we make big crops and don't get much for it. we have no place to raise things to help out and pay big prices for everything. i work. but times is hard. that is the very reason it is hard. we got no place to raise nothing. (hard road and ditch in front and cotton field all around it except a few feet of padded dirt and a wood pile.) times is good and if a fellow could ever get a little ahead i believe he could stay ahead. since my wife been sick we jes' can make it. "we never called for no help. she cooked and i worked. she signed up but it will be a long time, they said, till they could get to her." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mary mays west, widener, arkansas age: "my parents' names was josie vesey and henry mays. they had ten children and five lived to be full grown. i was born in tate county, mississippi. mother died in childbirth when she was twenty-eight years old. i'm the mother of twelve and got five living. i been cooking out for white people since i was nine years old. i am a good cook they all tell me and i tries to be clean with my cooking. "mother died before i can remember much about her. my father said he had to work before day and all day and till after night in the spring and fall of the year. they ploughed with oxen and mules and horses all. he said how they would rest the teams and feed and still they would go on doing something else. they tromped cotton at night by torchlight. tromped it in the wagons to get off to the gin early next morning. "in the winter they built fences and houses and got up wood and cleared new ground. they made pots of lye hominy and lye soap the same day. they had a ashhopper set all time. in the summer is when they ditched if they had any of that to do. farming has been pretty much the same since i was a child. i have worked in the field all my life. i cook in the morning and go to the field all evening. "we just had a hard time this winter. i had a stroke in october and had to quit cooking. (her eye is closed on her left side--ed.) i love farm life. the flood last year got us behind too. we could do fine if i had my health." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: sylvester wethington holly grove, arkansas age: "i recollect seeing the malish (malitia) pass up and down the road. i can tell you two things happened at our house. the yankee soldiers come took all the stock we had all down to young mistress' mule. they come fer it. young mistress got a gun, went out there, put her side saddle on the mule and climbed up. they let her an' that mule both be. nother thing they had a wall built in betwix er room and let hams and all kinds provisions swing down in thor. it went unnoticed. i recken it muster been ft. wide and long as the room. had to go up in the loft from de front porch. the front porch wasn't ceiled but a place sawed out so you could get up in the loft. they used a ladder and went up there bout once a week. they swung hams and meal, flour and beef. they swung sacks er corn down in that place. that all the place where they could keep us a thing in de world to eat. they come an' got bout all we had. look like starvation ceptin' what we had stored way." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: joe whitaker, madison, arkansas age: plus "i'm a blacksmith; my pa was a fine blacksmith. he was a blacksmith in the old war (civil war). he never got a pension. he said he loss his sheep skin. his owners was george and bill whitaker. mother always said her owners was pretty good. i never heard my pa speak of them in that way. they was both born in tennessee. she was never sold. i was born in murray county, tennessee too. my mother was named fronie whitaker and pa ike whitaker. mother had eleven children. my wife is a full-blood cherokee indian. we have ten children and twenty-three grandchildren. "i don't have a word to say against the times; they are close at present. nor a word to say about the next generation. i think times is progressing and i think the people are advancing some too." [tr: the following is typed, but scratched out by hand:] interviewer's comment some say his wife is a small part african. interviewer: beulah sherwood hagg person interviewed: mrs. julia a. white, cross st., little rock, ark. age: idiom and dialect are lacking in this recorded interview. mrs. white's conversation was entirely free from either. on being questioned about this she explained that she was reared in a home where fairly correct english was used. my cousin emanuel armstead could read and write, and he kept the records of our family. at one time he was a school director. of course, that was back in the early days, soon after the war closed. my father was named james page jackson because he was born on the old jackson plantation in lancaster county, virginia. he named one of his daughters lancaster for a middle name in memory of his old home. clarice lancaster jackson was her full name. a man named galloway bought my father and brought him to arkansas. some called him by the name of galloway, but my father always had all his children keep the name jackson. there were fourteen of us, but only ten lived to grow up. he belonged to mr. galloway at the time of my birth, but even at that, i did not take the name galloway as it would seem like i should. my father was a good carpenter; he was a fine cook, too; learned that back in virginia. i'll tell you something interesting. the first cook stove ever brought to this town was one my father had his master to bring. he was cook at the anthony house. you know about that, don't you? it was the first real fine hotel in little rock. when father went there to be head cook, all they had to cook on was big fireplaces and the big old dutch ovens. father just kept on telling about the stoves they had in virginia, and at last they sent and got him one; it had to come by boat and took a long time. my father was proud that he was the one who set the first table ever spread in the anthony house. you see, it was different with us, from lots of slave folks. some masters hired their slaves out. i remember a drug store on the corner of main and markham; it was mcalmont's drug store. once my father worked there; the money he earned, it went to mr. galloway, of course. he said it was to pay board for mother and us little children. my mother came from a fine family,--the beebe family. angeline beebe was her name. you've heard of the beebe family, of course. roswell beebe at one time owned all the land that little rock now sets on. i was born in a log cabin where fifth and spring streets meet. the jewish synagogue is on the exact spot. once we lived at third and cumberland, across from that old hundred-year-old-building where they say the legislature once met. what you call it? yes, that's it; the hinterlider building. it was there then, too. my father and mother had the kind of wedding they had for slaves, i guess. yes, ma'am, they did call them "broom-stick weddings". i've heard tell of them. yes, ma'am, the master and mistress, when they find a couple of young slave folks want to get married, they call them before themselves and have them confess they want to marry. then they hold the broom, one at each end, and the young folks told to jump over. sometimes they have a new cabin fixed all for them to start in. after peace, a minister came and married my father and mother according to the law of the church and of the land. the master's family was thoughtful in keeping our records in their own big family bible. all the births and deaths of the children in my father's family was in their bible. after peace, father got a big bible for our family, and--wait, i'll show you.... here they are, all copied down just like out of old master's bible.... here's where my father and mother died, over on this page. right here's my own children. this space is for me and my husband. no ma'am, it don't make me tired to talk. but i need a little time to recall all the things you want to know 'bout. i was so little when freedom came i just can't remember. i'll tell you, directly. i remember that the first thing my father did was to go down to a plantation where the bigger children was working, and bring them all home, to live together as one family. that was a plantation where my mother had been; a man name moore--james moore--owned it. i don't know whether he had bought my mother from beebe or not. i can remember two things plain what happened there. i was little, but can still see them. one of my mother's babies died and master went to little rock on a horse and carried back a little coffin under his arm. the mistress had brought mother a big washing. she was working under the cover of the wellhouse and tears was running down her face. when master came back, he said: "how come you are working today, angeline, when your baby is dead?" she showed him the big pile of clothes she had to wash, as mistress said. he said: "there is plenty of help on this place what can wash. you come on in and sit by your little baby, and don't do no more work till after the funeral." he took up the little dead body and laid it in the coffin with his own hands. i'm telling you this for what happened later on. a long time after peace, one evening mother heard a tapping at the door. when she went, there was her old master, james moore. "angeline," he said, "you remember me, don't you?" course she did. then he told her he was hungry and homeless. a man hiding out. the yankees had taken everything he had. mother took him in and fed him for two or three days till he was rested. the other thing clear to my memory is when my uncle tom was sold. another day when mother was washing at the wellhouse and i was playing around, two white men came with a big, broad-shouldered colored man between them. mother put her arms around him and cried and kissed him goodbye. a long time after, i was watching one of my brothers walk down a path. i told mother that his shoulders and body look like that man she kissed and cried over. "why honey," she says to me, "can you remember that?" then she told me about my uncle tom being sold away. so you see, miss, it's a good thing you are more interested in what i know since slave days. i'll go on now. the first thing after freedom my mother kept boarders and done fine laundry work. she boarded officers of the colored union soldiers; she washed for the officers' families at the arsenal. sometimes they come and ask her to cook them something special good to eat. both my father and mother were fine cooks. that's when we lived at third and cumberland. i stayed home till i was sixteen and helped with the cooking and washing and ironing. i never worked in a cottonfield. the boys did. all us girls were reared about the house. we were trained to be lady's maids and houseworkers. i married when i was sixteen. that husband died four years later, and the next year i married this man, joel randolph white. married him in march, . in those days you could put a house on leased ground. could lease it for five years at a time. my father put up a house on tenth and scott. old man haynie owned the land and let us live in the house for $ . a year until father's money was all gone; then we had to move out. the first home my father really owned was at spring street, what is now. course then, it was away out in the country. a white lawyer from the north--b.f. rice was his name--got my brother jimmie to work in his office. jimmie had been in school most all his life and was right educated for colored boy then. mr. rice finally asked him how would he like to study law. so he did; but all the time he wanted to be a preacher. mr. rice tell jimmie to go on studying law. it is a good education; it would help him to be a preacher. mr. rice tell my father he can own his own home by law. so he make out the papers and take care of everything so some persons can't take it away. all that time my family was working for mr. rice and finally got the home paid for, all but the last payment, and mr. rice said jimmie's services was worth that. so we had a nice home all paid for at last. we lived there till father died in , and about ten years more. then sold it. my father had more money than many ex-slaves because he did what the union soldiers told him. they used to give him "greenbacks" money and tell him to take good care of it. you see, miss, union money was not any good here. everything was confederate money. you couldn't pay for a dime's worth even with a five dollar bill of union money then. the soldiers just keep on telling my father to take all the greenbacks he could get and hide away. there wasn't any need to hide it, nobody wanted it. soldiers said just wait; someday the confederate money wouldn't be any good and greenbacks would be all the money we had. so that's how my father got his money. if you have time to listen, miss, i'd like to tell you about a wonderful thing a young doctor done for my folks. it was when the gun powder explosion wrecked my brother and sister. the soldiers at the arsenal used to get powder in tins called canteens. when there was a little left--a tablespoon full or such like, they would give it to the little boys and show them how to pour it in the palm of their hand, touch a match to it and then blow. the burning powder would fly off their hand without burning. we were living in a double house at eighth and main then; another colored family in one side. they had lots of children, just like us. one canteen had a lot more powder in. my brother was afraid to pour it on his hand. he put a paper down on top of the stove and poured it out. it was a big explosion. my little sister was standing beside her brother and her scalp was plum blowed off and her face burnt terribly. his hand was all gone, and his face and neck and head burnt terribly, too. there was a young doctor live close by name deuell. father ran for him. he tell my mother if she will do just exactly what he say, their faces will come out fine. he told her to make up bread dough real sort of stiff. he made a mask of it. cut holes for their eyes, nose holes and mouths, so you could feed them, you see. he told mother to leave that on till it got hard as a rock. then still leave it on till it crack and come off by itself. nobody what ever saw their faces would believe how bad they had been burnt. only 'round the edges where the dough didn't cover was there any scars. dr. deuell only charged my father $ . apiece for that grand work on my sister and brother. _yes ma'am_, i'll tell you how i come to speak what you call good english. first place, my mother and father was brought up in families where they heard good speech. slaves what lived in the family didn't talk like cottonfield hands. my parents sure did believe in education. the first free schools in little rock were opened by the union for colored children. they brought young white ladies for teachers. they had sunday school in the churches on sunday. in a few years they had colored teachers come. one is still living here in little rock. i wish you would go see her. she is years old now. she founded the wesley chapel here. on her fiftieth anniversary my club presented her a gold medal and had "mother wesley" engraved on it. her name is charlotte e. stevens. she has the first school report ever put out in little rock. it was in the class of . two of my sisters were graduated from philander smith college here in little rock and had post graduate work in fisk university in nashville, tennessee. my brothers and sisters all did well in life. allene married a minister and did missionary work. cornelia was a teacher in dallas, texas. mary was a caterer in hot springs. clarice went to colorado springs, colorado and was a nurse in a doctor's office. jimmie was the preacher, as i told you. gus learned the drug business and willie got to be a painter. our adopted sister, molly, could do anything, nurse, teach, manage a hotel. yes, our parents always insisted we had to go to school. it's been a help to me all my life. i'm the only one now living of all my brothers and sisters. well ma'am, about how we lived all since freedom; it's been good till these last years. after i married my present husband in , he worked in the missouri pacific railroad shops. he was boiler maker's helper. they called it iron mountain shops then, though. years, months and days he worked there. in , on big strike, all men got laid off. when they went back, they had to go as new men. don't you see what that done to my man? he was all ready for his pension. yes ma'am, had worked his full time to be pensioned by the railroad. but we have never been able to get any retirement pension. he should have it. urban league is trying to help him get it. he is out on account of disability and old age. he got his eye hurt pretty bad and had to be in the railroad hospital a long time. i have the doctor's papers on that. then he had a bad fall what put him again in the hospital. that was in . he has never really been discharged, but just can't get any compensation. he has put in his claim to the railroad retirement office in washington. i'm hoping they get to it before he dies. we're both mighty old and feeble. he had a stroke in , since he been off the railroad. how we living now? it's mighty poorly, please believe that. in his good years we bought this little home, but taxes so high, road assessments and all make it more than we can keep up. my granddaughter lives with us. she teaches, but only has school about half a year. i was trying to educate her in the university of wisconsin, but poor child had to quit. in summer we try to make a garden. some of the neighbors take in washing and they give me ironing to do. friends bring in fresh bread when they bake. it takes all my granddaughter makes to keep up the mortgage and pay all the rest. she don't have clothes decent to go. i have about sold the last of the antiques. in old days the mistress used to give my mother the dishes left from broken sets, odd vases and such. i had some beautiful things, but one by one have sold them to antique dealers to get something to help out with. my church gives me a donation every fifth sunday of a collection for benefit. sometimes it is as much as $ . and that sure helps on the groceries. today i bought four cents worth of beans and one cent worth of onions. i say you have to cut the garment according to the cloth. you ain't even living from hand to mouth, if the hand don't have something in it to put to the mouth. no ma'am, we couldn't get on relief, account of this child teaching. one relief worker did come to see us. she was a case worker, she said. she took down all i told her about our needs and was about ready to go when she saw my seven hens in the yard. "whose chickens out there?" she asked. "i keep a few hens," i told her. "well," she hollered, "anybody that's able to keep chickens don't need to be on relief roll," and she gathered up her gloves and bag and left. yes ma'am, i filed for old age pension, too. it was in april, i filed. when a year passed without hearing, i took my husband down so they could see just how he is not able to work. they told me not to bring him any more. said i would get $ . a month. two years went, and i never got any. i went by myself then, and they said yes, yes, they have my name on file, but there is no money to pay. there must be millions comes in for sales tax. i don't know where it all goes. of course the white folks get first consideration. colored folks always has to bear the brunt. they just do, and that's all there is to it. what do i think of the younger generation? i wouldn't speak for all. there are many types, just like older people. it has always been like that, though. if all young folks were like my granddaughter--i guess there is many, too. she does all the sewing, and gardening. she paints the house, makes the draperies and bed clothing. she can cook and do all our laundry work. she understands raising chickens for market but just don't have time for that. she is honest and clean in her life. yes ma'am, i did vote once, a long time ago. you see, i wasn't old enough at first, after freedom, when all the colored people could vote. then, for many years, women in arkansas couldn't vote, anyhow. i can remember when m.w. gibbs was police judge and asa richards was a colored alderman. no ma'am! the voting law is not fair. it's most unfair! we colored folks have to pay just the same as the white. we pay our sales tax, street improvement, school tax, property tax, personal property tax, dog license, automobile license--they what have cars--; we pay utility tax. and we should be allowed to vote. i can tell you about three years ago a white lady come down here with her car on election day and ask my old husband would he vote how she told him if she carried him to the polls. he said yes and she carried him. when he got there they told him no colored was allowed to vote in that election. poor old man, she didn't offer to get him home, but left him to stumble along best he could. i'm glad if i been able to give you some help. you've been patient with an old woman. i can tell you that every word i have told you is true as the gospel. circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] . name and address of informant--julia white, cross street, little rock. . date and time of interview-- . place of interview-- cross street, little rock, arkansas . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant-- . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you-- . description of room, house, surroundings, etc.-- personal history of informant . ancestry-- . place and date of birth--little rock, arkansas, . family--two children . places lived in, with dates--little rock all her life. . education, with dates-- . occupations and accomplishments, with dates-- . special skills and interests-- . community and religious activities-- . description of informant-- . other points gained in interview--she tells of accomplishments made by the negro race. text of interview (unedited) "i was born right here in little rock, arkansas, eighty years ago on the corner of fifth and broadway. it was in a little log house. that used to be out in the woods. at least, that is where they told me i was born. i was there but i don't remember it. the first place i remember was a house on third and cumberland, the southwest corner. that was before the war. "we were living there when peace was declared. you know, my father hired my mother's time from james moore. he used to belong to dick galloway. i don't know how that was. but i know he put my mother in that house on third and cumberland while she was still a slave. and we smaller children stayed in the house with mother, and the larger children worked on james moore's plantation. "my father was at that time, i guess, you would call it, a porter at mcalmont's drug store. he was a slave at that time but he worked there. he was working there the day this place was taken. i'll never forget that. it was on september th. we were going across third street, and there was a union woman told mamma to bring us over there, because the soldiers were about to attack the town and they were going to have a battle. "i had on a pair of these brogans with brass plates on them, and they were flapping open and i tripped up just as the rebel soldiers were running by. one of them said, "there's a like yeller nigger, les take her." mrs. farmer, the union woman ran out and said, "no you won't; that's my nigger." and she took us in her house. and we stayed there while there was danger. then my father came back from the drug store, she said she didn't see how he kept from being killed. "at that time, there were about four houses to the block. on the place where we lived there was the big house, with many rooms, and then there was the barn and a lot of other buildings. my father rented that place and turned the outbuildings into little houses and allowed the freed slaves to live in them till they could find another place. "my husband was an orphan child, and the people he was living with were george phelps and ann phelps. they were freed slaves. that was after the war. they came here and had this little boy with them, that is how i come to meet that gentlemen over there and get acquainted with him. when they moved away from there phelps was caretaker of the oakland cemetery. we married on the twenty-seventh day of march, . i still have the marriage license. i married twice; my first husband was george w. glenn and my maiden name was jackson. i married the first time june , . i had two children in my first marriage. both of than are dead. glenn died shortly after the birth of the last child, february , . "mr. white is a mighty good man. he is put up with me all these years. and he took mighty good care of my children, them by my first husband as well as his own. when i was a little girl, he used to tell me that he wouldn't have me for a wife. after we were married, i used to say to him, 'you said you wouldn't have me, but i see you're mighty glad to get me.' "i have the marriage license for my second marriage. "there's quite a few of the old ones left. have you seen mrs. gillam, and mrs. stephen, and mrs. weathers? cora weathers? her name is cora not clora. she's about ninety years old. she's at least ninety years old. you say she says that she is seventy-four. that must be her insurance age. i guess she is seventy-four at that; she had to be seventy-four before she was ninety. when i was a girl, she was a grown woman. she was married when my husband went to school. that has been more than sixty years ago, because we've been married nearly sixty years. my sister mary was ten years older than me, and cora weathers was right along with her. she knew my mother. when these people knew my mother they've been here, because she's been dead since ' and she would have been if she had lived. "my mother used to feed the white prisoners--the federal soldiers who were being held. they paid her and told her to keep the money because it was union money. you know at that time they were using confederate money. my father kept it. he had a little box or chest of gold and silver money. whenever he got any paper money, he would change it into gold or silver. "mother used to make these ginger cakes--they call 'em stage planks. my brother jimmie would sell them. the men used to take pleasure in trying to cheat him. he was so clever they couldn't. they never did catch him napping. "somebody burnt our house; it was on a sunday evening. they tried to say it caught from the chimney. we all like to uv burnt up. "my father was a carpenter, whitewasher, anything. he was a common laborer. we didn't have contractors then like we do now. mother worked out in service too. jimmie was the oldest boy. he taught school too. "my father set the first table that was ever set in the anthony hotel, he was the cause of the first stove being brought here to cook on. "some of the children of the people that raised my mother are still living. they are beebes. roswell beebe was a little one. they had a colored man named peter and he was teaching roswell to ride and the pony ran away. peter stepped out to stop him and roswell said, 'git out of the way peter, and let billie button come'. "i get some commodities from the welfare. but i don't get nothing like a pension. my husband worked at the missouri pacific shops for fifty-two years, and he don't git nothing neither. it was the iron mountain when he first went there on june , . he was disabled in because of injuries received on the job in march, . but they hurried him out of the hospital and never would give him anything. that monday morning, they had had a loving cup given them for not having had accidents in the plant. and at three p.m., he was sent into the hospital. he had a fall that injured his head. they only kept him there for two days and two hours. he was hurt in the head. dr. elkins himself came after him and let him set around in the tool room. he stayed there till he couldn't do nothing at all. "in , he got his eye hurt on the job in the service of the missouri pacific. it was the iron mountain then. he was off about three or four months. they didn't pay his wages while he was off. they told him they would give him a lifetime job, but they didn't. his eye gave him trouble for the balance of his life. sometimes it is worse than others. he had to go to the st. louis hospital quite often for about three or four years. "when the house on third and cumberland was burnt, he rebuilded it, and the owners charged him such rent he had to move. he rebuilt it for five hundred dollars and was to get pay in rent. the owners jumped the rent up to twenty-five dollars a month. that way it soon took up the five hundred dollars. then we moved to eighth and main. my brother jimmie was in an accident there. "he was pouring powder on a fire from an old powder horn and the flames jumped up in the horn and exploded and crippled his hand and burnt his face. dr. duel, a right young doctor, said he could cure them if father would pay him fifty dollars a piece. my sister was burnt at the same time as my brother. he had them make a thin dough, and put it over their faces and he cut pieces out for their eyes, and nose, and mouth. they left that dough on their faces and chest till the dough got hard and peeled off by itself. it left the white skin. gradually the face got back to itself and took its right color again, so you couldn't tell they had ever been burnt. the only medicine the doctor gave them was epsom salts. fifty dollars for each child. i used that remedy on a school boy once and cured him, but i didn't charge him nothing. "i have a program which was given in . they don't give programs like that now. people wouldn't listen that long. we each of us had two and three, and some of us had six and seven parts to learn. we learnt them and recited them and came back the next night to give a christmas eve program. you can make a copy of it if you want. "a.c. richmond is mrs. childress' brother. anna george is bee daniels' mother (bee daniels is mrs. anthony, a colored public school teacher here). corinne jordan is living on gaines between eighth and ninth streets. she is about seventy-five years old now. she was about mollie's age and i was about five years older than molly. mary riley is c.c. riley's sister. c.c. riley is haven riley's father. c.c. is dead now. haven riley was a teacher, at philander smith, for a while. he's a stenographer now. august jackson and j.w. jackson are my brothers. w.o. emory became one of our pastors at wesley. john bush, everybody's heard of him. he had the mosaic temple and got a big fortune together before he died, but his children lost it all. annie richmond is annie childress, the wife of professor e.c. childress, the state supervisor. corinne winfrey turned out to be john bush's wife. willie lane married w.o. emery. scipio jordan became the big man in the tabernacle. h.h. gilkey went to the post office. he married lizzie hull. she's living still too." extra comment the marriage license which mrs. white showed me, was issued march , , by a.w. worthen, county clerk, per w.h.w. booker to julia glen and j.r. white. it carries the name of reverend w.h. crawford who was the pastor of wesley chapel church at that time. the license was issued in pulaski county. grand entertainment at wesley chapel wednesday evening, dec'r. , * * * * * programme part i address by the general manager mr. a.c. richmond song--we come today by the school prayer rev. william henry crawford declamation--my mother's bible miss annie george dialogue--three little graves miss m. upshaw and miss m.a. scruggs dialogue--about heaven miss julia jackson and miss alice richardson declamation--mud pie miss amelia rose declamation--ducklins and miss goren jordan ducklins dialogue--the beggar mr. h.h. gilkey and mr. w.a.m. cypers declamation--work while master albert pryor you work dialogue--the miser mr. c.c. riley and mr. charles hurtt, jr. declamation--pretty pictures miss cally sanders declamation--into the sunshine miss mollie jackson song--joy bells by the school dialogue--sharp shooting master asa richmond, scipio jordan, and miss laura a. morgan declamation--what i know master morton hurtt declamation--the side to look on miss dora frierson dialogue--the tattler miss mary alexander, miss m.a. scrugg, miss mary rose declamation--little clara miss rebecca ferguson dialogue--john williams' choice scipio jordan, h.h. gilkey and julia jackson declamation--a good rule miss lilly pryor declamation--complaint of the poor miss riley dialogue--the examination l.h. haney, jackson crawford and john richmond the end. part ii. dialogue--the maniac miss willie lane, a.c. richmond, rafe may, and master a. pryon dialogue--father, dear father; or the fruits of drunkenness john e. bush, w.a.m. cypers, wm. emery, miss coren winfrey, miss maggie green, and others. dialogue--an awakening miss mollie pryor and miss annie richmond dialogue--betsy and i are out alex. scruggs and w.a.m. cypers declamation--lily of the valley miss mary foster dialogue--hasty judgment c.c. riley, a.c. richmond, cypers and haney declamation--the little shooter master august jackson dialogue--practical lesson miss julia jackson, and august jackson declamation--bird and the baby miss julia foster dialogue--scenes in the police court richmond, bush, and emery ballad--yankee doodle dandy j.e. bush part iii dialogue--colloquy in church alice richardson and mollie declamation--lucy gray miss alice moore dialogue--matrimony miss willie lane, m.a. scruggs, mary alexander, mr. c.c. riley dialogue--traveler morton hurtt and scipio jordan declamation--truth in parenthesis alice moore. dialogue--forty years ago ales, scruggs, and j.p. winfrey declamation--the last footfall lizzie hull declamation--gone with a john e. bush, miss maggie green, handsomer man than me and h.g. clay declamation--golden side annie richmond declamation--the union was swan jeffries saved by the colored volunteers dialogue--relief aid saving maggie scruggs, mary ross, society lizzie hull, alice moore, mary alexander, mollie pryor, annie fairchild, lizzie wind, julia jackson, j.e. bush, j.w. jackson song-dutch band a.c. richardson, wm. emery, j.h. haney, w.a.m. cypers, j.o. alexander, j.e. bush, j.w. jackson declamation--number one alice richardson declamation--what to wear, and miss coren winfrey how to wear it dialogue--a desirable j.e. bush, j.w. jackson, a.c. richmond dialogue-the little bill marion henderson, j.e. bush, miss willie lane, miss laura a. morgan, asa richmond, jr. dialogue--country aunt's visit henry jackson, misses allice and julia crawford, maggie howell, julia jackson dialogue--beauty and the beast marion henderson, julia jackson, (six scenes) laura morgan, mary scruggs, mary ross, coren winfrey, willie lane, lizzie wind, alice crawford, j.e. bush, j.p. winfrey dialogue--how not to get m.a. scruggs and mary alexander and answer declamation--the incidents of john richmond travel * * * * * interviewer's comment this program was given on one night, and the participants doubled right back the next night on another lengthy program celebrating christmas eve. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: julia white (continued) cross street, little rock, arkansas age: "the commissary was on the northeast corner of third and cumberland. they used to call it the government commissary building. it took up a whole half block. mrs. farmer, the white woman, was living in what you call the old henderliter place, the building on the northwest corner, during the war. she was a union woman, and was the one that took us in when the confederate soldiers were passing and wanted to take us to texas with them. "i was so small i didn't know much about things then. when peace was declared a preacher named hugh brady, a white man, came here and he had my mother and father to marry over again. "mrs. stephens' father was one of the first school-teachers here for colored people. there were a lot of white people who came here from the north to teach. peabody school used to be called the union school. mrs. stephens has the first report of the school dated . it gives the names of the directors and all. j.h. benford was one of the northern teachers. anna ware and louise coffman and miss henley were teachers too. "mrs. stephens is the oldest colored teacher in little rock. the a-b-c children didn't want the old men to teach us. so they would teach 'lottie'--she was only twelve years old then--and she would hear our lessons. then at recess time, we would all get out and play together. she was my play mama. her father, william wallace andrews, the first pastor of wesley chapel m.e. church, was the head teacher and mr. gray was the other. they were teaching in wesley chapel church. it was then on eighth and broadway. this was before benford's time. it was just after peace had been declared. i don't know where andrews come from nor how much learning he had. most of the people then got their learning from white children. but i don't know where he got his. "wesley was his first church as far as i know. before the war all the churches were in with the white people. after freedom, they drew out. whether wesley was his first church or not, he was wesley's first pastor. i got a history of the church." "they had a real sunday-school in those days. my sister when she was a child about twelve years old said three hundred bible verses at one time and received a book as a prize. the book was named 'a wonderful deliverance' and other stories, printed by the american tract society, new york, nassau street. my sister's name was mollie jackson." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lucy white, marianna, arkansas age: "i was born on jim banks' place close to felton. his wife named miss puss. mama and all of young master's niggers was brought from mississippi. i reckon it was 'fore i was born. old master name mack banks. i never heard mama say but they was good to my daddy. they had a great big place in mississippi and a good big place over here. "i recollect seeing the soldiers prance 'long the road. i thought they looked mighty pretty. their caps and brass buttons and canteens shining in the sun. they rode the prettiest horses. one of 'em come in our house one day. he told miss puss he was goiner steal me. she say, 'don't take her off.' he give me a bundle er bread and i run in the other room and crawled under the bed 'way back in the corner. it was dark up under there. i didn't eat the bread then but i et it after he left. it sure was good. i didn't recollect much but seeing them pass the road. i like to watch 'em. my parents was field folks. i worked in the field. i was raised to work. i keep my clothes clean. i washed 'em. i cooked and washed and ironed and done field work all. when i first recollect marianna, mr. lon tau and mr. free landing (?) had stores here. dr. steven (stephen?) and dr. nunnaly run a drug store here. there was a big road here. folks started building houses here and there. they called the town mary ann fo' de longest time. "well, the white folks told 'am, 'you free.' my folks worked on fer about twenty years. they'd give 'em a little sompin outer dat crap. they worked all sorter ways--that's right--they sure did. they rented and share cropped together i reckon after the war ended. "the ku klux never bothered us. i heard 'bout 'em other places. "i never voted and i never do 'sepect to now. what i know 'bout votin'? "well, i tell you, these young folks is cautions. they don't think so but they is. lazy, no'count, spends every cent they gits in their hands. some works, some work hard. they drink and carouse about all night sometimes. no ma'am, i did not do no sich er way. i woulder been ashamed of myself. i would. times what done run away wid us all now. i don't know what to look fer now but i know times changing all the time. "i gets ten dollars and some little things to eat along. i say it do help out. i got rheumatism and big stiff j'ints (enlarged wrist and knuckles)." interviewer: bernice bowden. person interviewed: david whiteman (c) age: home: n. kansas street, pine bluff, arkansas. "how de do lady. oh yes, i was a pretty good sized boy when the war started. my old marster was sponsible smith. my young marster was his son-in-law. i member 'bout the yankees and the "revels". i member when a great big troop of 'em went to war. some of 'em was cryin' and some was laughin'. i tried to get young marster to let me go with him, but he wouldn't let me. old marster was too old to go and his son dodged around and didn't go either. i member he caught hisself a wild mustang and tied hisself on it and rode off and they never did see him again. "i know when they was fightin' we use to hear the balls when they was goin' over. i used to pick up many a ball. "i wish my recollection was with me like it used to be." (at this point his wife spoke up and said "seems like since he had the flu, his mind is kinda frazzled.") "yes'm, i member the ku klux. they used to have the colored folks dodgin' around tryin' to keep out of their way." interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: dolly whiteside (c) age: home: oregon street, pine bluff, ark. "i reckon i did live in slavery times--look at my hair. "i been down sick--i been right low and they didn't speck me to live. "well, i'll tell you. i was old enough to know when they runned us to texas so the yankees couldn't overtaken us. we was in texas when freedom come, i remember i was sittin on the fence when the soldiers in them blue uniforms with gold buttons come. he said, "i come to tell you you is free". i didn't know what it was all about but everybody was sayin' "thank god". i thought it was the judgment day and i was lookin' for god. i said to myself, i'm goin' have some buttons like that some day. "colonel williams was my marster. my mother was a nurse and took care of the colored folks when they was sick. i remember when people wasn't given nothin' but blue mass, calomel, castor oil and gruel, and every body was healthier than they is now. "i'm the only one livin' that my mother birthed in this world. i was born here, but i been travelin', i been to memphis and around. "no mam, i don't remember nothin' else. i done tole you all i know." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: j.w. whitfield w. seventeenth street, little rock, arkansas age: about occupation: preacher "my father's name was luke whitfield. he was sixty-three years old when he died in . he was twenty-six years old when the civil war ended. he was a slave. there were three other boys in the family besides him. no girls. "his old mars' name was bill carraway. they lived at nubian [hw: new bern], north carolina. "my father said that his work in slavery time was blacksmithing. he had to fix the wagons and the plow too. he said that was his work during the civil war too. he worked in the confederate army too. "i remember him saying how they whipped him when he ran off. the overseer got after him to whip him and he and one of his friends ran off. as they jumped over the fence to go into the woods the old mars hit my daddy with a cat-o-nine tails. you see, they took a strap of harness leather and cut it into four thongs and then they took another and cut it into five thongs, and they tied them together. when you got one blow you got nine and when you got five blows you got forty-five. as his old mars hit him, he said. 'i got him one, sir; it was a good one too, sir, and a go-boy.'[hw: ?] but it was nine. "my father told me how they married in slavery times. they didn't count marriage like they do now. if one landowner had a girl and another wanted that girl for one of his men, they would give him her to wife. when a boy-child was born out of this marriage they would reserve him for breeding purposes if he was healthy and robust. but if he was puny and sickly they were not bothered about him. many a time if the boy was desirable, he was put on the stump and auctioned off by the time he was thirteen years old. they called that putting him on the block. different ones would come and bid for him and the highest bidder would get him. "my father spoke of a pass. that was when they wanted to see the girls they would have to get a pass from the old mars. my father would speak to his mars and get a pass. if he didn't have a pass, the other mars would give him a whipping and sent him back. i told you about how they whipped them. they used to use those cat-o-nine tails on them when they didn't have a pass. "they lived in a log cabin dobbed with dirt and their clothes were woven on a loom. they got the cotton, spun it on the spinning-wheel, wove it on the loom on rainy days. the women spun the thread and wove the cloth. for the boys from five to fifteen years old, they would make long shirts out of this cloth. the shirts had deep scallops in them. then they would take the same cloth and dye it with indigo and make pants out of it. the boys never wore those pants in the field. no young fellow wore pants until he began to court. "my mother was a girl that was sold in lenoir county, near kenston, [hw: kinston?] north carolina. my father met her in a place called buford, [hw: beaufort? carteret co.] north carolina. my father was sold several times. the owner sold her to his owner and they jumped over a broomstick and were married. my daddy's mars bought my mother for him. her name was penny." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: sarah whitmore, clarendon, arkansas age: _note_--the interviewer found this ex-slave in small quarters. the bed, the room and the negro were filthy. a fire burned in an ironing bucket, mostly papers and trash for fuel. during the visit of the interviewer a white girl brought a tray with a measuring cup of coffee and two slices of bread with butter and fruit spread between. when asked where she got her dinner she said "the best way i can" meaning somebody might bring it to her. her hands are too stiff and shaky to cook. her eye sight is so bad she cannot clean her room. two wpa county visitors, girls, bathe her at intervals. "i was born between jackson and brandon. sure i was born down in mississippi. my mother's name they tole me was rosie. she died when i was a baby. my father named richard chamber. they called him dick. he was killed direckly after the war by a white man. he was a rebel scout. the man named hodge. i seed him. he shot my father. them questions been called over to me so much i most forgot 'em. well some jes' lack 'em. my father's master was hal chambers and his wife virginia. recken i do 'member the ku klux. they scared me to death. i go under the bed every time when i see them about. then was when my father was killed. he went off with a crowd of white men. they said they was rebel scouts. all i know i never seed him no more since that evening. they killed him across the line, not far from mississippi. chambers had two or three farms. i was on the village farm. i had one brother. chambers sent him to the salt works and i never seed him no more. i was a orphant. "chambers make you work. i worked in the field. i come wid a crowd to helena. i come on a boat. i been a midwife to black and white. i used to cook some. i am master hand at ironin'. i have no children as i knows of. i never born none. i help raise some. i come on a fine big steamboat wid a crowd of people. i married in arkansas. my husband died ten or twelve years ago. i forgot which years it was. i been livin' in this bery house seben years. "the government give me $ a month. i would wash dishes but i can't see 'bout gettin' 'round no more. "don't ax me 'bout the young niggers. they too fast fo me. if i see 'em they talkin' a passel of foolish talk. whut i knows is times is hard wid me shows you born. "you come back to see me. if you don't i wanter meet you all in heaben. by, by, by." interviewer: watt mckinney person interviewed: dock wilborn a mile or so from marvell, arkansas age: dock wilborn was born a slave near huntsville, alabama on january , , the property of dan wilborn who with his three brothers, elias, sam, and ike, moved to arkansas and settled near marvell in phillips county about . according to "uncle dock" the four wilborn brothers each owning more than one hundred slaves acquired a large body of wild, undeveloped land, divided this acreage between them and immediately began to erect numerous log structures for housing themselves, their negroes, and their stock, and to deaden the timber and clear the land preparatory to placing their crops the following season. the wilborns arrived in arkansas in the early fall of the year and for several months they camped, living in tents until such time that they were able to complete the erection of their residences. good, substantial, well constructed and warm cabins were built in which to house the slaves, much better buildings "uncle dock" says than those in which the average negro sharecropper lives today on southern cotton plantations. and these negroes were given an abundance of the same wholesome food as that prepared for the master's family in the huge kettles and ovens of the one common kitchen presided over by a well-trained and competent cook and supervised by the wife of the master. during the period of slavery the more apt and intelligent among those of the younger negroes were singled out and given special training for those places in which their talents indicated they would be most useful in the life of the plantation. girls were trained in housework, cooking, and in the care of children while boys were taught blacksmithing, carpentrying, and some were trained for personal servants around the home. some were even taught to read and to write when it was thought that their later positions would require this learning. according to "uncle dock" wilborn, slaves were allowed to enjoy many pleasures and liberties thought by many in this day, especially by the descendants of these slaves, not to have been accorded them, were entirely free of any responsibility aside from the performance of their alloted labors and speaking from his own experience received kind and just treatment at the hands of their masters. the will of the master was the law of the plantation and prompt punishment was administered for any violation of established rules and though a master was kind, he was of necessity invariably firm in the administration of his government and in the execution of his laws. respect and obedience was steadfastly required and sternly demanded, while indolence and disrespect was neither tolerated or permitted. in refutation to often repeated expressions and beliefs that slaves were cruelly treated, provided with insufficient food and apparel and subjected to inhuman punishment, it is pointed out by ex-slaves themselves that they were at that time very valuable property, worth on the market no less than from one thousand to fifteen hundred dollars each for a healthy, grown negro and that it is unreasonable to suppose that these slaveowners did not properly safeguard their investments with the befitting care and attention such valuable property demanded or that these masters would by rule or action bring about any condition adversely effecting the health, efficiency or value of their slaves. the spiritual and religious needs of the slaves received the attention of the same minister who attended the like needs of the master and his family, and services were often conducted on sunday afternoons exclusively for them at which times the minister exhorted his congregation to live lives of righteousness and to be at all times obedient, respectful and dutiful servants in the cause of both their earthly and heavenly masters. in the days of slavery, on occasion of the marriage of a couple in which the participants were members of slave-owning families, it was the custom for the father of each to provide the young couple with several negroes, the number of course depending on the relative wealth or affluence of their respective families. it seems, however, that no less than six or eight grown slaves were given in most instances as well as a like number of children from two to four years of age. this provision on the part of the parents of the newly-wedded pair was for the purpose as "uncle dock" expressed it to give them a "start" of negroes. the children were not considered of much value at such an age and the young master and his wife found themselves possessed with the responsibility attached to their proper care and rearing until such time as they reached the age at which they could perform some useful labor. these responsibilities were bravely accepted and such children received the best of care and attention, being it is said often kept in a room provided for than in the master's own house where their needs could be administered to under the watchful eye and supervision of their owners. the food given these young children according to informants consisted mainly of a sort of gruel composed of whole milk and bread made of whole wheat flour which was set before them in a kind of trough and from which they ate with great relish and grew rapidly. slaveowners, as a rule, arranged for their negroes to have all needed pleasure and enjoyment, and in the late summer after cultivation of the crops was complete it was the custom for a number of them to give a large barbecue for their combined groups of slaves, at which huge quantities of beef and pork were served and the care-free hours given over to dancing and general merry-making. "uncle dock" recalls that his master, dan wilborn, who was a good-natured man of large stature, derived much pleasure in playing his "fiddle" and that often in the early summer evenings he would walk down to the slave quarters with his violin remarking that he would supply the music and that he wished to see his "niggers" dance, and dance they would for hours and as much to the master's own delight and amusement as to theirs. dock wilborn's "pappy" sam was in some respects disobedient, prompted mainly so it seems by his complete dislike for any form of labor and which dan wilborn due to their mutual affection appeared to tolerate for long periods or until such time that his patience was exhausted when he would then apply his lash to sam a few times and often after these periodical punishments sam would escape to the dense forests that surrounded the plantation where he would remain for days or until wilborn would enlist the aid of nat turner and his hounds and chase the negro to bay and return him to his home. "uncle dock" wilborn and his wife "aunt becky" are among the oldest citizens of phillips county and have been married for sixty-seven years. dan wilborn performed their marriage ceremony. the only formality required in uniting them as man and wife was that each jump over a broom that had been placed on the floor between them. this old couple are the parents of four children, the eldest of whom is now sixty-three. they live alone in a small white-washed cabin only a mile or so from marvell being supported only by a small pension they receive each month from the social security board. they have a garden and a few chickens and a hog or two and are happy and content as they dip their snuff and recall those days long past during which they both contend that life was at its best, "aunt becky" is religious and a staunch believer, a long-time member of mount moriah baptist church while "uncle dock" who has never been affiliated with any religious organization is yet as he terms himself "a sinner man" and laughingly remarks that he is going to ride into heaven on "aunt becky's" ticket to which comment she promptly replies that her ticket is good for only one passage and that if he hopes to get there he must arrange for one of his own. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: bell wilks, holly grove, arkansas age: "i was raised in pulaski, tennessee, giles county. the post office was at one end of the town, bout half mile was the church down at the other end. yes'm, that way pulaski looked when i lived there. my father's master was peter or jerry garn--i don't know which. they brothers? yes'm. "my mother's master was john wilks and miss betty. mama's name was callie wilks and papa's name was freeman. mama had seven children. she was a field hand. she said all on their place could do nearly anything. they took turns cooking. seems like it was a week about they took milkin', doin' house work, field work, and she said sometimes they sewed. "father told my mother one day he was going to the yankees. she didn't want him to go much. he went. they mustered out drilling one day. he had to squat right smart. he saw some cattle in the distance looked like army way off. he fell dead. they said it was heart disease. they brought him home and some of dem stood close to him drillin' told her that was way it happened. "the man what owned my mother was sorter of a yankee hisself. we all stayed till he wound up the crop. he sold his place and went to collyoka on the l. and n. railway. he give us two and one-half bushels corn, three bushels wheat, and some meat at the very first of freedom. when it played out we went and he give us more long as he stayed there. "when mama left she went to a new sorter mill town and cooked there till . she carried me to a young woman to nurse for her what she nursed at mostor wilks befo freedom. i stayed wid her till . i sure does remember dem dates. (laughed) "yes'm, i was nursin' for dr. rothrock when that ku klux scare was all bout. they coma to our house huntin' a boy. they didn't find him. i cover up my head when they come bout our house. some folks they scared nearly to death. i bein' in a strange place don't know much bout what all i heard they done. "i don't vote. i don't know who to vote for, let people vote know how. "i get bout $ and some commodities. it sure do help me out too. i tell you it sure do." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: bell williams, forrest city, arkansas age: "we was owned by master rucker. it seems i was about ten years old when the civil war started. it seems like a dream to me now. mother was a weaver. they said she was a fine weaver. she wove for all on the place and some special pieces of cloth for outsiders. she wove woolen cloth too. i don't know whether they paid for the extra weaving or not. people didn't look on money like they do now. they was free with one another about eating and visiting and work too when a man got behind with the work. the fields get gone in the grass. sometimes they would be sick or it rained too much. the neighbor would send all his slaves to work till they caught up and never charge a cent. i don't hear about people doing that way now. "my parents was named clinton and billy bell. there was nine of us children. "i never seen nobody sold. mother was darker. papa was light--half white. they didn't talk in front of children about things and i never did know. i've wondered. "after freedom my folks stayed on at master rucker's. i got to be a midwife. i nursed and was a house girl after the war. then the doctors got to sending for me to nurse and i got to be a midwife. "my father was a good bible scholar. he preached all around murfreesboro, tennessee. he was a methodist. he died when he was seventy-seven years old. he had read the bible through seventy-seven times--one time for every year old he was." mrs. mildred thompson mrs. carol graham el dorado district federal writers project union county, arkansas charley williams, ex-slave. "mawnin' missy. yo say wha aint fanny whoolah live? she live right down de road dar in dat fust house. yas'm. dat wha she live. yo say whut mah name? mah name is charley. yas'm, charley williams. did ah live in slavery time? yas'm sho' did. mah marster wuz dr. reed williams and he live at kew london (se part of union county) or ah speck ah bettuh say near new london caise he live on de mere-saline road, de way de soldiers went and come. marster died befo' de civil wah. does ah membah hit? yas'm ah say ah does. ah wuz bo'n in . mah ole mutha died befo' de wah too. huh name wuz charity. mah young marster went tuh de wah an come back. he fit at vicksburg an his name wuz bennie williams. but he daid now tho. dere was a hep uv dem white william chillun. dere wuz miss narcissi an she am a livin now at stong. den dere's mr. charley. ah wuz named fuh him. he am a livin now too. den dere is mr. race williams. he am a livin at strong too. dere wuz miss annie, miss martha jane and miss madie. dey is all daid. when young marster would come by home or any uv de udder soldiers us little niggers would steal de many balls (bullets or shot) fum dey saddul bags and play wid em. ah nevah did see so many soldiers in mah life. hit looked tuh me like dey wuz enough uv em to reach clear cross de united states. an ah nevah saw de like uv cows as they had. dey wuz nuff uv em to rech clar to camden. is ah evah been mahried and does ah have any chillun? yes'm. yas'm. ah's been mahried three times. me an mah fust wife had seven chillun. when we had six chillun me and mah wife moved tuh kansas. we had only been der days when mah wife birthed a chile and her an de chile both died. dat left me wid carey dee, lizzie, arthur, richmond, ollie and lillie to bring back home. ah mahried agin an me an dat wife had one chile name robert. me an mah third wife has three: joe verna, lula mae an johnnie b. is dey hents? ah've hearn tell uv em but nevah have seed no hants. one uv mah friens whut lived on the hommonds place at hillsboro could see em. his name wuz elliott. one time me an elliott wuz drivin along an elliott said: "charley, somebody got hole uv mah horse!" sho nuff dat horse led right off inter de woods an comminced to buckin so elliott and his hoss both saw de haint but ah couldn' see hit. yo know some people jes caint see em. yas'm right up dere is wha aint fannie live. yas'm. goodday missy." folk customs we found fannie wheeler at home but not an ex-slave. she was making a bedspread of tobacco sacks. "yas'm chillun ah'm piecing mahsef a bedspraid from dese heah backy sacks. yas'm dey sho does make er nice spraid. see dat'n on mah baid. aint hit purty. hit wuz made fum backy sacks. don yo all think dat yaller bodah (border) set hit off purty? ah'm aimin to bodah dis'n wid pink er blue. what am dat up dar in dat picture frame? why dat am plaits of har (hair). hits uv mah kin and frien's. when we would move way off dey would cut off a plait and give hit tuh us tuh membah dem by. mos' uv dem is daid now but ah still membahs dem and ah kin name evah plait now." we were told that sallie sims was an old negress and went to see her she was not an ex-slave either but she told us an interesting little story about haints and body marks "no'm, ah'm purty ole but ah wuz bo'n aftuh surrender. is ah evah seen a hant? now ah nevah did but once and mah ma said dat wuz a hant. ah wuz out in de woods waukin (walking) an ah saw sumpin dat looked lak a squirrel start up a tree and de fudder up hit got the bigger hit got an hit wuz big as a bear when hit got to de top and ma said dat hit was a haint. dat is de only time ah evah seed one. now mah granchillun can all see hants and mah little great gran' chile too. an evah one uv dem wuz bo'n wid a veil ovah dey face. now when a chile is bo'n wid a veil ovah his face--if de veil is lifted up de sho can see hants and see evah thing but if'n de veil is pulled down stid up bein lifted up de won't see em. after de veil is pulled down an taken off, wrap hit up in a tissue paper and put hit in de trunk and let hit stay dar till hit disappear and de chile won't nevah see hants. mah grandaughter what lives up north in missouri come down heah to visit mah son's fambly an me ah an brang huh li'l boy wid huh. dat chile is bout seben years ole an dat chile could see hants all in de house an he wouldn' go tuh baid till his gran'pappy come home an went tuh baid wid him." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: charlie williams brassfield; ark. age: "i was born four miles from holly springs, mississippi. my parents was named patsy and tom williams. they had twenty children. nat williams and miss carrie williams owned them both. they had four children. "at freedom he was nice as could be--wanted em to stay on with him and they did. he didn't whip em. they liked that in him. his wife was dead and he come out to arkansas with us. he died at lonoke--mr. tom williams at lonoke. "i farmed nearly all my life. i worked on a steamboat on white river five or six years--_the ralph_. "i never saw a ku klux. mr. williams kept us well protected. "my mother's mother couldn't talk plain. my mother talked tolerably plain. she was a 'molly glaspy' woman. my father had a loud heavy voice; you could hear him a long ways off. "i have no home. i am a widower. i have no land. i get a small check and commodities. "i vote. i haven't voted in a long time. i'm not educated to know how that would serve us best." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: columbus williams temporary: howard street, little rock, arkansas permanent: box , route , ouachita county, stevens, arkansas age: "i was born in union county, arkansas, in , in mount holly. "my mother was named clora tookes. my father's name is jordan tookes. bishop tookes is supposed to be a distant relative of ours. i don't know my mother and father's folks. my mother and father were both born in georgia. they had eight children. all of them are dead now but me. i am the only one left. "old ben heard was my master. he come from mississippi, and brought my mother and father with him. they were in mississippi as well as in georgia, but they were born in georgia. ben heard was a right mean man. they was all mean 'long about then. heard whipped his slaves a lot. sometimes he would say they wouldn't obey. sometimes he would say they sassed him. sometimes he would say they wouldn't work. he would tie them and stake them out and whip them with a leather whip of some kind. he would put five hundred licks on them before he would quit. he would buy the whip he whipped them with out of the store. after he whipped them, they would put their rags on and go on about their business. there wouldn't be no such thing as medical attention. what did he care. he would whip the women the same as he would the men. "strip 'em to their waist and let their rags hang down from their hips and tie them down and lash them till the blood ran all down over their clothes. yes sir, he'd whip the women the same as he would the men. "some of the slaves ran away, but they would catch them and bring them back, you know. put the dogs after them. the dogs would just run them up and bay them just like a coon or 'possum. sometimes the white people would make the dogs bite them. you see, when the dogs would run up on them, they would sometimes fight them, till the white people got there and then the white folks would make the dogs bite them and make them quit fighting the dogs. "one man run off and stayed twelve months once. he come back then, and they didn't do nothin' to him. 'fraid he'd run off again, i guess. "we didn't have no church nor nothing. no sunday-schools, no nothin'. worked from monday morning till saturday night. on sunday we didn't do nothin' but set right down there on that big plantation. couldn't go nowhere. wouldn't let us go nowhere without a pass. they had the paterollers out all the time. if they caught you out without a pass, they would give you twenty-five licks. if you outrun them and got home, on your master's plantation, you saved yourself the whipping. "the black people never had no amusement. they would have an old fiddle--something like that. that was all the music i ever seen. sometimes they would ring up and play 'round in the yard. i don't remember the games. sing some kind of old reel song. i don't hardly remember the words of any of them songs. "wouldn't allow none of them to have no books nor read nor nothin'. nothin' like that. they had corn huskin's in mississippi and georgia, but not in arkansas. didn't have no quiltin's. women might quilt some at night. didn't have nothin' to make no quilts out of. "the very first work i did was to nurse babies. after that when i got a little bigger they carried me to the field--choppin' cotton. then i went to picking cotton. next thing--pullin' fodder. then they took me from that and put me to plowin', clearin' land, splittin' rails. i believe that is about all i did. you worked from the time you could see till the time you couldn't see. you worked from before sunrise till after dark. when that horn blows, you better git out of that house, 'cause the overseer is comin' down the line, and he ain't comin' with nothin' in his hand. "they weighed the rations out to the slaves. they would give you so many pounds of meat to each working person in the family. the children didn't count; they didn't git none. that would have to last till next sunday. they would give them three pounds of meat to each workin' person, i think. they would give 'em a little meal too. that is all they'd give 'em. the slaves had to cook for theirselves after they come home from the field. they didn't get no flour nor no sugar nor no coffee, nothin' like that. "they would give the babies a little milk and corn bread or a little molasses and bread when they didn't have the milk. some old person who didn't have to go to the field would give them somethin' to eat so that they would be out of the way when the folks come out of the field. "the slaves lived in old log houses--one room, one door, _one window_, one everything. there were _plenty windows_ though. there were windows all [hw: ?] around the house. they had cracks that let in more air than the windows would. they had plank floors. didn't have no furniture. the bed would have two legs and would have a hole bored in the side of the house where the side rail would run through and the two legs would be out from the wall. didn't have no springs and they made out with anything they could git for a mattress. master wouldn't furnish them nothin' of that kind. "the jayhawkers were white folks. they didn't bother we all much. that was after the surrender. they go 'round here and there and git after white folks what they thought had some money and jerk them 'round. they were jus' common men and soldiers. "i was not in the army in the war. i was right down here in union county then. i don't know just when they freed me but it was after the war was over. the old white man call us up to the house and told us now we was free as he was; that if we wanted to stay with him it was all right, if we didn't and wanted to go away anywheres, we could have the privilege to do it. "marriage wasn't like now. you would court a woman and jus' go on and marry. no license, no nothing. sometimes you would take up with a woman and go on with her. didn't have no ceremony at all. i have heard of them stepping over a broom but i never saw it. far as i saw there was no ceremony at all. "when the slaves were freed they expected to get forty acres and a mule. i never did hear of anybody gettin' it. "right after the war, i worked on a farm with ben heard. i stayed with him about three years, then i moved off with some other white folks. i worked on shares. first i worked for half and he furnished a team. then i worked on third and fourth and furnished my own team. i gave the owner a third of the corn and a fourth of the cotton and kept the rest. i kept that up several years. they cheated us out of our part. if they furnished anything, they would sure git it back. had everything so high you know. i have farmed all my life. farmed till i got so old i couldn't. i never did own my own farm. i just continued to rent. "i never had any trouble about voting. i voted whenever i wanted to. i reckon it was about three years after the war when i began to vote. "i never went to school. one of the white boys slipped and learned me a little about readin' in slave time. right after freedom come, i was a grown man; so i had to work. i married about four or five years after the war. i was just married once. my wife is not living now. she's gone. she's been dead for about twelve years. "i belong to the a.m.e. church and my membership is in the new home church out in the country in ouachita county." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: frank williams county hospital, ward eleven, little rock, arkansas age: , or more "i'm a hundred years old. i know i'm a hundred. i know from where they told me. i don't know when i was born. "i been took down and whipped many a time because i didn't do my work good. they took my pants down and whipped me just the same as if i'd been a dog. sometimes they would whip the people from saturday night till monday morning. "i run off with the yankees. i was young then. i was in the civil war. i don't know how long i stayed in the army. i ain't never been back home since. i wish i was. i wouldn't be in this condition if i was back home. "mississippi was my home. i come up here with the yankees and i ain't never been back since. laconia, mississippi was the place i used to be down there. i been wanting to go home, but i couldn't git off. i want to git you to write there for me. i belong to the baptist church. write to the elders of the church. i belong to the mission baptist church on the other side of rock creek here. "they just lived in log houses in slave time. "i want to go back home. they made me leave laconia. "pateroles!! oh, my god!!! i know 'nough 'bout them. child, i've heard 'em holler, 'run, nigger, run! the pateroles will catch you.' "the jayhawkers would catch people and whip them. "i would be back home yet if they hadn't made me come away. "they didn't have no church in slavery time. they jus' had to hide around and worship god any way they could. "i used to live in laconia. i ain't been back there since the war. i want to go back to my folks." interviewer's comment frank williams is like a man suffering from amnesia. he is the first old man that i have interviewed whose memory is so far gone. he remembers practically nothing. he can't tell you where he was born. he can't tell you where he lived before he came to little rock. only when his associates mention some of the things he formerly told them can he remember that little of his past that he does state in any remote approach to detail. there is a strong emotional set which relates to his slave time experiences. the emotion surges up in his mind at any mention of slave time matters. but only the emotion remains. the details are gone forever. names, times, places, happenings are gone forever. he does not even recall the name of his father, the name of his mother, or the name of any of his relatives or masters, or old-time friends. no single definite thing rises above the horizon of his mind and defines itself clearly to him. and always after every sentence he utters, there rises the old refrain: "i want to go back home. i wouldn't be in this condition if i was back home. i live in laconia. they made me come away." and that is the substance of the story he remembers. interviewer: thomas elmore lucy person interviewed: gus williams, russellville, arkansas age: "was you lookin' for me t'oder day? sure, my name's williams--gus williams--not wilson. dey gits me mixed up wid dat young guy, wilson. "yes, i remembers you--sure--talks to yo' brother sometimes. "i was born in chatham county, georgia--savannah is de county seat. my marster's name was jim williams. never seen my daddy cause de yankees carried him away durin' de war, took him away to de north. old marster was good to his slaves, i was told, but don't ricollect anything about em. of course i was too young. was born on christmas day, --but i don't see anything specially interestin' in bein' a christmas present; never got me nothin', and never will. "was workin' on wpa--this big tech. buildin'--but got laid off t'other day. "my mamma brought us to arkansas in , but we stopped and lived for several years in tennessee. worked for twelve years out of memphis on the old anchor line steamboats on de mississippi, runnin' from st. louis to n'orleans. plenty work in dem days. "no, i ain't voted in a long time; can't afford to vote because i never have the dollar. no dollar--no vote. depression done fixed my votin'. "jest me and my wife, but it takes pluggin' away to get along. we belongs to the c.m.e. church since . i was janitor at the west ward school for seven years, and sure liked dat job. "don't ask me anything about dese boys and gals livin' today. much difference in dem and de young folks livin' in my time as between me and you. no dependence to be put in em. my _estimony_ is dat de black servants today workin' for de whites learns things from dem white girls dat dey never knowed before, and den goes home and does things dey never done before. "don't ricollect many of de old-time songs, but one was somep'n like--"am i born to die?" and--oh, yes,--lots of times we sung 'amazin' grace, how sweet de soun' dat saves a _race_ like me.' "no suh, i ain't got no education--never had a chance to git one." note: the underscored words are actual quotations. "estimony" for "opinion" was a characteristic in gus' vocabulary; "race" for the original "wretch" in the song may have been a general error in some local congregations. interviewer: pernella m. anderson person interviewed: henrietta williams b. avenue, el dorado, arkansas age: about "i am about years old. i was born in georgia down in the cotton patch. i did not know much about slavery, for i was raised in the white folks' house, and my old mistress called me her little nigger, and she didn't allow me to be whipped and drove around. i remember my old master whipped me one time and old mistress fussed with him so much he never did whip me any more. "i never had to get out and do any real hard work until i was nearly grown. my mother did not have but one child. my father was sold from my mother when i was about two years old and he was carried to texas and i did not see him any more until i was years old. so my mother married again when she was set free. i didn't stay with my mother very much. she stayed off in a little log house with a dirt floor, and she cooked on the fireplace with a skillet and lid, and the house had one window with a shutter. she had to cut logs and roll them like a man and split rails and plow. i would sometimes ask old mistress to let me go out where my mother was working to see her plow and when i got to be a big girl about nine years she began learning me how to plow. "i often told the niggers the white folks raised me. the niggers tell me, 'yes, the white folks raise you but the niggers is going to kill you.' "after freedom my mistress and master moved to louisiana. they farmed. they owned a big plantation. i did the housework. "the biggest snow i remember was the big centennial snow. oh, that's been years ago. the snow was so deep you couldn't get out of the house. the boys had to take the shovel and the hoe and keep the snow raked away from around the door. "there was a big old oak tree that stood in the corner of the yard. people say that tree was a hundred years old. we could not get no wood, so master had the boys to cut the big old oak tree for wood. "rabbits had a scant time. the boys would go out and track six or eight rabbits at a time. we had rabbits of all descriptions. we had rabbits for breakfast, rabbits for dinner, rabbits for supper time. we had fried rabbits, baked rabbits, stewed rabbits, boiled rabbits. had rabbits, rabbits, rabbits the whole six or eight weeks the snow stayed on the ground. "i remember when i was about twelve years old a woman had two small children. she went away from home and for fear that the children would get hurt on the outside she put them in the house and locked the door. in some way they got a match and struck it and the house caught fire. all the neighbors were a long ways off and by the time they reched the house it had fallen in. finally the mother came and looked for her children and asked the neighbors did they save them. they said no, they did not know they were in the house. in fact they were too late anyway. so the fire was still hot and they had to wait for the ashes to cool and when the ashes got cool they went looking for the children and found the burned buttons that were on their little clothes, so they began raking around in the ashes and at last found each of their little hearts that had not burned, but the little hearts were still jumping and the man who found the hearts picked them up in his hand and stood speechless. he became so nervous he could not move. their little hearts just quivered. they let their hearts lay out for a couple of days and when they buried their hearts they was still jumpin'. that was a sad time. from that day to this day i never lock no one up in the house." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: henry andrew (tip) williams biscoe, arkansas age: born in , "i was born three and one-half miles from jackson, north carolina. i was born a slave. i was put to work at six years old. they started me to cleaning off new ground. i thinned corn on my knees with my hands. we planted six or seven acres of cotton and got four or five cents a pound. balance we planted was something to live on. my master was jason and betsy williams. he had a small plantation; the smaller the plantation the better they was to their slaves. "jim johnson's farm joined. he had nine hundred ninety-nine niggers. it was funny but every time a nigger was born one died. when he bought one another one would die. he was noted as having nine hundred ninety-nine niggers. it happened that way. he was rough on his place. he had a jail on his place. it was wood but close built. couldn't get out of there. put them in there and lock them up with a big padlock. he kept a male hog in the jail to tramp and walk over them. they said they kept them tied down in that place. five hundred lashes and shot 'em up in jail was light punishment. they said it was light brushing. i lived up in the piney woods. it was big rich bottom plantations from weldon bridge to halifax down on the river. they was rough on 'em, killed some. no, i never seen jim johnson to know him. he lived at edenton, north carolina. i recollect mighty well the day he died we had a big storm, blowed down big trees. that jail was standing when i come to arkansas forty-seven years ago. it was a 'bill brew' (stocks) they put men in when they put them in jail. turned male hog in there for a blind. "part of jim johnson's overseers was black and part white. hatterway was white and nat was black. they was the head overseers and both bad men. i could hear them crying way to our place early in the morning and at night. "lansing kahart owned grandma when i was a little boy. "they took hands in droves one hundred fifty miles to richmond to sell them. richmond and new orleans was the two big selling blocks. my uncle was sold at richmond and when i come to arkansas he was living at helena. i never did get to see him but i seen his two boys. they live down there now. i don't know how my uncle got to helena but he was turned loose down in this country at 'mancipation. they told me that. "when a man wanted a woman he went and axed the master for her and took her on. that is about all there was to it. no use to want one of the women on jim johnson's, debrose, tillery farms. they kept them on their own and didn't want visitors. they was big farms. kershy had a big farm. "the yankees never went to my master's house a time. the black folks knowd the yankees was after freedom. they had a song no niggers ever made up, 'i wanter be free.' "my master was too old to go to war but bill went. i think it was better times in slavery than now but i'm not in favor of bringing it back on account of the cruelty and dividing up families. my master was good to us. he was proud of us. we fared fine. he had a five or six horse farm. his land wasn't strong but we worked and had plenty. mother cooked for white and colored. we had what they et 'cepting when company come. when they left we got scraps. then when christmas come we had cakes and pies stacked up setting about for us to cut. they cut down through a whole stack of pies. cut them in halves and pass them among us. we got hunks of cake a piece. we had plain eating er plenty all the time. you see i'm a big man. i wasn't starved out till i was about grown, after the war was over. times really was hard. hard, hard times come on us all. "mama got one whooping in her life. i seen that. jason williams whipped only two grown folks in my life, mama and my brother. mama sassed her mistress or that what they called it then. since then i've heard worse jawing not called sassing, call it arguing now. sassing was a bad trait in them days. brother was whooped in the field. he was seven years older than me. i didn't see none of that. they talked a right smart about it. "the williams was good to us all. master's wife heired two women and a girl. mama cooked, ironed, and worked in the field in time of a push (when necessary). "i was hauling for the rebel soldiers one rainy evening. it was dark and lightning every now and then. general ransom was at the hotel porch when sherman turned the bend one mile to come in the town. it was about four o'clock in the evening i judge. general ransom's company was washing at boom's mill three miles. about one thousand men was out there cooking and in washing, resting. general ransom went hollering, 'yankees!' went to his men. they got away i reckon. sherman killed sixty men in that town i know. general ransom went on his horse hollering, 'yankees coming!' he went to his home eight miles from there. they went on through rough as could be. "i hauled when it was so dark the team had to take me in home at night. my circuit was ten miles a day. "my young master bill williams come in april soon as he got home and told us we was free but didn't have to leave. we stayed on and worked. he said he had nothing but the land and we had nothing. at the end of the year he paid off in corn and a little money. us boys left then and mother followed us about. we ain't done no better since then. we didn't go far off. "forty-seven years ago i went to weldon, north carolina in a wagon, took the train to gettysburg and from there come to biscoe, arkansas. i been about here ever since. mr. biscoe paid our way. we worked three years to pay him back. i cleared good money since i cone out here. i had cattle i owned and three head of horses all my own. age crept up on me. i can't work to do much good now. i gets six dollars--welfare money. "times is a puzzle to me. i don't know what to think. things is got all wrong some way but i don't know whether it will get straightened out or not. folks is making the times. it's the folks cause of all this good or bad. people not as good as they was forty years ago. they getting greedy." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: james williams, brinkley, arkansas age: "i come from close to montgomery, alabama. man named john g. elliott sent and got a number famlees to work his land. he was the richest man in them parts round fryers point, mississippi. i was born after the civil war. they used to say we what was raisin' up havin' so much easier time an what they had in slavery times. that all old folks could talk about. said the onlies time the slaves had to comb their hair was on sunday. they would comb and roll each others hair and the men cut each others hair. that all the time they got. they would roll the childerns hair or keep it cut short one. saturday mornin' was the time the men had to curry and trim up the horses and mules. clean out the lot and stalls. the women would sweep and scour the floors for sunday. "i haven't voted for a long time. it used to be some fun votin'. din in mississippi the whites vote one way and us the other. my father was a republican. i was too. "i have cataracts growing on my eyes. that hinders my work now. i got a little garden. it help out. i ain't got no propety no kind. "the young folks seem happy. i guess they gettin' long fine. some folks jes' lucky bout gettin' ahead and stayin' ahead. i can't tell no moren nothin' how times goiner serve this next generation they changein' all time seems lack. if the white folks don't know what goiner become of the next generation, they need not be asking a fellow lack me. i wish i did know. "i ain't been on the pwa. i don't git no help ceptin' when i can work a little for myself." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: john williams county hospital, ward , little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in in texas right in the city of dallas right in the heart of the town. after the war our owners brought us back to little rock. that is where they left from. they left here on account of the war. they run off their slaves to keep the yankees from freeing them. all the old masters were dead. but the young ones were louis fletcher, john fletcher, dick fletcher, jeff fletcher, and len fletcher. five brothers of them. their home was here in little rock. the war was going on. it went on four years and prior to the end of it i was born. "my mother's name was mary williams. my father's name was john williams. i was named after him. "it is funny how they changed their names. now, his name was john scott before he went into the army. but after he went in, they changed his name into john williams. "his master's name was scott but i don't know the other part of it. all five of the brothers was named for their mother's masters. she raised them. she always called all of them master. 'cordin' to what i hear from the old folks, when one of them come 'round, you better call him master. "in slave time, my father was a field hand, i know that. but i know more about my mother. i heard her say she was always a cook. "i heard her speak about having cruel treatment from her first masters; i don't know who they were. but after the fletchers bought them, they had a good time. they come all the way out of louisiana up here. my mother was sold from her mother and sister-sold some two or three times. she never did get no trace of her sister, but she found her grandmother in baton rouge, louisiana and brought her here. her sister's name was fannie and her grandmother's name was crecie lander. that is an indian name. i couldn't understand nothing she would say hardly. she was bright. all my folks were bright but me. my mother had hair way down her shoulders and you couldn't tell my uncle from a dago. my grandmother was a regular indian color. she spoke indian too. you couldn't understand nothing she said. "when i woke up, they had these homemade beds. i couldn't hardly describe them, but they put the sides into the posts with legs. they were stout things too what i am talkin' 'bout. they made cribs for us little children and put them under the bed. they would pull the cribs out at night and run them under the bed during the day. they called them cribs trundles. they called them trundles because they run them under the bed. for chairs and tables accordin' to what i heard my mother say, she was cook and they had everything in the big house and et pretty much what the white folks et. but we just had boxes in the cabins. "them that was in the white folks' house had pretty good meals, but them that was in the field they would feed just about like they would the hogs. they had little wooden trays and they would put little fat meat and pot-liquor and corn bread in the tray, and hominy and such as that. biscuits came just on sunday. "they had old ladies to cook for the slave children and old ladies to cook for the hands. what was in the big house stayed in the big house. all the slave men ate in one place and all the slave women ate in one place. they weren't supposed to have any food in their homes unless they would go out foraging. sometimes they would get it that way. they'd go out and steal ol' master's sweet potatoes and roast them in the fire. they'd go out and steal a hog and kill it. all of it was theirn; they raised it. they wasn't to say stealin' it; they just went out and got it. if old master caught them, he'd give 'em a little brushin' if he thought they wouldn't run off. lots of times they would run off, and if he thought they'd run off because they got a whippin', he was kinda slow to catch 'em. if one run off, he'd tell the res', 'if you see so and so, tell 'im to come on back. i ain't goin' to whip 'im.' if he couldn't do nothin' with 'em, he'd sell 'em. i guess he would say to hisself, 'i can't do nothin' with this nigger. if i can't do nothing with 'im, i'll sell him and git my money outa him.' "i have heard my mother say that some of the slaves that ran away would get destroyed by the wild animals and some of them would even be glad to come back home. right smart of them got clean away and went to free states. "after the war was over, they all was brought back here and the owners let them know they was free. they had to let them know they were free. i never heard my mother tell the details. i never heard her say just who brought her word or how it was told to her when they was freed. "i never heard her say much about the church because she was a sinner. after they was freed, i would go many a night and set down in a corner where they was having a big dance. "the pateroles and jayhawkers were bad. many of them got hurt too. they tried to hurt the niggers and sometimes the niggers hurt them. "right after the war, my folks farmed for a living. they farmed on shares. they didn't have nothing of their own. they never did get nothing out of their work. i know they didn't get a thing. they farmed at first about seven miles out from little rock, below fourche dam on the fletcher place. there ain't but one of the fletchers living now, and that is molly daniels. she is old louis fletcher's daughter. all their brothers is dead. she's owning all the land now we used to till. it's over a thousand acres. she [hw: mother] stayed down there for about twenty or thirty years. then she moved here to town. here she cooked for white folks. my mother died about forty years ago--forty-two or three years; she's been dead sometime. my wife has been dead now for twelve years. "i didn't get but a little schooling, for my father used to send me after the mules. one day the wheelbarrow had a load of bricks on it. it was upset. they had histed the bricks up on a high platform. it turned over as i was passing underneath, and one fell on me and struck my head. it was a long time after that before they would let me go to school again. after that i never got used to studying any more. "my first teacher was lottie andrews (charlotte stephens). i had some more teachers too. lemme see--professor fish was a white man. we had colored teachers under him. then we had r.b. white. he was reuben white's brother. r.b. white's wife was a teacher. professor fish was the superintendent. there ain't no truth to the tale that reuben white was put in a coffin before he was dead. reuben white built the first baptist church here and milton white built a big church in helena. they were brothers. them was two sharp darkies. "when i first started working, i drove teams. i raised crops a while and farmed. then i left the country and come to town and got up to be a quarry man for years. then i quit that and went to driving teams for the merchant transfer company for years. then i quit that and run on the road--the mountain--for four years. then i taken a coal chute on the rock island and run it for four years. then i quit and went to working as an all-'round man in the shop. i stayed with them about nine years. then i taken down in the shape that i am now. "i have been out here to this hospital for twenty-four years going on twenty-five. been down so that i couldn't hit a lick of work for twenty-five years. i have been in this building for eleven years. i get along tolerable fair. as the old man says, we can just live. "i think the young people are going wild and if something isn't done to head them off pretty soon, they'll go too far. they ain't looking at what's going on up the road; they just call theirselves having a good time. they ain't looking to have nothing. they ain't looking to be nothing. they ain't looking to get nothing for the future. don't know what they would do if they had to work part of the time for nothing like we did. i see men working now for ten dollars a month. i could take a fishing line and go fishing and beat that when i was young. times is getting back almost as hard as they used to be. "i am a christian. i belong to shiloh baptist church in north little rock. i helped build that church. brother hawkins was the pastor." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lillie williams, madison, arkansas age: "i was born some place down in mississippi. my papa's papa come from georgia. he had a tar kiln; he cut splinters put them on it. it would smoke blackest smoke and drip for a week. he used it to grease the hubs of the wagons. we drunk pine tar tea for coughs. he split rails, made boards and shingles all winter. he had a draw-knife, a mall and wedges to use in his work. he learned that where he come from in georgia. he sold boards, pailings when i can recollects. grandma made tallow candles for everybody on our place in the fall when they killed the first yearling. they cooked up beeswax when they robbed bees. when i was a child i picked up pine knots for torches to quilt and knit by. we raised everything we lived on. i pulled sage grass to cure for brooms. grandpa planted some broom corn and we swept the yards and lots with brooms made out of brush. "grandma kept a barrel to make locust and persimmon beer in. we dried apples and peaches all summer and put chinaberry seed 'mongst them to keep out worms. "if we rode to church, it was in a steer wagon (ox wagon). our oxen named buck, brandy barley. "grandma raised me, two more girls, and a boy. mama worked out. our pa died. mama worked 'mongst the white folks. grandma was old-timey. she made our dresses to pick cotton in every summer. they was hot and stubby. they looked pretty. we was proud of them. mama washed and ironed. she kept us clean, too. grandma made us card and spin. i never could learn to spin but i was a good knitter. i could reel. i did love to hear it crack. that was a cut. we had a winding blade. we would fill the quills for our grandma to weave. grandma was mighty quiet and particular. she come from kenturkey. we all ploughed. i've ploughed and ploughed. "i had three little children to raise and now i have nine grandchildren. i got five here now to look after when their mother is out at work. i have worked. we farmed in up till and got this house paid out. (fairly good square-boxed, unpainted house--ed.) "my mother-in-law was sold in aberdeen, mississippi on a tall stump. she clem up a ladder. her ma was at the sale and said she was awful uneasy. but she was sold to folks close by. she could go to see her. "freedom come on. the colored folks slip about from place to place and whisper, 'we goiner be set free.' i think my mama left at freedom and come to twenty or twenty-two miles from oxford, mississippi. i don't know where i was born. but in mississippi somewheres. "there is something wrong about the way we are doing somehow. it is from hand to mouth. we buys too many paper sacks. they say work is hard to get. one thing now didn't used to be, you have to show the money before you can buy a thing. seem like we all gone money crazy. automobiles and silk stockings done ruined us all. white folks ought to straighten this out." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mary williams, clarendon, arkansas age: born light color "my father was a slavery man two and one-half miles from somerville, tennessee. colonel rivers owned him. argile rivers was papa's name. "he went to war. his job was hauling food to the soldiers. he lay out in the woods getting to his soldiers with provisions. he'd run hide under the feed wagon from the shot. him and old master would be together sometimes. his master died, or was hurt and died after the war a long while. "he said his master was good to him all time. they had to work hard. he raised one boy and me." [hw: ex-slave] name of interviewer: irene robertson subject: ex-slave--herbs "hant" experiences story:--information this information given by: mary williams place of residence: hazen, arkansas occupation: field worker age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] mary williams mother's name was mariah and before she married her master forced her to go wrong and she had a son by him. they all called him jim rob. he was a mulatta. then mariah married williams on general garretts farm. the rob roy farm and the garrett farm joined. mary was born at rob roy, arkansas near humphrey. mary said the master married her mother and father after her mother was stood up on a stump and auctioned off. her mother was a house girl. soon there were rumors of freedom but their family lived on where they were. her father said when he was a boy he attended the draw bars and met the old master to get a ride up behind him. once when her father was real small he was eating biscuit with a hole in it made by a grown person sticking finger down in it, then fill the hole with molasses. that was a rarity they had just cooked molasses. he was sitting in front of the fire place. big white bobby stuck his nose and mouth to take a bite of his bread. he picked the cat up and threw it in the fire. the cat ran out, smutty, just flying. the old mistress came in there and got after him about throwing the cat in the fire. one time when my father was going to see my mother. before they got married, across the field. he had a bag of potatoes. he felt something, felt like some one had caught his bag and was pulling him back. he was much off a man and thought he could whip nearly every body around but he was too scared to run and couldn't hardly get away. * * * * * mary's mother, mariah two children had been gone off. they were coming in on the boat some time in the night. the master sent two of the big boys down to build a fire and wait at the landing till they came. they went in the wagon. there was an old empty house up on the hill. so they went up there and built a fire and put their quilts down for pallets by the fire place. they heard hants outside, they peeped out the log cracks. they saw something white out there all the doors were buttoned and propped. when the boat came it blew and blew. the master wondered what in the world was the matter down there. the captian said he hated to put them out and nobody to meet them. it was after midnight. so some of the boat crew built them a fire and next morning when they got up on the hill they noticed somebody asleep as they peeped through the cracks and called them. saw their wagon and knew it too. they said they was afraid of them hants around the house, too afraid to go down to the boat landing if they did hear the boat. hants can't be seen in daytime only by people "what born with veils over their faces." her father was going to mill to have corn ground. it was before day light. he was driving an ox wagon. in front of him he saw a sweet maple limb moving up and down over the road in front of him. he went on and the ox butted and kicked at it and it followed them nearly to the mill. it sounded like somebody crying. it turned and went back still crying. her father said there were hants up in the tree and cut the limb off and followed him carrying it between themselves so he couldn't see what they looked like. * * * * * it is a sign of death for a hoot owl to come hollow in your yard. * * * * * interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mary williams north hickory, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes mam, i sure would be glad to talk to you 'bout slavery times. i can sure tell about it--i certainly can, lady. "i am so proud 'bout my white folks 'cause they learned me how to work and tell the truth. i had a good master and mistress. yes'm, i sure did. "i was borned in middle georgia and i just love the name of georgia. i was the second born of 'leven children and they is all dead 'cept me--i'm the only one left to tell the tale. "when the ginnin' started i was always glad 'cause i could ride the crank they had the mules hitched to. and then after the cotton was ginned they took it to the press and you could hear that screw go z-m-m-m and dreckly that 'block and tickle' come down. yes mam, i sure did have good times. "you ain't never seen a spinnin' wheel has you? well, i used to card and spin. i never did weave but i hope dye the hanks. they weaved it into cloth and called it muslin. "i can 'member all i want to 'bout the war. i 'member when the yankees come through georgia. i walked out in the yard with 'em and my white people just as scared of 'em as they could be. i heered the horses feet, then the drums, and then 'bout twenty-five or thirty bugles. i was so amazed when the yankees come. i heered their songs but i couldn't 'member 'em. "one thing i 'member jest as well as if 'twas this mornin'. that was the day young master henry lee went off to war. elisha pearman hired him to go and told him that when the war ceasted he would give him two or three darkies and let him marry his daughter. young master henry (he was just eighteen) he say he goin' to take old lincoln the first thing and swing him to a limb and let him play around awhile and then shoot his head off. but i 'member the morning old mistress got a letter that told how young master henry was in a pit with the soldiers and they begged him not to stick his head up but he did anyway and they shot it off. old mistress jest cry so. "one thing i know, the yankees took a lot of things. i 'member they took mrs. fuller to the well and said they goin' hang her by the thumbs--but they just done it for mischievous you know. they didn't take nothin' from my white people 'cept some chickens and a hog, and cut down the hams. they put the old rooster in the sack and he went to squawkin' so they took him out and wrung his neck. "my white people used to carry me with 'em anywhere they go. that's how come i learn so much. i sure did learn a heap when i was small. i 'member the first time my old mistress and my young mistress carried me to church. when the preacher got through preachin' (he was a big fine lookin' man with white gray hair) he come down from the pulpit and say 'come to me, you sinners, poor and needy.' and he told what jesus said to nicodemus how he must be born again. i wanted to go to the mourners' bench so bad, but old mistress wouldn't let me. when i got home i told my mother to borned me again. you see i was jest little and didn't know no better. "i never seen no ku klux but i could have. they never bothered us but they whipped the shirttails off some of 'em. some darkies is the meanest things god ever put breath in. "most generally the white folks was good to their darkies. my young master used to sneak out his blue back speller and learned my father how to read, and after the war he taught school. he started me off and then a teacher from the north come down and taught us. "i've done pitty near every kind a work there is to do. there is some few white people here can identify me. i most always work for 'ristocratic people. it seems that was just my luck. "i don't think nothin' of this here younger generation. they ain't nothin' to 'em. they say to me 'why don't you have your hair straightened' but i say 'i've got along this far without painted jaws and straight hair.' and i ain't goin' wear my dresses up to my knees or trail 'em in the mud, either. "i been married four times and every one of 'em is dead and buried. my las' husband was in the spanish-american war and now i gets a pension. yes'm it sure does help. "i only had two children is all i is had. they is both dead and when god took my last one, i thought he wasn't jest but i see now god knows what's best cause if i had my grandchildren now i'd sure beat 'em. i'd love 'em, but i sure wouldn't let 'em run around. "the biggest part of these niggers puts their mistakes on the white folks. it's easier to do right than wrong cause right whips wrong every time into a frazzle. "i don't read much now since my eyes ain't so good but tell me whatever become of teddy roosevelt? "i'm sorry i can't offer you no dinner but i'm just cookin' myself some peas. "well, lady, i sure am glad you come. i jest knew the lord was goin' send somebody for me to talk to. i loves to talk so well. good bye and come back again sometime." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mary williams hickory, pine bluff, arkansas age: [tr: apparently a second interview with same person despite age discrepancy.] "yes ma'am, i know all about slavery. i'll be eighty-four the twenty-fifth of this month. i was born in . "my mother had eleven children and they all said i could remember the best of all. i'm the second oldest. and they all dead but me. "i used to spin and on friday i'd set aside my wheel and on saturday morning we'd sweep yards. and saturday evening was our holiday. "i belonged to the lees and my white folks was good to me. i was the aptest one among 'em, so they'd give me a basket and a ginger cake and i'd go to the presly's after squabs. they'd be just nine days old 'cause they said if they was any older they'd be tough. "now, when the yankees come through ever'body was up in the house 'cept me. i was out in the yard with the yankees. no, i wasn't scared of 'em--i had better sense. "this is all the 'joyment i have now is to think back in slavery times. "in slavery times white folks used to carry me to church. they'd carry me to church in preference to anybody else. when they'd sing i'd be so happy i'd hop and skip. i'm one of the stewardess sisters of st. john's methodist church. we takes care of the sacrament table. "i believe in visions. i'm a great revisionist. i don't have to be asleep either. now if i see a vision of a black snake, it's a sign i got a black enemy. and if it's a light colored snake, it's a sign i got a white enemy. and if it's a kinda of a yellow snake, i got a enemy is a yellow nigger. "now, here's a true sign of death. if you dream of seen' nakedness, somebody sure goin' to die in your family or maybe your neighbors'. "in slavery times they mostly wove their own dresses. wove goods called muslin. "and they wore bonnets in slavery times made out of bull rush grass. called 'em bull rush bonnets. i knowed how to weave but they had me spinnin' all the time. "i've always worked for the 'ristocrat white people--lawyers, doctors, and bankers. mr. frank head was cashier of that old merchant and planters bank. he was a northern man. oh, from away up north. "when i cooked, the greatest trouble i had was gettin' away. nobody wanted me to leave. and i tell you those northern ladies wanted to call me mrs. williams. i'd say, 'don't do that. you know these southern people don't like that--don't believe in that.' but you know she would call me miss mary. but i said, 'don't do that.' "i'm just an old darky and can't 'spress myself but i try to do what's right and i think that's the reason the lord has let me live so long." interviewer's comment husband was a soldier in the spanish-american war and she receives a pension. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: rosena hunt williams r.f.d., brinkley, arkansas age: "my mother was amanda mcvey. she was born two years, six months after freedom in corinth, mississippi. my father was born in slavery. grandma lived with us at her death. her name was emily mcvey. she was sold in her girlhood days. uncle george was sold to a man in the settlement named lee. his name was joe lee (lea?). another of my uncles was sold to a man named washington. his name was george washington. they were sold at different times. being sold was their biggest dread. some of them wanted to be sold trusting to be treated better. "mother and grandma didn't have a hard time like my father said he come up under. he said he was brought up hard. he was raised (reared) at jackson, tennessee. he was never sold. master alf hunt owned him and his young master, willie hunt, inherited him. he said they never put him in the field till he was twelve years old. he started ploughing a third part of a day. a girl about grown and another boy a little older took turns to do a 'buck's' (a grown man) work. they was lotted of a certain tract and if it stay clear a certain time to get it all done. he said they got whooped and half fed. when the war was on, his white folks had to half feed their own selves. he talked like if the war had lasted much longer it would been a famine in the land. he hit this world in time to have a hard time of it. after freedom was worse time in his life. "in august when the crops was laid by master hunt called them to the house at one o'clock by so many taps of the farm bell. it hung in a great big tree. he read a paper from his side porch telling them they free. they been free several months then and didn't a one of them know it." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: "soldier" williams, forrest city, arkansas age: "my name is william ball williams iii. i was born in greensburg. my owners was robert and mary ball. they had four children i knowd. old man ball bought ma and two children for one thousand five hundred dollars. i never was sold. i want to live to be a hundred years old. i'm ninety-eight years old now. "ma was margarett ball. pa was william anderson. ma was a cook and pa a field hand. they whooped a plenty on the place where i come up. some of 'em run off. some they tied to a tree. bob ball didn't use no dogs. when they got starved out they'd come outen the woods. of course they would. bob ball raised fine tobacco, fine negroes, fine horses. he made us go to church. four or five of us would walk to the white folks' baptist church. the master and his family rode. it was a good piece. we had dances in the cabins every once in a while. we dance more in winter time so we could turn a pot down in the door to drown out the noise. we had plenty plain grub to eat. "i run away to louisville to j'ine the yankees one day. i was scared to death all the time. they put us in front to shield themselves. they said they was fighting for us--for our freedom. piles of them was killed. i got a flesh wound. i'm scarred up some. we got plenty to eat. i was in two or three hot battles. i wanted to quit but they would catch them and shoot them if they left. i didn't know how to get out and get away. i mustered out at jacksonville, florida and walked every step of the way back. when i got back it was fall of the year. my folks still at my master's. i was on picket guard at jacksonville, florida. we fought a little at pensacola, florida. "at the end of the war provisions got mighty scarce. if we didn't have enough to eat we took it. they hadn't raised nothing to eat the last two years. before i got back to kentucky the ku klux was about and it was hard to get enough to eat to keep traveling on. i was scared nearly to death all the time. i'm not in favor of war. i didn't stay on with the master but my folks lived on. they didn't want to hire negro soldiers. i traveled about hunting a good place and got to osceola, arkansas. i been here in forrest city twenty ard years. the best people in the world live in arkansas. "i'm going to try to go to the yankee reunion. they sent me a big letter (invitation). they going to send me a ticket and pay all my expenses. it is at gettysburg. it is from june th to july th. my grandson is going to take care of me. "i get one hundred dollars a month pension. it keeps us mighty well. i want to live to be a hundred years old." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: anna williamson, holly grove, arkansas age: between and "grandma come from north carolina. her master was rodes herndon, then cager booker. he owned my mama. my name is anna booker. i married wes williamson. "my papa's master was calvin winfree. he come from virginia. me and bert winfree (white) raised together close to somerville, tennessee. "grandma and grandpa was named maria and allen. her master was rodes herndon. i was fourth to the oldest of mama's children. she give me to grandma. that who raised me. mama took to the field after freedom. mama had seven or eight children. "mama muster been a pretty big sorter woman when she young. a ridin' boss went to whoopin' her once and she tore every rag clothes he had on offen him. i heard em say he went home strip start naked. i think they said he got turned off or quit, one. "when mama was in slavery she had three girl babies and long wid them she nursed some of the white babies. she cooked some but wasn't the regular white folks' cook. another black woman was the regular cook. i heard her say she was a field hand mostly durin' slavery. "folks was free two or three years fore they knowed it. nobody told em. "i used to have to go up the road to get milk for the old mistress. she boxed my ears. that when i was a child reckly after the war. "they had a latch and a hart bar cross the door. i never was out but once after dark. i never seen no ku klux. my folks didn't know they was free. "dr. washington lived in somerville, tennessee and brought us to arkansas to farm. he owned acres and acres of land here. i was grown and had a house full of children. i got five living now. "i don't vote. i don't know who to vote for. i would vote for the worst kinder officers maybe and i wouldn't wanter make times harder on us all 'an they is. "i been cookin' and farmin' all my life. now i get $ a month from the sociable welfare. "i used to pick up chips at mrs. willforms--pick up a big cotton basket piled up fore i quit. i seen the yankees, they camped at the fair grounds. i thought they wore the prettiest clothes and the brass buttons so pretty on the blue suits. i hear em beat the drum. i go peep out when they come by. "my old mistress slapped me till my eye was red cause one day i says 'ain't them men pretty?' they camped at what is now the fair grounds at somerville, tennessee, at sorter right of town. my papa was a ox driver. that is all he done bout. seem like there was haulin' to be done all the time. "the folks used to be heap better than they is now. some of the masters was mean to the slaves but they mortally had plenty to eat and wear and a house to live in. some of the houses was sorry and the snow come in the cracks but we had big fire places and plenty wood to cook and keep warm by. the children all wore flannel clothes then to keep em warm. they raised sheep. "it is a shame what folks do now. these young darky girls marries a boy and they get tired each other. they quit. they ain't got no sign of divorce! course they ain't never been married! they jes' take up and live together, then they both go on livin' with some other man an' woman. it ain't right! folks ain't good like they used to be. we old folks ain't got no use for such doin's. they done too smart to be told by us old folks. i do best i can an' be good as i knows how to be. "the times is fine as i ever seen in my life. i wish i was young and strong. i wouldn't ask nobody for sistance. tey ain't nuthin' wrong wid this year's crop as i sees. times is fine." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: callie halsey williamson, biscoe, arkansas age: ? "mother was born in alabama during slavery. her name was levisa halsey. neither of my parents were sold. mother was tranferred (transferred) to her young mistress. she had no children and still lived in the home with her people. her mother, emaline, was the cook. master bradford owned grandmother and grandfather both and my own father all. mother was the oldest and only child. "i don't know whether they was mean to all the slaves or not. seems they were not to my folks. the old man died sometime before freedom. the young master went to get a overseer. he brought a new man to take his own place. he whooped grandma and auntie and cut grandma's long hair off with his pocket-knife. "during that time grandpa slip up on the house top and take some boards off. grandma would sit up in her bed and knit by moonlight through the hole. he had to put the boards back. she had to work in the field in daytime. "during the war they were scared nearly to death of the soldiers and would run down in their master's big orchard and hide in the tall broom sage. they rode her young master on a rail and killed him. a drove of soldiers come by and stopped. they said, 'young man, can you ride a young horse?' they gathered him and took him out and brought him in the yard. he died. they hurt him and scared him to death. "another train come and loaded up all the slaves and somehow when freedom come on, my folks was here at arkadelphia. they said they lived in fear of the soldiers all the time. "mother said a woman come first and stuck a flag out a upstairs window and the yankees shot the guns off and some of them made talks on freedom to the negroes and white folks. they seen that at arkadelphia. "mama, grandma, and grandpa started on their way back home following soldier camps. they never got back to their homes. they never did like the yankees and grieved about the way they done their young master. he was like one of my father's own children. they seen hard times after freedom. it was hard to live and they was used to work but they had a good living. they had to die in arkansas. how come i'm here now." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: charlotte willis, madison, arkansas age: "grandpa said he walked every step of the way from old virginia to mississippi. they camped at night, cooked and fed them. they didn't eat no more till they camped next night. they was walked in a peart pace and the guards and traders rode. they stop every now and then for to be cried off and some more be took on. "grandpa said he didn't wanter be sold but they never ax 'em no diffurence. sold 'em and took 'em right along. they better keep their feelings hid, for them traders was same kind er stock these cattle men is today judging from the way he say it was then. grandpa loved virginia long as he have breath in him. "we used to sing 'old virginia nigger say he love hot mush; alabama nigger say, good god, nigger, hush.' (she sang it very fast and in a fashion negroes only can do--ed.) he wore a big straw hat and he'd get up and fan us out the way. "grandma was brought from south carolina by the willises to mississippi. i heard her say her and him was made to jump over the broom. called that getting 'em married. grandpa said that was the way white folks had of showing off the couples. then it would be 'nounced from the big house steps they was man and wife. sometimes more than two be 'nounced at the gatherin'. "they had good times sometimes. they talked 'bout corn shuckings, corn shellings, cotton traumpin's, (packing cotton in wagon beds by walking on it over and over, she said--ed.) and dances. "mother said she never was sold. she b'long to the willises in mississippi. "i reckon i sure do 'members my grandpa and grandma bof. seventeen of us all lived at grandpa wash hollivy's home. he was paying on it and died. the house have three rooms in it. in the fall of the year grandma took all the rancid grease and skins and get the drippings from the ash hopper and make soap 'nough to do 'er till sometime next year. she made it in the iron washpot. he raised meat to do us till sometime next year. we never run short on nothing to eat. "we never had but 'bout two dresses at the same time. when i come on, dresses was scarce. if we tore our dresses, we wore patches. we was sorter 'shamed to have our dresses patched up. "i heard 'em say grandpa's house was guarded to keep off the ku kluck one night. they come all right 'nough but went to another house. they started whooping. the guards left grandpa's house and went down there and shot into them. some of them was killed and the horses run off. some run off quick and got out the way. i never caught on to what they guarded grandpa for. "i had one girl baby what died. i been married once in my life. we rents our house. i never 'plied to the welfare yit. we been farming my enduring life. still farming; i says we is. "old folks give out and can't run on wid the work. young folks no 'count and works to sorter git by their own selfs. way i see it. we got so far off the track and can't git back. starve 'fore we git back like we used to be. we used to git credit. now there ain't no place to git it. we down and can't git up. way i sees it. young generation is so uneasy, ain't still a minute. they wanter be going all the time. they don't marry; they goes lives together. then they quits and take up wid somebody else. i don't know what make 'em do thater way. that the way the right young ones doing now. "my pa looked on me when i was three days old and left us. i ain't never seen him since." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: ella wilson mcgowan street, little rock, arkansas age: claims "i was born in atlanta, georgia. i don't remember the month. but when the civil war ceased i was here then and sixteen years old. i'm a hundred years old. some folks tries to make out like it ain't so. but i reckon i oughter know. "the white folks moved out from georgia and went to louisiana. i was raised in louisiana, but i was born in georgia. i have had several people countin' up my age and they all say i is a hundred years old. i had eight children. all of them are free born. four of them died when they were babies. i lost one just a few days ago. "i had such a hard time in slavery. them white folks was slashing me and whipping me and putting me in the buck, till i don't want to hear nothin' about it. "an old man named dr. polk got a dime from me and said it was for the old age pension. he lived in magnolia, arkansas. they ran him out of magnolia for ruining a colored girl and i don't know where he is now. i know he got ten cents from me. "the first work i ever did was nursing the white children. my old mis' called me in the house and told me that she wanted me to take care of her children and from then till freedom came, i stayed in the house nursing. i had to get up every morning at five when the cook got up and make the coffee and then i had to go in the dining-room and set the table. then i served breakfast. then i went into the house and cleaned it up. then i 'tended to the white children and served the other meals during the day. i never did work in the fields much. my old mars said i was too damned slow. "they carried me out to the field one evening. he never did show me nor tell me how to handle it and when i found myself, he had knocked me down. when i got up, he didn't tell me what to do, but when i picked up my things and started droppin' the seeds ag'in, he picked up a pine root and killed me off with it. when i come to, he took me up to the house and told his wife he didn't want me into the fields because i was too damned slow. "my mars used to throw me in a buck and whip me. he would put my hands together and tie them. then he would strip me naked. then he would make me squat down. then he would run a stick through behind my knees and in front of my elbows. my knees was up against my chest. my hands was tied together just in front of my shins. the stick between my arms and my knees held me in a squat. that's what they called a buck. you could [tr: sic: couldn't] stand up an' you couldn't git your feet out. you couldn't do nothin' but just squat there and take what he put on you. you couldn't move no way at all. just try to. you jus' fall over on one side and have to stay there till you turned over by him. "he would whip me on one side till that was sore and full of blood and then he would whip me on the other side till that was all tore up. i got a scar big as the place my old mis' hit me. she took a bull whip once--the bull whip had a piece of iron in the handle of it--and she got mad. she was so mad she took the whip and hit me over the head with the butt end of it, and the blood flew. it ran all down my back and dripped off my heels. but i wasn't dassent to stop to do nothin' about it. old ugly thing! the devil's got her right now!! they never rubbed no salt nor nothin' in your back. they didn't need to. "when the war come, they made him serve. he would go there and run away and come back home. one day after he had been took away and had come back, he was settin' down talkin' to old mis', and i was huddled up in the corner listenin', and i heered him tell her, 'tain't no use to do all them things. the niggers'll soon be free.' and she said, 'i'll be dead before that happens, i hope.' and she died just one year before the slaves was freed. they was a mean couple. "old mars used to strip my sister naked and make her lay down, and he would lift up a fence rail and lay it down on her neck. then he'd whip her till she was bloody. she wouldn't get away because the rail held her head down. if she squirmed and tried to git loose, the rail would choke her. her hands was tied behind her. and there wasn't nothin' to do but jus' lay there and take it. "i am almost a stranger here in little rock. my father was named lewis hogan and i had one sister named tina and one named harriet. his white folks what he lived with was mrs. thomas. he was a carriage driver for her. pleas collier bought him from her and took him to louisiana. all the people on my mother's side was left in georgia. my grandmother's name was rachel. her white folks she lived with was named dardens. they all lived in atlanta, georgia. i remember the train we got on when we left georgia. grandma rachel had one daughter named siney. siney had a son named billie and a sister named louise. and my grandmother was free when i first got big enough to know myself. i don't know how come she was free. that was a long time before the war. the part of georgia we lived in was where chestnuts grow, but they wasn't no chinkapins. all my grandmother's people stayed in atlanta, and they were living at the time i left there. "my mother's name was dinah hogans and my father's name was lewis hogans. i don't know where they were borned. but when i knowed him, they was in georgia. my mother's mars bought my father 'cause my mother heard that collier was goin' to break up and go to louisiana. my father told his mars that if he (collier) broke up and left, he never would be no more good to him. then my mother found out what he said to collier, so she told her old mis' if collier left, she never would do her no more good. you see, my mother was give to mrs. collier when old darden who was mrs. collier's father died. so collier bought my father. collier kept us all till we all got free. white folks come to me sometimes about all that. "you jus' oughter hear me answer them. i tells them about it just like i would colored folks. "'them your teeth in your mouth?' "'whose you think they is? suttinly they're my teeth.' "'ain't you sorry you free?' "'what i'm goin' to be sorry for? i ain't no fool.' "'how old is you?' "i tells them. some of 'em want to argue with me and say i ain't that old. some of 'em say, 'well, the lawd sure has blessed you.' sure he's blessed me. don't i know that? "i've seen 'em run away from slavery. there was a white man that lived close to us who had just one slave and he couldn't keep him out the woods to save his soul. the white man was named jim sales and the colored boy was named--shucks, i can't remember his name. but i know jim sales couldn't keep that nigger out the woods nohow. "i was freed endurin' the civil war. we was in at dinner and my old mars had been to town. old man pleas collier, our mean mars, called my daddy out and then he said, 'all you come out here.' i said to myself, 'i wonder what he's a goin' to do to my daddy,' and i slipped into the front room and listened. and he said, 'all of you come.' then i went out too. and he unrolled the government paper he had in his hand and read it and told us it meant that all of us was free. didn't tell us we was free as he was. then he said the government's going to send you some money to live on. but the government never did do it. i never did see nobody that got it. did you? they didn't give me nothin' and they didn't give my father nothin'. they just sot us free and turned us loose naked. "right after they got through reading the papers and told us we was free, my daddy took me to the field and put me to work. i'd been workin' in the house before that. "then they wasn't payin' nobody nothin'. they just hired people to work on halves. that was the first year. but we didn't get no half. we didn't git nothin'. just time we got our crop laid by, the white man run us off and we didn't get nothin'. we had a fine crop too. we hadn't done nothin' to him. he just wanted all the crop for hisself and he run us off. that's all. "well, after that my daddy took and hired me out up here in arkansas. he hired me out with some old poor white trash. we was livin' then in louisiana with a old white man named mr. smith. i couldn't tell what part of louisiana it was no more than it was down there close to homer, about a mile from homer. my mother died and my father come and got me and took me home to take care of the chillen. "i have been married twice. i married first time down there within four miles of homer. i was married to my first husband a number of years. his name was wesley wilson. we had eight children. my second husband was named lee somepin or other. i married him on thursday night and he left on monday morning. i guess he must have been taking the white folks' things and had to clear out. his name was lee hardy. that is what his name was. i didn't figure he stayed with me long enough for me to take his name. that nigger didn't look right to me nohow. he just married me 'cause he thought i was a working woman and would give him money. he asked me for money once but i didn't give 'im none. what i'm goin' to give 'im money for? that's what i'd like to know. "after my first husband died, i cooked and went on for them white folks. that was the only thing i could do. i was cooking before he died. i can't do no work now. i ain't worked for more than twenty years. i ain't done no work since i left magnolia. "i belong to the collins street baptist church--nichols' church. "i don't git no pension. i don't git nothin'. i been down to see if i could git it but they ain't give me nothin' yit. i'm goin' down ag'in when i can git somebody to carry me." interviewer's comment ella wilson insists that she is one hundred years old and that she was born sixteen years before freedom. the two statements conflict. from her appearance and manner, either might be true. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: robert wilson west pullen street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "my name is robert wilson. i was born in halifax county, virginia. how old am i? accordin' to my recollection i was twenty-three years old befo' the war started. old master tole me how old i was. i'm a hundred and one now. yes'm i _knows_ i am. "yes'm i been sold. they put us up on the auction block jest like we was a hoss. they put me up and white man ax 'who want to buy this boy?' one man say 'ten dollars' and then they run it up to a hundred. and they buy a girl to match you and raise you up together. when you want to get married you jump over the broomstick. i used to weigh one hundred and fifty-six pounds and a half, standin' weight. i could pick four and five hundred pounds of cotton in a day. "when the yankees come, old master make us boys take the sack of money and hide it in the big pond. yes'm, we drove the buggy right in the water. "durin' the time of the war i used to ride 'long side of the yankees. they give me a blue coat with brass buttons and a blue cap and brass-toed boots. i used to saddle and curry the bosses. i member company fifth and sixth. "they tole us the war was to make things better. we didn't know we was free till 'bout six months after the war was over. i didn't care whether i was free or not. "'bout slavery--well, i thinks like this. i think they fared better then. they didn't have to worry 'bout spenses. we had plenty chicken and everything. nowdays when you pay the rent you ain't got nothin' left to buy somethin' to eat. "yes'm, i been to school. i'se a preacher (showing me his certificate of ordination). i lives close to the lord. the lord done left me here for a purpose. "when we used to pray we put our heads under the wash pot to keep old master from hearin' us. old master make us put the chillun to bed fo' dark. i 'member one song he make us sing-- 'down in mobile, down in mobile how i love dat pretty yellow gal, she rock to suit me-- down in mobile, down in mobile.' "you 'member when grant took the fort at vicksburg? i 'member he and that general on the white hoss--yes'm, general lee, they eat dinner together and then after dinner they go to fightin'. "oh lord! don't talk about them ku klux. "cose i believes in spirits. don't you? well you ain't never been skeered. "after freedom my folks refugeed from virginia to tennessee so i went to memphis. we got things from the bureau. yes, lord! i had everything i wanted. i wouldn't care if that time would come back now. "'did you ever vote?' me? yes'm i voted. never had no trouble 'tall. i voted for garfield. i 'member when garfield was shot. i was settln' out in the yard. the moon was in the 'clipse. i'll never forget it. "i think the colored folks should have a legal right to vote, cause if ever they come another war--now listen--them darkies ain't never goin' to france again. the nigger ain't got no country--this is white man's town. "what i been doin' since the war? well, i'm a good cook. when i puts on the white apron, i knows what to do. then i preaches. the lord done revealed things to me. "i'll tell you 'bout this younger generation. they is goin' to destruction. they is not envelopin (developing) their education. "well i done tole you all i know. guess i tole you 'bout a book, ain't i?" interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: tom windham, missouri, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was twenty-one years old when the war was settled. my mother and my grandmother kep' my age up and after the death of them i knowed how to handle it myself. "my old master's name was butler and he was pretty fair to his darkies. he give em plenty to eat and wear. "i was born and raised in indian territory and emigrated from there to atlanta, georgia when i was about twelve or thirteen. we lived right in atlanta. i cleaned up round the house. yes ma'm, that's what i followed. when the yankees come to atlanta they just forced us into the army. after i got into the army and got used to it, it was fun--just like meat and bread. yankees treated me good. i was sorry when it broke up. when the bugle blowed we knowed our business. sometimes, the age i is now, i wish i was in it. father abraham lincoln was our president. i knowed the war was to free the colored folks. i run away from my white folks is how come i was in the yankee army. i was in the artillery. that deefened me a whole lot and i lost these two fingers on my left hand--that's all of my joints that got broke. "before the war my white folks was good to us. i had a better time than i got now. "my father and mother was sold away from me, but old mistress couldn't rest without em and went and got em back. they stayed right there till they died. us folks was treated well. i think we should have our liberty cause us ain't hogs or horses--us is human flesh. "when i was with the yankees, i done some livin'. "i went to school two months in my life. i should a gone longer but i found where i could get next to a dollar so i quit. if i had education now it might a done me some good. "i used to be in a brass band. i like a brass band, don't make no difference where i hear it. "there was one song we played when i was in the army. it was: 'rasslin jacob, don't weep weepin' mary, don't weep. before i'd be a slave i'd be buried in my grave, go home to my father and be saved.' the rebels was hot after us then. another one we used to sing was: 'my old mistress promised me when she die, she'd set me free.' "after the war i continued to work around the white folks and yes ma'm, i seen the ku klux many a time. they bothered me sometimes but they soon let me alone. they was a few yankees about and they come together and made the ku klux stay in their place. "one time after the war i went to ohio and stayed three months but it was too cold for me. man i worked for was named harper and as good a man as ever broke a piece of bread. "i come back south and learned how to farm. i been here in this country of arkansas a long time. i hoped clean up this place (pine bluff) and make a town of it. "i got a daughter and two sisters alive in africa today--in liberia. i went there after we was free. i liked it. just the thoughts of bein' where christ traveled--that's the good part of it. they furnished us transportation to go to africa after the war and a lot of the colored folks went. i come back cause i had a lot of kin here, but i sent my daughter and two sisters there and they're alive there today." folklore subjects interviewer: bernice bowden subject: apparitions this information given by: tom windham place of residence: missouri st. pine bluff, ark. occupation: none (age ) [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] "yes ma'm, i believe in spirits--you got two spirits--one bad and one good, and when you die your bad spirit here on this earth. now my mother comes to see me once in awhile at night. she been dead till her bones is bleached, but she comes and tells me to be a good boy. i always been obedient to old and young. she tell me to be good and she banish from me. my grandmother been to see me once. old father abraham lincoln, i've seen him since he been dead too. i got a gun old father abraham give me right out o' his own hand at vicksburg. i'm goin' to keep it till i die too. yes ma'm, i know they is spirits." pine bluff district folklore subjects name of interviewer: martin - barker subject: ex-slave story. information by: tom windham place of residence: georgia st. age: [tr: information moved from bottom of second page.] my master was an indian. lewis butler of oklahoma. i was born and raised in muskogee, okla. all of marse butler's people were creek indians. they owned a large plantation and raised vegetables. they lived in tepees, had floors and were set on a lot and a wall boarded up around them. this was done so that they could hide the slaves they had stolen. i was twelve or thirteen years old, when the indians had a small war. they wouldn't allow us to fight. if we did, we were punished. they had a place and made us work. i went to school two months also a little at night. cant read nor write. i am all alone now here in america. i have a daughter in ethiopia, teaching school, also two sisters. i served in several wars and i have been to ethiopia. we left monroe, la., took water, then went back by gun-boat to galveston. the government took us over and brought us back. after the civil war was over the indians let the slaves go. i had an indian wife and wore indian dress and when i went to milford, tenn., i had to send the outfit home to okla. i had long hair until . my indians believed in our god. they held their meetings in a large tent. they believed in salvation and damnation, and in heaven and hell. my idea of heaven is that it is a holy place with god. we will walk in heaven just as on earth. as in him we believe, so shall we see. the earth shall burn, and the old earth shall pass away and the new earth will be created. the saints will return and live on, that is the ones who go away now. the new earth is when jesus will cone to earth and reign. every one has two spirits. one that god kills and the other an evil spirit. i have had communication with my dead wife twice since i been in pine bluff. her spirit come to me at night, calling me, asking whar wuz baby? that meant our daughter whut is across the water. my first wifes name was arla windham. my second wife was just part indian. i have seen spirits of friends just as they were put away. i shore believe in ghosts. their language is different from ours. i knew my wife's voice cause she called me "tommy". interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: alice wise indiana street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in south carolina, and i sent and got my age and the man sent me my age. he said he remembered me. he said, 'you married marcus wise. i know you is seventy-nine 'cause i'm seventy-four and you're older'n me. why, i got a boy fifty-three years old. "we belonged to daniel draft. his wife was named maud. and my father's people was named wesley caughman and his wife was catherine caughman. "i can recollect hearin' the folks hollerin' when the yankees come through and singin' this old cornfield song 'i'm a goin' away tomorrow hoodle do, hoodle do.' that's all i can recollect. "i can recollect when we moved from the white folks. my father driv' a wagon and hauled lumber to columbia from lexington. "i don't know how old i was when i come here. my age got away from me, that's how come i had to write home for it, but i had three chillun when i come to this country; i know that. "i went to school a little, but chillun in them days had to work. i was always apt about washin' and ironin' and sewin' and so if anybody was stopped from school i was stopped. i used to set pockets in pants for mama. in them days they weaved and made their own. "they'd do better if they had a factory here now. things wouldn't be so high. "oh lord, yes, i could knit. i'd sit up some nights and knit a half a sock and spin and card. "my mother's boys would card and spin a broach when they wasn't doin' nothin' else, but nowadays you can't get 'em to bring you a bucket of water. "they say they is weaker and wiser, but i say they is weaker and foolisher. that's what i think. you know they ain't like the old folks was. folks works nowadays and keeps their chillun in school till they're grown, and it don't do 'em much good-some of 'em." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: frank wise, victory street, little rock, arkansas age: to birth and parents "i was born in burch county, georgia, in . i came to this state in ; i think i was about sixteen years old then. "my father was named jim wise and my mother was named harriet wise. my father belonged to the wises, and my mother to the crawfords. they didn't live on the same plantation. when they married, she was a crawford. her old master was named jim crawford. i don't know how she and my father happened to meet up. wise and crawford had adjoining plantations. both of them was in burch county. my father's father was named jacob wise and his mother was named martha. i don't remember the names of their master. i don't remember the names of my mother's people. war memories "i remember the year the war ended. i remember when the yankees came on the place that day the war ended. we children was all settin' out in the yard. some of them ran under the house when they saw the soldiers. they were shooting the chickens and everything, taking the horses, and anything else they thought they could use. they said to the old lady, 'lemme kill them little niggers.' old miss said, 'no, wait till you set them free.' he said, 'no, when we set them free, we ain't goin' to kill them.' they got around in the house, under the house, and in the yard. they asked the old lady, 'where is the horses?' she said, 'i don't know.' they said, 'go down in the woods and get them.' somebody went down and brought back a mare and a mule and a colt. they knocked the colt in the head and shot him. they took the mare and the mule. they took all the meat out of the smokehouse. they didn't set us free, and they didn't tell us anything about freedom. not then. how freedom came "i don't remember how we got the news of freedom. i don't remember what the slaves expected to get. i don't know what they got, if they got anything. i don't remember nothin' about that. schooling "i went to school about eight days. that's all the schooling i ever got. i had a brother and sister who went to school, but i never went much. i went to school what little i did right here in lonoke county, arkansas. my teacher was tom fuller. he was a colored man. he came from down in texas. i learned everything i know by watching people and listenin' to them. occupational experiences "the first thing i ever did was farming. i farmed all up till . i worked on steamboat till , and then i went out railroading. i worked at that a long time. i married in . i was about twenty-seven years old then, and a few months over. "while i was farming, i did some sharecropping, but i never got cheated out of anything. ku klux "i remember the folks had been off to see their people and the ku klux taken the stock while they were gone. i don't remember the ku klux klan interfering with the negroes much. i never saw them. voting "i never voted till cleveland began his campaign for president. i voted for eight presidents. nobody ever bothered me about it. family "there were six children in my mother's family. my father had six brothers. he made the seventh. i had nine children in all. four of them are living now. one is here; one, in st. louis; and two, in chicago. my boy is in chicago. opinions "the majority of the young people are just growing up. lots of them are not getting any raising at all." interviewer's comment wise is between eighty-one and eighty-five years old. the data he gives conflict, some of it indicating the earlier and some of it later years. he doesn't talk much and has to be pumped. he doesn't lose the thread of the discourse. his failure to talk on details of his early life seem to the interviewer due to unwillingness rather than lack of memory. while his age is advanced, his mind is sharp for one who has had such limited training. he has no definite means of support, but states that he has been promised a pension in september--he means old age assistance. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lucy withers, brinkley, arkansas age: i was born - / miles from abbeville, south carolina, in sight of little mountain. i do remember the civil war. i never seen them fight. they come to about twenty or thirty miles from where i lived. they didn't bother much in the parts where i lived. all the white men folks went to war. my mama's master was edward roach and his wife was miss sarah roach. my papa's master was peter radcliff and miss nancy radcliff. they give me to her niece, miss jennie shelitoe. when she married she wanted me. after freedom i married. in we come to a big farm close to pine bluff. then we lived close to memphis and i been living here in brinkley a long time. the ku klux put down a governor in south carolina right after the war. they rode everywhere night and day scaring everybody. they wouldn't let no colored people hold office. that governor was a colored man. the ku klux whipped both black and white folks. they run the yankees plumb out er that country. no sir ree i never voted and i ain't never goner vote! women is tearing dis world up. the ex-slaves was told that they would got things, different things. i don't know what all. i know they didn't got nothing and when freedom came they took their clothes and left. they scattered out and went to different places. it was hard to get work and there was no money cept what the yankees give em. when they all got run off there was no money. my husband was a yankee soldier and he decided he wanter come to this country. we come on the train and on the boat to pine bluff. we farmed. i got three children but just two living. one boy lives at fargo and the girl lives at chicago. my husband died. me and my sister lives here. i bought a place with my pension money. that since my husband died. the present times is hard. i don't know nithin about these young folks. i tends to my own business. i ain't got nothing to do with the young folks. i don't know what causes the times to be so hard. folks used to wear more clothes than they do and let colored folks have more ironing and bigger washings too. the washings bout played out. some few folks hire cooks. i farmed and washed and ironed and i have cooked along some here in brinkley. i am supported by my pension my husband left me. it ain't much but i make out with it. it is union soldiers pension. [hw: hot springs] interviewer: mary d. hudgins person interviewed: anna woods, grand avenue "yes ma'am. come on in. is you taking lists of folks for old age pensions? can you tell us what we going to get and when it's going to come? no? then--oh, i see you is writing us up. well maybe that will help us to get attention. cause we sure does need the pension. to be sure i remembers slave days. my grandmother--she was give away in the trading yard. she was aflicted. what was the matter with her? was she lame? no ma'am, she had the scrofula. so her mother was sold away from her, but she was give away. she was give away to a woman named glover. mrs. glover was a old woman when i knowed her. she was an old, old woman. she sort of studied before she'd say anything. she was a pretty good old woman though, mrs. glover was. she wouldn't let her colored folks be whipped. she wouldn't let me work in the field. old donovan wanted me to work in the field--but she wouldn't let him make me. donovan was mary's husband. mary was mrs. glover's girl's girl. mrs. glover's girl was named kate. mrs. glover had a whole flock of slaves. my mother and another woman named sallie cooked and did the washing. fannie, she was my sister, was old mrs. glover's maid. robert and sally and lucy--they was my brother and sisters--all of them worked in the field. they had to begin early and work late. they got them out way fore day. they worked them til dark. i remembers that sally and lucy used to wear boots and roll their skirts up nearly to their waistses. why--well you see sometimes it was muddy. did we raise rice--no, ma'am. we mostly raised corn and cotton, like everybody else. we lived near natchez. no ma'am, i never see but one colored person whipped. his name was robert. they laid him down on his stomach to whip him. never did hear what he had done. maybe he run off. they usually whipped them for that. no ma'am. i was right. mrs. glover didn't let her colored folks be whipped. robert, you see, was donovan's man. he didn't belong to mrs. glover. her folks never got whipped. maybe robert run off. i don't know. the folks did one thing special to keep them from running. they fastened a sort of yoke around they necks. from it there run up a sort of piece and there was a bell on the top of that. it was so high the folks who wore it couldn't reach the bell. but if they run it would tinkle and folks could find them. i don't quite know how it worked--i just slightly remembers. no, ma'am, i was just sort of a little girl before the war. you might say i was never a slave. cause i didn't have to work. mrs. glover wouldn't let me work in the field and i didn't have much work to do in the house either. mrs. glover was an old widow woman, but she was shore good. miss kate was her onliest child. kate's daughter was named mary. was i afraid of the soldiers? no ma'am. i wasn't. lots of them that came through were colored soldiers. i remember that they wore long tailed coats. they had brass buttons on they coats. but we had to move from natchez. first the soldiers run us off to tennisaw parish--an island there." (a check on maps in the atlas of encyclopedia britannica reveals a tenses parish, louisiana--across the river and a few miles north of natchez.) "we couldn't even stay there. they drove us along, and finally we wound up in texas. we wasn't there in texas long when the soldiers marched in to tell us that we was free. seems to me like it was on a monday morning when they come in. yes, it was a monday. they went out to the field and told them they was free. marched them out of the fields. they come a'shouting. i remembers one woman, she jumped up on a barrell and she shouted. she jumped off and she shouted. she jumped back on again and shouted some more. she kept that up for a long time, just jumping on a barrell and back off again. yes ma'am, we children played. i remembers that the grown folks used to have church--out behind an old shed. they'd shout and they'd sing. we children didn't know what it all meant. but every monday morning we'd get up and make a play house in an old wagon bed--and we'd shout and sing too. we didn't know what it meant, or what we was supposed to be doing. we just aped our elders. when the war was over my brother, he drove the carriage, he drove the white folks back to natchez. but we didn't go--my family. we stopped part way to natchez. never did see miss kate or mrs. glover again. never did see them again. lots later my brother learned where we was. he came back for us and took us to natchez. but we never did see mrs. glover again. i lived on in natchez. i worked for white folks--cooked for them. i did a lot of traveling. even went up into virginia. traveled most of the time. i'd go with one family and when we'd get back, there'd be another one who wanted me to go and take care of their children. been in hot springs since . worked for dr. ---- first. stayed right in the house. never did see such fine folks as dr. ----" (prominent local surgeon) "and his wife. then i worked for mr. ----" (prominent realtor) "yes, and i's worked at the army and navy hospital too. mighty nice up there. worked in the officer's mess--finest place up there. i's worked for the officers too. then i's worked for the levi hospital. worked for lots of folks. i's worked for lots of folks and in lots of places. but i haven't got anything now. how soon do you think they will begin paying us? i get just $ from the county every month. $ of that goes for my house. folks gives me clothes, but if they'd only give me groceries too, i could get along. when do you think they will begin to pay us?" interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: cal woods; r.f.d., biscoe, arkansas age: ? "i don't know zactly how old i is. i was good size boy when the war come on. we all belonged to a man named john woods. we lived in south carolina during slavery. slavery was prutty bad itself but the bad time come after the war. the land was hilly some red and some pore and sandy. had to plough a mule or horse. hard to make a living. some folks was rich, had heap of slaves and some bout one family. small farmer have acres and one family of slaves. when a man had one or two slave families he treated em better an if he had a great big acreage and fifteen or twenty families. the white folks trained the black man and woman. if he have so many they didn't learn how to do but one or two things. mas generally they all worked in the fields in the busy seasons and sometimes the white folks have to work out there too. sometimes they get in debt and have to sell off some slave to pay the debt. "things seemed heap mo plentiful. before the war folks wore fine clothes. they go to their nearest tradin point and sell cotton. they had fine silk clothes and fine knives and forks. they would buy a whole case o cheese at one time and a barrel of molasses. folks eat more and worked harder than they do now. "some folks was mean to their slaves and some slaves mean. it is lack it is now, some folks good no matter what dey color, other folks bad. black folks never knowed there was freedom till they was fighting and going to war. some say they was fightin to save their slaves, some say the union broke. the slave never been free since he come to dis world, didn't know nuthin bout freedom till they tole em bout it. "i recollect bout the ku klux after the war. some folks come over the country and tell you you free and equal now. they tell you what to do an how to run the country and then if you listen to them come the ku klux all dressed half mile down the road. that ku klux sprung up after the war bout votin an offis-holdin mong the white folks. the white folks ain't then nor now havin no black man rulin over him. them ku klux walked bout on high sticks and drink all the water you have from the spring. seem lack they meddled a whole heap. course the black folks knowed they was white men. they hung some slaves and white yankees too if they be very mean. they beat em. hear em hollowing and they hollow too. they shoot all directions round and up an down the road. that's how you know they comin close to yo house. if you go to any gatherins they come break it up an run you home fast as you could run and set the dogs on you. course the dogs bite you. they say they was not goiner have equalization if they have to kill all the yankees and niggers in the country. the masters sometime give em a home. my mother left john woods then. the family went back. he give her an my papa twenty acres their lifetime. where dey stayed on the old folks had a little at some places. they didn't divide up no plantations i ever heard of. they never give em no mules. if some tole em they would i know they sho didn't. didn't give em nuthin i tell you. my mother's name was sylvia and papa's name was hack woods. "i come to arkansas so my little boys would have a home. i had a little home an sold it to come out here. agents come round showin pictures how big the cotton grow. they say it grow like trees out here. the children climb the stalks an set on the limb lack birds to pick it. they show pictures like that. cotton basket way down under it on the ground. see droves of wild hogs coming up, look big as mules. men ridin em. no i didn't know they said it was so fine. we come in freight cars wid our furniture and everything we brought. we had our provision in baskets and big buckets. it lasted till we passed atlanta. we nearly starved the rest of the way. when we did stop you never hear such a hollein. we come two days and nights hard as we could come. we stayed up and eat, cooked meat an eggs on the stove in the store till daybreak. then they showed us wha to go to our places the next day. i been here ever since. "i hab voted. i done quit lettin votin bother me up. all i see it do is give one fellow out of two or three a job both of them maybe ought to have. the meanest man often gets lected. it the money they all after not the work in it. i heard em say what all they do and when they got lected they forgot to do all they say they would do. "i never knowed bout no slave uprisins. thed had to uprose wid rocks an red clods. the black man couldn't shoot. he had no guns. they had so much work they didn't know how to have a uprisin. the better you be to your master the better he treat you. the white preachers teach that in the church." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: maggie woods, brassfield, ark. deaner farm. age: "my parents was fannie and alfred douglas. they had three children, then he died and my mother married a man name thompson. my parents belong to the douglasses at summerville, tennessee. they had six children in their family. "i was born the second year of the surrender that make me seventy years old. my folks was all field hands. they was all pure african stock. all black folks like me. grandma liney douglass said she was sold and grandpa was sold too. my own parents never was sold. the douglass men-folks whooped the slaves but they was good masters outside of that. "they would steal off and have preachin' at night. had preachin' nearly all night sometimes. they'd hurry and get in home fore the day be breakin'. from the way they talked they done more prayin' than preachin'. "whenever they be sick they would send to the douglasses to know what to do. they would take them up to their house and doctor them or come down to the quarters and wait on whoever be sick. they had some white doctors about but not near enough. they trained black women to be midwives. "i think my folks had enough to eat and clothes too i recken. they eat meat to give them strength to work. my old stepdaddy always make us eat piece of meat if we eat garden stuff. he say the meat have strength in it. cornbread, meat, peas and potatoes used to be the biggest part of folks livin' in olden days. they had plenty milk. "children when i come on didn't have no use for money. we eat molasses. had a little candy once in a while. that be the best thing santa claus would bring me. we get ginger cakes in our new stockings too. santa claus been comin' ever since i been in the world. seem like christmas never would come round agin. it don't seem near so long now. "i was too young to know about freedom. we was livin' on douglas farm when george flenol (white) come and brought us to indian bay. we worked on dick mayo's place. i don't know what they expected from freedom but i'm pretty sure they never got nothing. "when the black folks come free then the ku klux took it up and made 'em work and stay at home. i heard that some folks wanted to stay in the road all the time. the ku klux nearly scared me to death to see pass by. they never did bother us. "i don't vote. don't know nothing about it. i don't like the way that is fixed for us to live now. we pay house rent and works as day laborers. it makes the work too heavy at some times and no work to do nearly all the time. it is making times hard. cotton and corn choppin' time and cotton pickin' time is all the times a woman like me can work. i raised a shoat. i got no room for garden and chickens. "i got one girl, she way from here, she sent me $ . for my christmas. "the young generation is weaker in body than us old folks has been. they ain't been raised to hard work and they don't hold out. "that is salve i'm making. what do it smell like? it smell like chitlings. in that sack is the inside of the chitlings (hog manure). i boil it down and strain it, then boll it down, put camphor gum and fresh lard in it, boil it down low and pour it up. it is a green salve. it is fine for piles, rub your back for lumbago, and swab out your throat for sore throat. it is a good salve. i had a sore throat and a black woman told me how to make it. it cures the sore throat right now. "i live on what i am able to work and make. i never have got no help from the government." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: sam word, missouri street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i'm a sure enough arkansas man, born in arkansas county near de witt. born february , , and belonged to bill word. i know marmaduke come down through arkansas county and pressed bill word's son tom into the service. "i 'member one song they used to sing called the 'bonnie blue flag.' 'jeff davis is our president and lincoln is a fool; jeff davis rides a fine white horse while lincoln rides a mule.' 'hurrah! hurrah! for southern rights, hurrah! hurrah for the bonnie blue flag that bears a single star!'" (the above verse was sung to the tune of "the bonnie blue flag." from the library of southern literature i find the following notation about the original song and its author, harry mccarthy: "like dixie, this famous song originated in the theater and first became popular in new orleans. the tune was borrowed from 'the irish jaunting car', a popular hibernian air. harry mccarthy was an irishman who enlisted in the confederate army from arkansas. the song was written in . it was published by a.e. blackmar who declared general ben butler 'made it very profitable by fining every man, woman, or child who sang, whistled or played it on any instrument twenty-five dollars.' blackmar was arrested, his music destroyed, and a fine of five hundred dollars imposed upon him.") "i stayed in arkansas county till . i was about seven years old and we moved here to jefferson county. then my mother married again and we went to conway county and lived a few years, and then i come back to jefferson county, so i've lived in jefferson county sixty-eight years. "in conway county when i was a small boy livin' on the milton powell place, i 'member they sent me out in the field to get some peaches about a half mile from the slave quarters. it was about three o'clock, late summer, and i saw something in the tree--a black lookin' concern. seem like it got bigger the closer i got, and then just disappeared all of a sudden and i didn't see it go. i know i went back without any peaches. "and another thing i can tell you. in the spring of the year we was hoein' and when they quit at night they'd leave the hoes in the field, stickin' down in the ground. and next morning they wouldn't be where you left 'em. you'd have to look for 'em and they'd be lyin' on top of the ground and crossed just like sticks. "i'll tell you what i do know. when we was livin' in conway county old man powell had about ten colored families he had emigrated from jefferson county. our folks was the only colored people in that neighborhood. and he had a white man that was a tenant on the place and he died. now my mother and his wife used to visit one another. in them days the white folks wasn't like they are now. and so mother went there to sit up with his wife. and while she was sittin' up the house was full of people--white and colored. they begin to hear a noise about the coffin. so they begin to investigate the worse it got and moved around the room and it lasted till he was took out of the house. now i've heard white and colored say that was true. they never did see it but they heard it. "i don't think there is any ghosts now but they was in the past generation. "i know many times me and my stepfather would be pickin' cotton and my dog would be up at the far end of the row and just before dark he'd start barkin' and come towards us a barkin' and we never could see anything. he'd do that every day. it was a dog named natch--an english bull terrier. he was give to me a puppy. he was a sure enough bulldog and he could whip any dog i ever saw. he was an imported dog. "i remember a house up in conway county made out of logs--a two-story one just this side of cadron creek on the military road. then they called it the wire road because the telegraph wire run along it. the house was vacant after the people that owned it had died, and people comin' along late at night would stop to spend the night, and in the middle of the night they'd have to get out. now i've heard that with my own ears. there was a spring not far from the house. it had been a fine house and was a beautiful place to stop. but in the night they'd hear chairs rattlin' and fall down. it's my belief they had spooks in them old days. "now i'll tell you another incident. this was in slave times. my mother was a great hand for nice quilts. there was a white lady had died and they were goin' to have a sale. now this is true stuff. they had the sale and mother went and bought two quilts. and let me tell you, we couldn't sleep under 'em. what happened? well, they'd pinch your toes till you couldn't stand it. i was just a boy and i was sleepin' with my mother when it happened. now that's straight stuff. what do i think was the cause? well, i think that white lady didn't want no nigger to have them quilts. i don't know what mother did with 'em, but that white lady just wouldn't let her have 'em. "now i'm puttin' the oil out of the can--i mean that what i say is true. people now will say they ain't nothin' to that story. at that time the races wasn't 'malgamated. but people are different now--ain't like they was seventy-five years ago. "visions? well, now i'm glad you asked me that. i'll take pleasure in tellin' you. two years before i moved to this place i had a vision and i think i saw every colored person that was ever born in america, i believe. i was on the east side of my house and this multitude of people was about four feet from me and they was as thick as sardines in a box and they was from little tots up. some had on derby hats and some was bareheaded. i talked with one woman--a brown skinned woman. they was sitting on seats just like circus seats just as far as my eyes could behold. looked like they reached clear up in the sky. that was when i fust went blind. you've read about how john saw the multitude a hundred forty and four thousand and i think that was about one-fourth of what i saw. they was happy and talkin' and nothin' but colored people--no white people. "another vision i had. i dreamed that the day that i lived to be sixty-five, that day i would surely die. i thought the man that told me that was a little old dried-up white man up in the air and he had scales like the monkey and the cat weighed the cheese. i thought he said, 'that day you will surely die,' and one side of the scales tipped just a little and then i woke up. you know i believed this strong. that was in and i went out and bought a lot in bellwood cemetery. but i'm still livin'. "old major crawley who owned what they called the reader place on this side of the river, four miles east of dexter, he was supposed to have money buried on his place. he owned it during slavery and after he died his relatives from mississippi come here and hired a carriage driver named jackson jones. he married my second cousin. and he took 'em up there to dig for the money, but i don't know if they ever found it. some people said the place was ha'nted." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: sam word missouri, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born february , . my birthplace was arkansas county. born in arkansas and lived in arkansas seventy-eight years. i've kept up with my age--didn't raise it none, didn't lower it none. "i can remember all about the war, my memory's been good. old man bill word, that was my old master, had a son named tom word and long about in ' a general come and pressed him into the civil war. i saw the blue and the gray and the gray clothes had buttons that said c.s., that meant secessioners. yankees had u.s. on their buttons. some of em come there so regular they got familiar with me. yankees come and wanted to hang old master cause he wouldn't tell where the money was. they tied his hands behind him and had a rope around his neck. now this is the straight goods. i was just a boy and i was cryin' cause i didn't want em to hang old master. a yankee lieutenant comes up and made em quit--they was just the privates you know. "my old master drove a ox wagon to the gold fields in california in ' . that's what they told me--that was fore i was born. "good? ben word good? my god amighty, i wish i had one-hundredth part of what i got then. i didn't exist--i lived. "ben word bought my mother from phil ford up in kentucky. she was the housekeeper after old mistress died. i'll tell you something that may be amusing. mother had lots of nice things, quilts and things, and kept em in a chest in her little old shack. one day a yankee soldier climbed in the back window and took some of the quilts. he rolled em up and was walking out of the yard when mother saw him and said, 'why you nasty, stinkin' rascal. you may you come down here to fight for the niggers, and now you're stealin' from em.' he said, 'you're a g-d--liar, i'm fightin' for $ a month and the union.' "i member there was a young man named dan brown and they called him red fox. he'd slip up on the yankees and shoot em, so the yankees was always lookin' for him. he used to go over to dr. allen's to get a shave and his wife would sit on the front porch and watch for the yankees. one day the yankees slipped up in the back and his wife said, 'lord, dan, there's the yankees.' course he run and they shot him. one of the yankees was tryin' to help him up and he said, 'don't you touch me, call dr. allen.' yes ma'm, that was in arkansas county. "i never been anywhere 'cept arkansas, jefferson, and conway counties. i was in conway county when they went to the precinct to vote for or against the fort smith & little rock railroad. the precinct where they went to vote was springfield. it used to be the county seat of conway county. "while the war was goin' on and when young tom word would come home from school, he learned me and when the war ended, i could read in mcguffy's third reader. after that i went to school three months for about four years. "directly after emancipation, the white men in the south had to take the oath of allegiance. old master took it but he hated to do it. now these are stubborn facts i'm givin' you but they's true. "after freedom mother brought me here to pine bluff and put me in the field. i picked up corn stalks and brush and carried water to the hands. children in them days worked. after they come from school, even the white children had work to do. trouble with the colored folks now, to my way of thinkin', is they are top heavy with literary learning and feather light with common sense and domestic training. "i remember a song they used to sing daring the war: 'jeff davis is our president lincoln is a fool; jeff davis rides a fine white horse while lincoln rides a mule.' "and here's another one: 'hurrah for southern rights, hurrah! hurrah for the bonny blue flag that bore the single star.' "yes, they was hants sixty years ago. the generation they was interested has bred em out. ain't none now. "i never did care much for politics, but i've always been for the south. i love the southland. only thing i don't like is they don't give a square deal when it comes between the colored and the whites. ten years ago, i was worth $ , and now i'm not worth fifteen cents. the real estate men got the best of me. i've been blind now for four years and all my wife and i have is what we get from the welfare." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: ike worthy w. th avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age "i was born in selma, alabama on christmas day and i'm goin' on . "i can 'member old missis' name miss liza ann bussey. i never will forget her name. fed us in a trough--eighteen of us. her husband was named jim bussey, but they all dead now. "when i got large enough to remember we went to louisiana. i was sixteen when we left alabama--six hundred head of us. dr. bonner emigrated us there for hisself and other white men. "there was nine of us boys in my parents' family. we worked every day and cleared land till twelve o'clock at night. on saturday we played ball and on sunday we went to sunday school. "we worked on the shares--got half--and in the fall we paid our debts. sometimes we had as much as $ in the clear. "most money i ever had was farmin'. i farmed years and never did buy no feed. raised my own meat and lard and molasses. had four milk cows and fifteen to twenty hogs. you see, i had eight children in the family. "never went to school but one day in my life, then my father put us to work. never learned to read. you see everybody in the pen now'days got a education. i don't think too much education is good for 'em. "i was christmas day. "garland, brewster--the sheriff and the judge--i missed them boys when they was little. worked at the brickyard. "i got shot accidental and lost my right leg years ago when i was farmin'. i've chopped cotton and picked cotton with this peg-leg. mr. emory say he don't see how i can do it but i goes right along. i made $ pickin' and $ choppin' last year. i picked up until thanksgiving night. "i worked at the long-bell lumber company since i had this peg-leg too. i stayed in little rock years. had a wood yard and hauled wood. "yes ma'am, i voted the 'publican ticket. no ma'am, i never did hold any office. "i don't know what goin' come of the younger generation. to my idea i don't think there's anything to 'em. they is goin' to suffer when all the old ones is dead. "i goes to the zion methodist church. no ma'am, i'm not a preacher--just a bench member." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: alice wright center street, little rock, arkansas age: about "i was born way yonder in slavery time. i don't know what part of alabama nor exactly when, but i was born in slavery time and it was in alabama. my oldest boy would be fifty-six years old if he were living. my father said he was born in slavery time and that i was born in slavery time. i was a baby, my papa said, when he ran off from his old master and went to mississippi. he lived in the thickets for a year to keep his old master from finding out where he was. father, mother and family "my father's name was jeff williams. he's been dead a long time. nobody living but me and my children. my mother's name was malinda williams. my father had seven children, four girls and five boys. four of the boys were buried on the cummins (?) place. it used to be the old place of old man flournoy's. my oldest brother was named isaac. "i had sixteen children; four of them are still living--two boys and two girls. the boys is married and the daughters is sick. no, honey, i can't tell how many of em all was boys and girls. house "my folks lived right in the white folks' yard. i don't know what kind of house it was. my mother used to cook and do for the white folks. she caught her death of cold going backward and forward milking and so on. how the children were fed "they'd put a trough on the floor with wooden spoons and as many children as could get around that trough got there and eat, they would. how freedom came "dolly and evelyn were upstairs spinning thread and overheard the old master saying that peace was declared but they didn't want the niggers to know it. father had them to throw their clothes out the windows. then he slipped out with them. malinda williams, my mother, came with them. dolly and evelyn were my sisters. i don't know my master's name, but it must have been williams because all the slaves took their old master's names when they were freed. i was a baby in my daddy's arms when he ran away. patrollers "i heard my papa talk about the patrollers. he said they used to run them in many a time. that is the reason he had to cross the bridge that night going over the mississippi into georgia. the slaves had been set free in georgia, and he wanted to get there from alabama. what the slaves got "the slaves never got nothin' when they were freed. they just got out and went to work for themselves. marriage "my father tended to the white folks' mules. he wasn't no soldier. when he married my mother, he was only fifteen years old. his master told him to go pick himself out a wife from a drove of slaves that were passing through, and he picked out my mother. they married by stepping over the broom. the old master pronounced them master and wife. slave droves "the drove passed through alabama, but my father didn't know where it came from nor where it went. they were selling slaves. they would pick up a big lot of them somewhere, and they would drive them across the country selling some every place they stopped. my master bought my mother out of the drove. droves came through very often. i don't know where they came from. war memories "my father remembered coming through alabama. he remembered the soldiers coming through alabama. they didn't bother any colored people but they killed a lot of white people, tore up the town and took some white babies out and busted their brains out. that is what my father said. my father died in . he was pushing eighty then and maybe ninety. he had a house full of grown children and grandchildren and great grandchildren. he wasn't able to do no work when he died. it was during the war that my father ran away into georgia with me, too. breeding "my father said they put medicine in the water (cisterns) to make the young slaves have more children. if his old master had a good breeding woman he wouldn't sell her. he would keep her for himself. worship "when they were praying for peace they used to turn down the wash kettles to keep the sound down. in the master's church, the biggest thing that was preached to them was how to serve their master and mississ. indians "my grandmother was a full-blood indian. i don't know from what tribe. buried treasure "people used to bury their money in iron pots and chests and things in order to keep the soldiers from getting it. in wabbaseka [hw: ark.] there they had money buried. they buried their money to keep the soldiers from getting it. ku klux "the ku klux klan came after freedom. they used to take the people out and whip them. just after the war "immediately after the war, papa farmed. most of it was down at the cummins place. when he ran away to georgia, he didn't stay there. he left and came back to mississippi. i don't know just when my papa came to the cummins' place. it was just after the war. after be left the cummins' place he worked at the smith place. then he was farming agent for sometime for old man cook in jefferson county. he would see after the hands. voting "i ain't never voted in my life. i know plenty men that used to vote but i didn't. i never heard of no women voting. occupation "i used to do field work. i washed and ironed until i got too old to do anything. i can't do anything now. i ain't able. support "i get the old age pension and the welfare give me some commodities for myself and my sick daughter. she ain't been able to walk for a year. marriage "i married willis wright in july . he did farming mostly. when he died in , he was working at the southern oil mill. he didn't leave any property." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: hannah brooks wright w. th, highland addition, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: laundress "yes ma'am, i was born in slavery times. i was born on elsa brooks' plantation in mississippi. i don't know what year 'twas but i know 'twas in slavery times. "i was a great big gal when the yankees come through. i was elsa brooks' house gal. "i remember when a man come through to 'vascinate' all the chillun that was born in slavery times. i cut up worse than any of 'em--i bit him. i thought he was gwine cut off my arm. old missis say our names gwine be sent to the white house. old missis was gwine around with him tryin' to calm 'em down. "and the next day the yankees come through. the lord have mercy! i think i was 'bout twelve years old when freedom come. we used to ask old missis how old we was. she'd say, 'go on, if i tell you how old you is, your parents couldn't do nothin' with you. jus' tell folks you was born in slavery times!' gramma wouldn't tell me neither. she'd say, 'you hush, you wouldn't work if you knowed how old you is.' "i used to sit on the lever a many a day and drive the mule at the gin. you don't know anything 'bout that, do you? "i remember one time when the yankees was comin' through. i was up on top of a rail fence so i could see better. i said, 'just look a there at them bluebirds.' when the yankees come along one of 'em said, 'you get down from there you little son of a b----.' i didn't wait to climb down, i jus' fell down from there. old missis come down to the quarters in her carriage--didn't have buggies in them days, just carriages--to see who was hurt. the yankees had done told her that one of her gals had fell off the fence and got hurt. i said, 'i ain't hurt but i thought them yankees would hurt me.' she said, 'they won't hurt you, they is comin' through to tell you you is free.' she said if they had hurt me she would jus' about done them yankees up. she said jeff davis had done give up his seat and we was free. "our folks stayed with old missis as long as they lived. my mammy cooked and i stayed in the house with missis and churned and cleaned up. old master was named tom brooks and her name was elsa brooks. sometimes i jus' called her 'missis.' "old missis told the patrollers they couldn't come on her place and interfere with her hands. i don't know how many hands they had but i know they had a heap of 'em. "sometimes missis would say it looked like i wanted to get away and she'd say, 'why, hannah, you don't suffer for a thing. you stay right here at the house with me and you have plenty to eat.' "i was the oldest one in my mammy's family. "i just went to school a week and mammy said they needed me at the house. "then my daddy put me in the field to plow. old missis come out one day and say, 'bill, how come you got hannah plowin'? i don't like to see her in the field.' he'd say, 'well, i want to learn her to work. i ain't gwine be here always and i want her to know how to work.' "they had me throwin' the shickles (shuttles) in slavery times. i used to handle the cyards (cards) too. then i used to help clean up the milk dairy. i'd be so tired i wouldn't know what to do. old missis would say, 'well, hannah, that's your job.' "we used to have plenty to eat, pies and cakes and custards. more than we got now. "i own this place if i can keep payin' the taxes. "old missis used to say, 'you gwine think about what i'm tellin' you after i'm dead and gone.' "young folks call us old church folks 'old _ism_ folks,' 'old fogies.' they say, 'you was born in slavery times, you don't know nothin.' you can't tell 'em nothin'. "i follows my mind. you ain't gwine go wrong if you does what your mind tells you." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: tom yates, marianna. arkansas age: "i was born in in mississippi, on moon lake. mama said she was orphan. she was sold when she was a young woman. she said she come from richmond, virginia to charleston, south carolina. then she was brought to mississippi and married before freedom. she had two husbands. her owners was master atwood and master curtis burk. i don't know how it come about nor which one bought her. she had four children and i'm the youngest. my sister lives in memphis. "my father was sold in raleigh, north carolina. his master was tom yeates. i'm named fer some of them. papa's name was william yeates. he told us how he come to be sold. he said they was fixing to sell grandma. he was one of the biggest children and he ask his mother to sell him and let grandma raise the children. she wanted to stay with the little ones. he said he cried and cried long after they brought him away. they all cried when he was sold, he said. i don't know who bought him. he must have left soon after he was sold, for he was a soldier. he run away and want in the war. he was a private and mustered out at devalls bluff, arkansas. that is how come my mother to come here. he died in at wilson, arkansas. he got a federal pension, thirty-six dollars, every three months. he wasn't wounded, or if he was i didn't hear him speak of it. he didn't praise war." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: annie young, west scull street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "my old master's name was sam knox. i 'members all my white people. my mother was the cook. "we had a good master and a good mistress too. i wish i could find some of my master's family now. but after the war they broke up and went up north. "i 'member well the day my old master's son got killed. my mother was workin' in the field and i know she come to the house a cryin'. i 'member well when we was out in the plum nursery and could hear the cannons. my white girl nannie told me 'now listen, that's the war a fightin'.' "the soldiers used to come along and sometimes they were in a hurry and would grab something to eat and go on and then sometimes they would sit down to a long table. "i could hear my great grandmother and my mother talkin' 'we'll be free after awhile.' "after the war my stepfather come and got my mother and we moved out in the piney woods. my stepfather was a preacher and sometimes he was a hundred miles from home. my mother hired out to work by the day. i was the oldest of seven chillun and when i got big enough to work they worked me in the field. when we cleaned up the new ground we got fifty cents a day. "i was between ten and twelve years old when i went to school. my first teacher was white. but i tell you the truth, i learned most after my children started to school. "i worked twenty-three years for the police headquarters. i was janitor and matron too. i washed and ironed too. i been here in pine bluff about fifty or sixty years. "if justice was done everybody would have a living. i earned the money to buy this place and they come and wanted me to sign away my home so i could get the old age pension but i just had sense enough not to do it. i'm not goin' sign away my home just for some meat and bread." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: john young e. th ave., pine bluff, ark. age: "well, i don't know how old i is. i was born in virginia, but my mother was sold. she was bought by a speculator and brought here to arkansas. she brought me with her and her old master's name was ridgell. we lived down around monticello. i was big enough to plow and chop cotton and drive a yoke of oxen and haul ten-foot rails. "oh lord, i don't know how many acres old master had. he had a territory--he had a heap a land. i remember he had a big old carriage and the carriage man was little alfred. the reason they called him that was because there was another man on the place called big alfred. they won't no relation--just happen to be the same name. "i remember when the yankees come and killed old master's hogs and chickens and cooked 'em. there was a good big bunch of yankees. they said they was fightin' to free the niggers. after that i runned away and come up here to pine bluff and stayed awhile and then i went to little rock and jined the th colored infantry. i was the kittle drummer. we marched right in the center of the army. we went from little rock to fort smith. i never was in a big battle, just one little scrummage. i was at fort smith when they surrendered and i was mustered out at leavenworth, kansas. "my grandfather went to war as bodyguard for his master, but i was with the yankees. "i remember when the ku klux come to my grandmother's house. they nearly scared us to death. i run and hid under the bed. they didn't do nothin', just the looks of 'em scared us. i know they had the old folks totin' water for 'em. seemed like they couldn't get enough. "after the war i come home and went to farmin'. then i steamboated for four years. i was on the kate adams, but i quit just 'fore it burned, 'bout two or three weeks. "i never went to school a minute in my life. i had a chance to go but i just didn't. "no'm i can't remember nothin' else. it's been so long it done slipped my memory." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: john young e. fifteenth, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i know i was born in arkansas. the first place i recollect i was in arkansas. "i was a drummer in the civil war. i played the little drum. the bass drummer was rheuben turner. "i run off from home in drew county. five or six of us run off here to pine bluff. we heard if we could get with the yankees we'd be free, so we run off here to pine bluff and got with some yankee soldiers--the twenty-eighth wisconsin. "then we went to little rock and i j'ined the fifty-seventh colored infantry. i thought i was good and safe then. "we went to fort smith from little rock and freedom come on us while we was between new mexico and fort smith. "they mustered us out at fort leavenworth and i went right back to my folks in drew county, monticello. "i've been a farmer all my life till i got too old." proofreading team from images provided by the library of congress, manuscript division. [tr: ***] = transcriber note [hw: ***] = handwritten note slave narratives a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress illustrated with photographs washington volume ii arkansas narratives part prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of arkansas informants cannon, frank cauley, zenie chambers, liney charleston, jr., willie buck chase, lewis clay, katherine clemments, maria sutton [tr: also reported as maria sutton clements] clemons, fannie clinton, joe coleman, betty cotton, lucy cotton, t.w. cragin, ellen crane, sallie crawford, isaac crosby, mary crump, richard culp, zenia cumins, albert [tr: in header and text of interview, cummins] curlett, betty curry, j.h. dandridge, lyttleton daniels, ella darrow, mary allen davis, alice davis, charlie davis, d. davis, james davis, jim davis, jeff davis, jeff davis, jordan davis, mary jane drucilla davis, minerva davis, rosetta davis, virginia (jennie) davis, winnie day, leroy dell, hammett dickey, james diggs, benjamin dillon, katie dixon, alice dixon, luke d. dixon, martha ann dockery, railroad donalson, callie dortch, charles green dorum, fannie dothrum, silas douglas, sarah douglas, tom douglas, sarah and tom douglas, sebert doyl, henry doyld, willie dudley, wade duke, isabella dukes, wash dunn, lizzie dunne, nellie dunwoody, william l. edwards, lucius elliott, john evans, millie farmer, robert fergusson, lou ferrell, jennie fikes, frank filer, j.e. finger, orleans [tr: in text of interview, orleana] finley, molly finney, fanny fisher, gate-eye fitzgerald, ellen fitzhugh, henry flagg, mary flowers, doc fluker, frances fluker, ida may ford, wash fortenberry, judia foster, emma foster, ira franklin, leonard frazier, eliza frazier, mary frazier, tyler freeman, mittie fritz, mattie illustrations sarah and sam douglas [tr: the library of congress photo archive notes "'tom' written in pencil above 'sam' in title."] millie evans [tr: some interviews were date-stamped; these dates have been added to interview headers in brackets. where part of date could not be determined -- has been substituted. these dates do not appear to represent actual interview dates, rather dates completed interviews were received or perhaps transcription dates.] interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: frank cannon r.f.d., two miles, palestine, arkansas age: "i was born three miles west of starkville, mississippi on a pretty tolerable large farm. my folks was bought from a speculator drove come by. they come from sanders in south ca'lina. master charlie cannon bought a whole drove of us, both my grandparents on both sides. he had five farms, big size farms. saturday was ration day. "our master built us a church in our quarters and sont his preacher to preach to us. he was a white preacher. said he wanted his slaves to be christians. "i never went to school in my life. i was taught by the fireside to be obedient and not steal. "we et outer trays hewed out of logs. three of us would eat together. we had wooden spoons the boys made whittling about in cold rainy weather. we all had gourds to drink outer. when we had milk we'd get on our knees and turn up the tray, same way wid pot-liquor. they give the grown up the meat and us pot-liquor. "pa was a blacksmith. he got a little work from other plantations. the third year of the surrender he bought us a cow. the master was dead. he never went to war. he went in the black jack thickets. his sons wasn't old enough to go to war. pa seemed to like ole master. the overseer was white looking like the master but i don't know if he was white man or nigger. ole master wouldn't let him whoop much as he pleased. master held him off on whooping. "when the master come to the quarters us children line up and sit and look at him. when he'd go on off we'd hike out and play. he didn't care if we look at him. "my pa was light about my color. ma was dark. i heard them say she was part creek (indian). "folks was modester before the children than they are now. the children was sent to play or git a bucket cool water from the spring. everything we said wasn't smart like what children say now. we was seen and not heard. not seen too much or somebody be stepping 'side to pick up a brush to nettle our legs. then we'd run and holler both. "now and then a book come about and it was hid. better not be caught looking at books. "times wasn't bad 'ceptin' them speculator droves and way they got worked too hard and frailed. some folks was treated very good, some killed. "folks getting mean now. they living in hopes and lazing about. they work some." interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: zenie cauley louisiana pine bluff, ark. age: [-- ] "i member when they freed the people. "i was born in bedie kellog's yard and i know she said, 'zenie, i hate to give you up, i'd like to keep you.' but my mother said, 'no, ma'am, i can't give zenie up.' "we still stayed there on the place and i was settled and growed up when i left there. "i'm old. i feels my age too. i may not look old but i feels it. "yes ma'am, i member when they carried us to church under bresh arbors. old folks had rags on their hair. yes'm, i been here. "my father was a missionary baptist preacher and he _was_ a preacher. didn't know 'a' from 'b' but he was a preacher. everbody knowed jake alsbrooks. he preached all over that country of north carolina. they'd be as many white folks as colored. they'd give him _money_ and he never called for a collection in his life. why one sunday they give him sixty-five dollars to help buy a horse. "fore i left the old county, i member the boss man, henry grady, come by and tell my mother, 'i'm gwine to town now, have my dinner ready when i come back--kill a chicken.' she was one of the cooks. used to have us chillun pick dewberries and blackberries and bring em to the house. "yes, i done left there thirty-six years--will be this august. "when we was small, my daddy would make horse collars, cotton baskets and mattresses at night and work in the field in the daytime and preach on sunday. he fell down in bedie kellog's lot throwin' up shucks in the barn. he was standin' on the wagon and i guess he lost his balance. they sent and got the best doctor in the country and he said he broke his nabel string. they preached his funeral ever year for five years. seemed like they just couldn't give him up. "white folks told my mother if she wouldn't marry again and mess up uncle jake's chillun, they'd help her, but she married that man and he beat us so i don't know how i can remember anything. he wouldn't let us go to school. had to work and just live like pigs. "oh, i used to be a tiger bout work, but i fell on the ice in 'twenty-nine and i ain't never got over it. i said i just had a death shock. "i never went to school but three months in my life. didn't go long enough to learn anything. "i was bout a mile from where i was born when i professed religion. my daddy had taught us the right way. i tell you, in them days you couldn't join the church unless you had been changed. "i come here when they was emigratin' the folks here to arkansas." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: liney chambers, brinkley, arkansas age: [tr: some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. letters surrounded by [] represent long vowels.] "i was born in tennessee close to memphis. i remember seein' the yankees. i was most too little to be very scared of them. they had their guns but they didn't bother us. i was born a slave. my mother cooked for jane and silas wory. my mother's name was caroline. my father's name was john. an old bachelor named jim bledsoe owned him. when the war was over i don't remember what happened. my mother moved away. she and my father didn't live together. i had one brother, proctor. i expect he is dead. he lived in california last i heard of him. "they just expected freedom all i ever heard. i know they didn't expect the white folks to give them no land cause the man what owned the land bought it hisself foe he bought the hands whut he put on it. they thought they was ruined bad enouf when the hands left them. they kept the land and that is about all there was left. whut the yankees didn't take they wasted and set fire to it. they set fire to the rail fences so the stock would get out all they didn't kill and take off. both sides was mean. but it seemed like cause they was fightin' down here on the souths ground it was the wurst here. now that's just the way i sees it. they done one more thing too. they put any colored man in the front where he would get killed first and they stayed sorter behind in the back lines. when they come along they try to get the colored men to go with them and that's the way they got treated. i didn't know where anybody was made to stay on after the war. they was lucky if they had a place to stay at. there wasn't anything to do with if they stayed. times was awful unsettled for a long time. people whut went to the cities died. i don't know they caught diseases and changing the ways of eatin' and livin' i guess whut done it. they died mighty fast for awhile. i knowed some of them and i heard 'em talking. "that period after the war was a hard time. it sho was harder than the depression. it lasted a long time. folks got a lots now besides what they put up with then. seemed like they thought if they be free they never have no work to do and jess have plenty to eat and wear. they found it different and when it was cold they had no wood like they been used to. i don't believe in the colored race being slaves cause of the color but the war didn't make times much better for a long time. some of them had a worse time. so many soon got sick and died. they died of consumption and fevers and nearly froze. some near 'bout starved. the colored folks just scattered 'bout huntin' work after the war. "i heard of the ku klux but i never seen one. "i never voted. i don't believe in it. "i never heard of any uprisings. i don't know nobody in that rebellion (nat turner). "i used to sing to my children and in the field. "i lived on the farm till i come to my daughters to live. i like it better then in town. we homesteaded a place at grunfield (zint) and my sister bought it. we barely made a living and never had money to lay up. "i don't know what they'll (young generation) do. things going so fast. i'm glad i lived when i did. i think it's been the best time for p[o]r folks. some now got too much and some not got nothin'. that what i believe make times seem so hard." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: willie buck charleston, jr., biscoe, arkansas age: "i was born up here on the biscoe place before mr. biscoe was heard of in this country. i'm for the world like my daddy. he was light as i is. i'm jus' his size and make. there was three of us boys. dan was the oldest; he was my own brother, and ed was my half-brother. my daddy was a fellar of few words and long betwix' 'em. he was in the old war (civil war). he was shot in his right ankle and never would let it be took out. mother had been a cook. she and my grandmother was sold in south carolina and brought out here. mother's name was sallie harry. judging by them being harrys that might been who owned them before they was sold. she was about as light as me. mother died when i was a litter bit er of a fellar. then me and dan lived from house to house. grandma harry and my aunt mat and jesse dove raised us. my daddy married right er way ag'in. "i recollect mighty little about the war. we lived back in the woods and swamps. i was afraid of the soldiers. i seen them pass by. i was so little i can barely recollect seeing them and hiding from them. "when we lived over about forrest city i seen the ku klux whoop joe saw and bill reed. it was at night. they was tied to trees and whooped with a leather snake whoop. i couldn't say how it come up but they sure poured it on them. there was a crowd come up during the acting. i was scared to death then. after then i had mighty little use for dressed-up folks what go around at night (ku klux). i can tell you no sich thing ever took place as i heard of at biscoe. we had our own two officers and white officers and we get along all the time tollerably well together." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lewis chase; des arc, arkansas age: ? [tr: some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. letters surrounded by [] represent long vowels.] "i answer all your questions i knows lady. "when de civil war goin on i heard lots folks talking. i don't know what all they did say. it was a war mong de white folks. niggers had no say in it. heap ob them went to wait on their masters what went to fight. niggers didn't know what the fight war bout. yankey troops come take everything we had made, take it to the bluff (devalls bluff), waste it and eat it. he claim to be friend to the black man an do him jes dater way. de niggers what had any sense tall stuck to the white folks. niggers what i knowed didn't spec nothin an they sho didn't get nothin but freedom. "i was sold. yes mam i sho was. jes put up on a platform and auctioned off. sold right here in des arc. nom taint right. my old mistress [mrs. snibley] whoop me till i run off and they took me back when they found out where i lef from. i stayed way bout two weeks. "one man i sho was glad didn't get me cause he whoop me. n[o]'[o]m he didn't get me. i heard him puttin up the prices and i sho hope he didn't get me. "i don't know whar i come from. old missus snibley kept my hat pulled down over my face so i couldn't see de way to go back. i didn't want to come and i say i go right back. whar i set, right between old missus and master on de front seat ob de wagon and my ma set between missus snibley's two girls right behind us. i recken it was a covered wagon. the girls name was florence and emma. old master snibley never whip me but old missus sho did pile it on me. noom i didn't lack her. i run away. he died f[o] the war was over. i did leave her when de war was over. "i saw a heap ob bushwhackers and carpet bagger but i nebber seed no ku klux. i heard battles of the bushwhackers out at the wattensaw bridge [iron bridge]. i was scared might near all de time for four years. noom i didn't want no soldiers to get me. "i recken i wo long britches when de war started cause when i pulled off dresses i woe long britches. never wo no short ones. nigger boys and white boys too wore loose dresses till they was four, five or six years old in them times. they put on britches when they big nough to help at the field. "i worked at the house and de field. i'se farmed all my life. "i vote [hw: many] a time. i don't know what i vote. noom i don't! i recken i votes democrat, i don't know. it don't do no good. noom i ain't voted in a long time. i don't know nothin bout votin. i never did. "noom i never owned no land, noom no home neither. i didn't need no home. the man i worked for give me a house on his place. i work for another man and he give me a house on his land. i owned a horse one time. i rode her. "i don't know nuthin bout the young generation. i takes care bout myself. dats all i'm able to do now. some ob dem work. nom they don't work hard as i did. i works now hard as they do. they ought to work. i don't know what going to become ob them. i can't help what they do. "the times is hard fo old folks cause they ain't able to work and heap ob time they ain't no work fo em to do. "noom i lived at bells, arkansas for i come to hickory plains and des arc. i don't know no kin but my mother. she died durin the war. noom not all de white folks good to the niggers. some mean. they whoop em. some white folks good. jes lak de niggers, deres some ob em mighty good and some ob em mean. "i works when i can get a little to do and de relief gives me a little. "i _am_ er hundred years old! cause i knows i is. white folks all tell you i am." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: katherine clay, forrest city, arkansas age: "i was born in west point, mississippi. my folks' owners was master harris and liddie harris. my parent's name was sely sikes. she was mother of seven children. papa was name owen sikes. he never was whooped. they had different owners. both my grandparents was dead on both sides. i never seen them. "mama said her owners wasn't good. her riding boss put a scar on her back she took to her grave. it was deep and a foot long. he wanted to whoop her naked. he had the colored men hold her and he whooped her. she run off and when her owner come home she come to him at his house and told him all about it. she had been in the woods about a week she reckon. she had a baby she had left. the old mistress done had it brought to her. she was nursing it. she had a sicking baby of her own. she kept that baby. mama said her breast was way out and the doctor had to come wait on her; it nearly ruined. "mama said her master was so mad he cursed the overseer, paid him, and give him ten minutes to leave his place. he left in a hurry. that was her very first baby. she was raising a family, so they put her a nurse at the house. she had been ploughing. she had big fine children. they was proud of them. she raised a big family. she took care of all her and miss liddie's babies and washed their hippins. never no soap went on them she said reason she had that to do. another woman cooked and another woman washed. "mama said she was sold once, away from her mother but they let her have her four children. she grieved for her old mama, 'fraid she would have a hard time. she sold for one thousand dollars. she said that was half price but freedom was coming on. she never laid eyes on her mama ag'in. "after freedom they had gone to another place and the man owned the place run the ku klux off. they come there and he told them to go on away, if he need them he would call them back out there. they never came back, she said. they was scared to death of the ku klux. at the place where they was freed all the farm bells rung slow for freedom. that was for miles about. their master told them up at his house. he said it was sad thing, no time for happiness, they hadn't 'sperienced it. but for them to come back he would divide long as what he had lasted. they didn't go off right at first. they was several years getting broke up. some went, some stayed, some actually moved back. like bees trying to find a setting place. seem like they couldn't get to be satisfied even being free. "i had eleven children my own self. i let the plough fly back and hit me once and now i got a tumor there. i love to plough. i got two children living. she comes to see me. she lives across over here. i don't hear from my boy. i reckon he living. i gets help from the relief on account i can't work much with this tumor." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: maria sutton clemments, devalls bluff, ark. age: between and years [tr: also reported as maria sutton clements] i don't know jes how old i is. yes mum i show do member the war jes lack as if it was yesterday. i was born in lincoln county, georgia. my old mistress was named frances sutton. she was a real old lady. her husband was dead. she had two sons abraham and george. one of them tried to get old missus to sell my ma jes before the war broke out. he wanter sell her cause she too old to bear children. sell her and buy young woman raise mo children to sell. put em in the nigger drove and speculate on em. young nigger, not stunted, strong made, they look at their wristes and ankles and chestes, bout grown bring the owner fifteen hundred dollars. yea mam every cent of it. two weeks after baby born see the mother carrin it cross the field fur de old woman what kept all the children and she be going right on wid de hoe all day. when de sun come up the niggers all in the field and workin when de ridin boss come wid de dogs playin long after him. if they didn't chop dat cotton jes right he have em tied up to a stake or a big saplin and beat him till de blood run out the gashes. they come right back and take up whar they lef off work. two chaps make a hand soon as dey get big nuf to chop out a row. had plenty to eat; meat, corncake and molasses, peas and garden stuff. they didn't set out no variety fo the niggers. they had pewter bowls to eat outer and spoons. eat out in the yard, at the cabins, in the kitchen. eat different places owin to what you be workin at when the bell rung. big bell on a high post. my ma's name was sina sutton. she come from virginia in a nigger traders drove when she was sixteen years old and miss frances husband bought er. she had nine childen whut lived. i am de youngest. she died jes before de war broke out. till that time i had been trained a house girl. my ma was a field hand. then when the men all went to the army i plowed. i plowed four years i recken, till de surrender. howd i know it was freedom? a strange woman--i never seed fore, came runnin down where we was all at work. she say loud as she could "hay freedom. you is free." everything toe out fer de house and soldiers was lined up. dats whut they come by fer. course dey was yankee soldiers settin the colored folks all free. everybody was gettin up his clothes and leaving. they didn't know whar des goin. jes scatterin round. i say give 'em somethin. they was so mad cause they was free and leavin and nobody to work the land. the hogs and stock was mostly all done gone then. white folks sho had been rich but all they had was the land. the smoke houses had been stripped and stripped. the cows all been took off cept the scrubs. folks plowed ox and glad to plow one. sometime we had a good time. i danced till i joined the church. we didn't have no nigger churches that i knowed till after freedom. go to the white folks church. we danced square dance jess like the white folks long time ago. the niggers baptized after the white folks down at the pond. they joined the white folks church sometimes. the same woman on the place sewed for de niggers, made some things for miss frances. i recollects that. she knitted and seed about things. she showed the nigger women how to sew. all the women on the place could card and spin. they sat around and do that when too bad weather to be on the ground. they show didn't teach them to read. they whoop you if they see you have a book. if they see you gang round talkin, they say they talkin bout freedom or equalization. they scatter you bout. when they sell you, they take you off. see drove pass the house. men be ridin wid long whips of cow hide wove together and the dogs. the slaves be walkin, some cryin cause they left their folks. they make em stand in a row sometimes and sometimes they put em up on a high place and auction em. the pore white folks whut not able to buy hands had to work their own land. there shore was a heap of white folks what had no slaves. some ob dem say theys glad the niggers got turned loose, maybe they could get them to work for them sometimes and pay em. when you go to be sold you have to say what they tell you to say. when a man be unruly they sell him to get rid of him heap of times. they call it sellin nigger meat. no use tryin run off they catch you an bring you back. i don't know that there was ever a thought made bout freedom till they was fightin. said that was what it was about. that was a white mans war cept they stuck a few niggers in front ob the yankee lines. and some ob the men carried off some man or boy to wait on him. he so used to bein waited on. i ain't takin sides wid neither one of dem i tell you. if der was anything to be knowed the white folks knowed it. the niggers get passes and visit round on saturday evening or on sunday jes mongst theirselves and mongst folks they knowed at the other farms round. when dat war was done georgia was jes like being at the bad place. you couldn't stay in the houses fear some ku klux come shoot under yo door and bust in wid hatchets. folks hide out in de woods mostly. if dey hear you talkin they say you talkin bout equalization. they whoop you. you couldn't be settin or standing talkin. they come and ask you what he been tell you. that ku klux killed white men too. they say they put em up to hold offices over them. it was heap worse in georgia after freedom than it was fore. i think the poor nigger have to suffer fo what de white man put on him. we's had a hard time. some of em down there in georgia what didn't get into the cities where they could get victuals and a few rags fo cold weather got so pore out in the woods they nearly starved and died out. i heard em talk bout how they died in piles. niggers have to have meat to eat or he get weak. white folks didn't have no meat, no flour. the folks was after some people and i run off and kept goin till i took up with some people. the white folks brought them to tennessee--covington--i come too. they come in wagons. my father, he got shot and i never seed him no mo. he lived on another farm fo de war. i lived wid them white folks till bout nine years and i married. my old man wanted to come to dis new country. heard so much talk how fine it was. then i had run across my brother. he followed me. one brother was killed in the war somehow. my brother liked memphis an he stayed there. we come on the train. i never did like no city. we farmed bout, cleared land. never got much fo the hard work we done. the white man done learned how to figure the black folks out of what was made cept a bare living. i could read a little and write. he could too. we went to school a little in tennessee. when we got so we not able to work hard he come to town and carpentered, right here, and i cooked fo mr. hopkins seven years and fo mr. gus thweatt and fo mr. nick thweatt. we got a little ahead then by the hardest. i carried my money right here [bag on a string tied around her waist]. we bought a house and five acres of land. no mum i don't own it now. we got in hard luck and give a mortgage. they closed us out. mr. sanders. they say i can live there long as i lives. but they owns it. my garden fence is down and won't nobody fix it up fo me. they promises to come put the posts in but they won't do it and i ain't able no mo. i had a garden this year. spoke fo a pig but the man said they all died wid the kolerg [cholera]. so i ain't got no meat to eat dis year. i ain't never had a chile. i ain't got nobody kin to me livin dat i knows bout. when i gets sick a neighbor woman comes over and looks after me. i thinks if de present generation don't get killed they die cause they too lazy to work. no mum dey don't know nuthin bout work. they ain't got no religion. they so smart they don't pay no tention to what you advise em. i never tries to find out what folks doin and the young generation is killin time. i sho never did vote. i don't believe in it. the women runnin the world now. the old folks ain't got no money an the young ones wastes theirs. theys able to make it. they don't give the old folks nuthin. the times changes so much i don't know what goiner come next. i jes stop and looks and listens to see if my eyes is foolin me. i can't see, fo de cataracts gettin bad, nohow. things is heap better now fo de young folks now if they would help derselves. i'm too wo out. i can't do much like i could when i was young. the white folks don't cheat the niggers outen what they make now bad as they did when i farmed. i never knowed about uprisings till the ku klux sprung up. i never heard bout the nat turner rebellion. i tell you bout the onliest man i knowed come from virginia. a fellow come in the country bout everybody called solomon. dis long fo the war. he was a free man he said. he would go bout mong his color and teach em fo little what they could slip him along. he teached some to read. when freedom he went to augusta. my brother seed him and said "solomon, what you doin here?" and he said "i am er teaching school to my own color." then he said they run him out of virginia cause he was learnin his color and he kept going. some white folks up north learned him to read and cipher. he used a black slate and he had a book he carried around to teach folks with. he was what they called a ginger cake color. they would whoop you if they seed you with books learnin. mighty few books to get holt of fo the war. we mark on the ground. the passes bout all the paper i ever seed fo i come to tennessee. then i got to go to school a little. whah would the niggers get guns and shoot to start a uprisin? never had none cept if a white man give it to him. when you a slave you don't have nothin cept a big fireplace and plenty land to work. they cook on the fireplace. niggers didn't have no guns fo the war an nuthin to shoot in one if he had one whut he picked up somewhere after the war. the ku klux done the uprisin. they say they won't let the nigger enjoy freedom. they killed a lot of black folks in georgia and a few white folks whut they said was in wid em. we darkies had nuthin to do wid freedom. two or three set down on you, take leaves and build a fire and burn their feet nearly off. that the way the white folks treat the darky. i never knowed nobody to hold office. them whut didn't want to starve got someplace whut he could hold a plow handle. you don't know whut hard times is. dem was hard times. they used to hide in big cane brakes, nearly wild and nearly starved. scared to come out. i ain't wanted to go back to georgia. the folks i lived wid fo i come to tennessee, he tanned hides down at the branch and made shoes and he made cloth hats, wool hats. he sold them. we farmed but i watched them up at the house minu a time. one thing i recollect mighty well. fo de war a big bellied great monster man come in an folks made a big to do over him. he eat round and laughed round havin a big time. his name was mr. wimbeish (?). he wo white britches wid red stripes down the sides and a white shad tail coat all trimmed round de edges wid red and a tall beaver hat. he blowed a bugle and marched all the men every friday ebening. he come to miss frances. they fed him on pies and cakes and me brushin the flies off im and my mouth fairly waterin for a chunk ob de cake. when de first shot of war went off no more could be heard ob old mr. wimbeish. he lef an never was heard tell ob no mo. _he said never was a yankee had a hart he didn't understand_! i never did know whut he was. he jess said that right smart. i gets the old age pension and meets the wagon and gets a little commodities. i works my garden and raises a few chickens round my house. i trusts in de lord and try to do right, honey, dat way i lives. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: maria sutton clements, de valls bluff, ark. age: between and [tr: also reported as maria sutton clemments] "miss, i don't know a whole heap bout mr. wimbeish. i don't know no other name that what they all call him. some i heard say it like wimbush. he was a great big man, big in here [chest], big in here [stomach]. he have hair bout color youn [light]. he have big blue eyes jes' sparklin' round over the victuals on the table. he was a lively man. he had a heap to tell and a heap to talk bout. he had fair skin and rosy jaws--full round face. he laughed out loud pretty often. he looked fine when he laughed too. they all was foolish bout him. he was a newcommer in there. i don't know whah he stay. he come down the road regular as friday come, going to practice em marchin'. looked like bout fifty fellows. i never seed mr. wimbeish on a horse all time he passed long that road. he miter jes' et round mong the people while he stayed there. he wore red 'appletts' on his shoulders. i never seed him outer that fresh starched white suit. it was fishtail coat and had red bands stitched all round the edge and white breetches [britches] [tr: 'britches' is marked out by hand] with red bands down the side. he sure was a young man. they had him bout different places eatin'. old mistress said, 'fix up a good dinner today we gwiner have company.' that table was piled full. it was fine eatin'. he say so much i couldn't forgit. never was a yankee what have a heart he couldn't understand. i don't know what he was. he was so different. he muster been a southerner 'cause white folks would not treated him near that good. it was fo de war. they say when the first bugle blowed fo war he was done gone an' nebber been heard of till dis day. i heard some say last they seed him, he was rollin' over an' over on the ground and the men run off to find em nother captain. i don't know if they was tellin' like it took place. i know i never seed him no more. slave times "the servants take up what they eat in bowls and pans--little wooden bowls--and eat wid their fingers and wid spoons and they had cups. some had tables fixed up out under the trees. way they make em--split a big tree half in two and bore holes up in it and trim out legs to fit. they cooked on the fireplaces an' hearth and outerdoors. they cooked sompin to eat. they had plenty to eat. but they didn't have pies and cake less they be goiner have company. they have so much milk they fatten the pigs on it. "the animals eat up the gardens and crops. the man kill coon and possum if they didn't get nough meat up at the house. i say it sure is good. it is good as pork. the men prowl all night in the winter huntin'. if you be workin' at the field yo dinner is fetched down thar to you in a bucket that high [ ft.], that big er round [ - / feet wide]. the hands all come an' did they eat. that be mostly fried meat and bread and baked taters, so they could work. "old mistress say she first married mr. abraham chenol. then she married mr. joel sutton and they both died. she had two sons. she had a nephew what come there from way off. she said he was her sister's boy. couse they had doctors and good ones. iffen a doctor come say one thing the matter he better stick to it and cure one he come thar to see. old mistress had three boys till one died. i was brushin' flies offen him. she come and cry and go way cryin'. he callin' her all time. he quit callin' her then he was dead. made a sorter gurglin' sound. that the first person i seed die. when they say he dead i got out and off i was gone. i was usin' a turkey wing to brush flies offen him. i don't know what was the matter wid em. they buried him on her place whah the grave yard was made. both her husbands buried down there. she had a fine marble put over his grave. it had things wrote on it. she sent way off an' got it. they hauled it to here in a wagon. the masons burled him. it was the prettiest sight i ever seed. "her son john had some peafowls. she had geese--a big drove--turkeys, guineas, ducks, and geese. "she had feather beds and wheat straw mattresses, clean whoopee! they used cotton baggin' and straw and some of the servants had a feather bed. old mistress get up an' go in set till they call her to breakfast. they had a marble top table and a big square piano. that was the parlor furniture. they made rugs outen sheep an' goat skins. "when she want the cook go wid her she dress her up in some her fine dresses--big white cap like missus slep in an' a white apron tied round her waist. we wore ¢ calico and gingham dresses for best. she'd buy three and four bolts at augusta [georgia] and have it made up to work in. we didn't spin and weave till the war come on. some old men come round making spinnin' wheels. they was very plain too nearly bout rough. rich folks had fine silk dresses--jes' rattle when they walked--to wear to preachin'. they sho did have preachin' an' fastin' too durin' the war but folks didn't have fine clothes when it ended like when the war started. ku klux klan "it started outener the bushwhackers. some say they didn't get what was promised em at shiloh battle. they didn't get their rights. i don't know what they meant by it. the bushwhackers ketch the men in day goiner work--ketch em this way [by the shoulders or collar]. such hollerin' and scramblin' then you never heard. they hide behind big pine trees till he come up then step out behind and grab him. they first come an' call fer water. plenty water in the well or down at the spring. they knowed it too. then they waste all you had brought up and say--'ah! first drink i had since i come from hell.' they all knowed ain't nobody come from hell. they had hatchets an' they burst in your house. jes' to scare you. they shoot under your house. they wore their wives big wide nightgowns and caps and ugliest faces you eber seed. they looked like a gang from hell--ugliest things you ebber _did_ see. it was cold--ground spewed up wid ice and men folks so scared they run out in woods, stay all night. old mistress died at the close of de war an' her son what was a preacher, he put on a long preacher coat and breeches (britches) [tr: 'britches' is marked out by hand] all black. he put a navy six in his belt and carried carbeen [carbine] on his shoulder. it was a long gun shoot sixteen times. he was a dangerous man. he made the ku klux let his folks alone. he walk all night bout his place. he say, 'forward march!' then they pass by. he was a dangerous man. so much takin' place all time i was scared nearly to death all time." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: maria sutton clements de valls bluff, arkansas age: [dec ] [tr: also reported as maria sutton clemments] "missus, i thought if i'd see you agin i'd tell you this song: 'jeff davis is president abe lincoln is a fool come here, see jeff ride the gray horse and abe lincoln the mule.' "they sang all sich songs durin' of the war. "five wagons come by. they said it was jeff davise's wagons. they was loaded wid silver money--all five--in lincoln county, georgia. somehow the folks got a whiz of it and got the money outen one the wagons. abraham, my old mistress' son had old-fashion saddle bag full. sho it was white folks all but two or three slaves. hogs tore up sacks money, find em hid in the woods. they thought it was corn. they found a leather trunk full er money--silver money--down in the creek. money buried all round. the way it all started one colored man throwed down a bright dime to a yankee fo sompin he wanter buy. that started it all. they tied their thumbs this way (thumbs crossed) behind em, then strung em up in trees by their wrists behind em. it put heep of em in bed an' some most died never did get over it. the yankee soldiers come down that [hw: then?] and got all the money nearly. they say the war last four years, five months. seemed like twenty years." interviewer: pernella anderson person interviewed: fannie clemons n. washington el dorado, ark. age: "i was born down in farmerville, louisiana in the year of . now my ma lived with some white people, but now the name of the people i do not know. you see, child, i am old and i can't recollect so good. i didn't know my pa cause my ma quit him when i was little. my ma said she worked hard in the field like a black stepchild. my ma had nine chilluns and i was the oldest of the nine. she said her old miss wouldn't let her come to the house to nurse me, so she would slip up under the house and crawl through a hole in the floor. she took and pulled a plank up so she could slip through. "i would drink any kind of water that i saw if i wanted a drink. if the white folks poured out wash water and i wanted a drink that would do me. it just made me fat and healthy. most we played was tussling, and couldn't no boy throw me. nobody tried to whip me cause they couldn't. "we always cooked on fireplaces and our cake was always molasses cakes. at christmas time we got candy and apples, but these oranges and bananas and stuff like that wasn't out then. bananas and oranges just been out a few years. and sugar--we did not know about that. we always used sugar from molasses. i don't think sugar been in session long. if it had i did not get it. "i got married when i was pretty old, i lived with my husband eight years and he died. i had some children, but i stole them. the biggest work i ever done was farm and we sure worked." interviewer: watt mckinney person interviewed: joe clinton, route , marvell, arkansas age: "uncle joe" clinton, on ex-mississippi slave, lives on a small farm that he owns a few miles north of marvell, arkansas. his wife has been dead for a number of years and he has only one living child, if indeed his boy, joe, who left home fifteen years ago for chicago and from whom no word has been received since, is still alive. due to the infirmities of age "uncle joe" is unable to work and obtains his support from the income received off the small acreage he rents each year to the negro family with whom he lives. seated in an old cane-bottomed chair "uncle joe" was dozing in the warm sunshine of on afternoon in early october as i passed through the gate leading into the small yard enclosing his cabin. arousing himself on my approach, the old negro offered me a chair. i explained the purpose of my visit and this old man told me the following story: "i'se now past eighty-six year ole an' was borned in panola county, mississippi 'bout three miles from sardis. my ole mars was mark childress, en he sure owned er heap of peoples, womens an' mens bofe, en jus' gangs of chillun. i was real small when us lived in panola county; how-some-ever i riccolect it well when us all lef' dar and ole mars sold out his land and took us all to de delta where he had bought a big plantation 'bout two or three miles wide in coahoma county not far from friar point. de very place dat my mars bought and dat us moved to is what dey call now, de 'clover hill plantation'. de fust year dat us lived in de delta, us stayed on de place what dey called de 'swan lake place'. dat place is over dere close to jonestown and de very place dat mr. billy jones and his son john bought, en dats zackly how come dat town git its name. it was named for mr. john jones. "my mars, mark childress, he never was married. he was a bachelor, en i'se tellin' you dis, boss, he was a good, fair man and no fault was to be found wid him. but dem overseers dat he had, dey was real mean. dey was cruel, least one of them was 'bout de cruelest white man dat i is ever seen. dat was harvey brown. mars had a nephew what lived with him named mark sillers. he was mars' sister's son and was named for my mars. mr. mark sillers, he helped with de runnin' of the place en sich times dat mars 'way from home mr. mark, he the real boss den. "mr. harvey brown, the overseer, he mean sure 'nough i tell you, and de onliest thing that keep him from beatin' de niggers up all de time would be old mars or mr. mark sillers. bofe of dem was good and kind most all de time. one time dat i remembers, ole mars, he gone back to panola county for somepin', en mr. mark sillers, he attendin' de camp meeting. that was de day dat mr. harvey brown come mighty nigh killin' henry. i'll tell you how dat was, boss. it was on monday morning that it happened. de friday before dat monday morning, all of de hands had been pickin' cotton and mr. harvey brown didn't think dat henry had picked enough cotton dat day en so he give henry er lashin' out in de field. dat night henry, he git mad and burn up his sack and runned off and hid in de canebrake 'long de bayou all of de nex' day. mr. harvey, he missed henry from de field en sent jeff an' randall to find him and bring him in. dey found henry real soon en tell him iffen he don't come on back to de field dat mr. harvey gwine to set de hounds on him. so henry, he comed on back den 'cause de niggers was skeered of dem wild bloodhounds what they would set on 'em when dey try to run off. "when henry git back mr. harvey say, 'henry, where your sack? and how come you ain't pickin' cotton stid runnin' off like dat?' henry say he done burnt he sack up. wid dat mr. harvey lit in to him like a bear, lashin' him right and left. henry broke en run den to de cook house where he mammy, 'aunt mary', was, en mr. harvey right after him wid a heavy stick of wood dat he picked up offen de yard. mr. harvey got henry cornered in de house and near 'bout beat dat nigger to death. in fact, mr. harvey, he really think too dat he done kilt henry 'cause he called 'uncle nat' en said, 'nat, go git some boards en make er coffin for dis nigger what i done kilt.' "but henry wasn't daid though he was beat up terrible en they put him in de sick house. for days en days 'uncle warner' had to 'tend to him, en wash he wounds, en pick de maggots outen his sores. dat was jus' de way dat mr. harvey brown treated de niggers every time he git a chanct. he would even lash en beat de wimmens. "ole mars had a right good size house in dar 'mongst de quarters where dey kept all de babies en right young chillun whilst dey mammies workin' in de fields pickin' en hoein' time. old 'aunt hannah', an old granny woman, she 'tend to all dem chillun. de chillun's mammies, dey would come in from de fields about three times er day to let de babies suck. dere was er young nigger woman name jessie what had a young baby. one day when jessie come to de house to let dat baby suck, mr. harvey think she gone little too long. he give her a hard lashin'. "ole mars had a big cook house on de plantation right back in behind he own house en twix his house en de nigger's quarters. dat was where all de cookin' done for all de niggers on de entire place. aunt mary, she de head cook for de mars en all of de niggers too. all of de field hands durin' crop time et dey breakfast en dey dinners in de field. i waited on de table for mars en sort er flunkyed 'round da house en de quarters en de barns, en too i was one of de young darkies what toted de buckets of grub to de field hands. "ole mars had a house on de place too dat was called de 'sick house'. dat was where dem was put dat was sick. it was a place where dey was doctored on en cared for till dey either git well er die. it was er sort er hospital like. 'uncle warner', he had charge of de sick house, en he could sure tell iffen you sick er not, or iffen you jus' tryin' to play off from work. "my pappy, he was named bill clinton en my mammy was named mildred. de reason how come i not named childress for my mars is 'cause my pappy, he named clinton when mars git him from de clintons up in tennessee somewhere. my mars, he was a good man jus' like i'm tellin' you. mars had a young nigger woman named malinda what got married to charlie voluntine dat belonged to mr. nat voluntine dat had a place 'bout six miles from our place. in dem days iffen one darky married somebody offen de place where dey lived en what belonged to some other mars, dey didn't git to see one annudder very often, not more'n once a month anyway. so malinda, she got atter mars to buy charlie. sure 'nough he done that very thing so's dem darkies could live togedder. dat was good in our mars. "when any marryin' was done 'mongst de darkies on de place in dem days, dey would first hab to ask de mars iffen dey could marry, en iffen he say dat dey could git married den dey would git ole 'uncle peyton' to marry 'em. 'course dere wasn't no sich thing as er license for niggers to marry en i don't riccolect what it was dat 'uncle peyton' would say when he done de marryin'. but i 'members well dat 'uncle peyton', he de one dat do all of de marryin' 'mongst de darkies. "my mars, he didn't go to de war but he sure sent er lot er corn en he sent erbout three hundred head er big, fat hogs one time dat i 'members. den too, he sent somepin like twenty er thirty niggers to de confedrites in georgia. i 'members it well de time dat he sent dem niggers. they was all young uns, 'bout grown, en dey was skeered to death to be leavin' en goin' to de war. dey didn't know en cose but what dey gwine make 'em fight. but mars tole 'em dat dey jus' gwine to work diggin' trenches en sich; but dey didn't want to go nohow en jeff an' randall, they runned off en come back home all de way from georgia en mars let 'em stay. "boss, you has heered me tellin' dat my mars was er good, kine man en dat his overseer, mr. harvey brown, was terrible cruel, en mean, en would beat de niggers up every chance he git, en you ask me how come it was dat de mars would have sich a mean man er working for him. now i'se gwine to tell you de reason. you know de truth is de light, boss, an' dis is de truth what i'se gwine to say. mars, he in love with mr. harvey brown's wife, miss mary, and miss mary's young daughter, she was mars' chile. yas suh, she was dat. she wasn't no kin er tall to mr. harvey brown. her name was miss markis, dats what it was. mars had done willed dat chile er big part of his property and a whole gang of niggers. he was gwine give her tolliver, beckey, aunt mary, austin, an' savannah en er heap more 'sides dat. but de war, it come on en broke mars up, en all de darkies sot free, en atter dat, so i heered mr. harvey brown en miss mary, and de young lady miss markis, dey moved up north some place en i ain't never heered no more from dem. "mr. clarke and mrs. clarke what de town of clarksdale is named for, dey lived not far from our place. i knowed dem well. albert, one of mars' darkies, married cindy, one of mr. clarke's women. general forrest, i know you is heered of him. i speck he 'bout de bes' general in de war. he sure was a fine looking man en he wore a beard on he face. de general, he had a big plantation down dere in coahoma county where he would come ever so offen. a lot of times he would come to our place en take dinner wid ole mars, en i would be er waitin' on de table er takin' dem de toddies on de front gallery where dey talkin' 'bout day bizness. "boss, you axed me if dey was any sich thing in slavery times as de white men molestin' of de darky wimmen. dere was a heap of dat went on all de time an' 'course de wimmens, dey couldn't help deyselves and jus' had to put up wid it. da trouble wasn't from de mars of de wimmens i'se ever knowed of but from de overseers en de outside white folks. of course all dat couldn't have been goin' on like it did without de mars knowin' it. dey jus' bound to know dat it went on, but i'se never heered 'bout 'em doin' nothin' to stop it. it jus' was dat way, en dey 'lowed it without tryin' to stop all sich stuff as dat. you know dat niggers is bad 'bout talkin' 'mongst demselves 'bout sich en sich er goin' on, and some of mars' darkies, dey say dat sam and dick, what was two real light colored boys, dat us had was mars' chillun. dat was all talk. i nebber did believe it 'cause dey nebber even looked like mars en he nebber cared no more for dem dan any of the rest of de hands." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: betty coleman - / indiana street, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: cotton picker [dec ] "my father belonged to mr. ben martin and my mother and me belonged to the slaughters. i was small then and didn't know what the war was about, but i remember seein' the yankees and the ku klux. "old master had about fifteen or twenty hands but mr. martin had a plenty--he had bout a hundred head. "i member when the war was goin' on we was livin' in bradley county. we was goin' to texas to keep the yankees from gettin' us. i member mr. gil martin was just a young lad of a boy. we got as far as union county and i know we stopped there and stayed long enough to make two crops and then peace was declared so we cane back to warren. "while the war was goin' on, i member when my mother took a note to some soldiers in warren and asked em to come and play for miss mary. i know they stood under a sycamore and two catawba trees and played. there was a perty big bunch of em. us chillun was glad to hear it. i member just as well as if 'twas yesterday. "i member when the yankees come and took all of miss mary's silver--took every piece of it. and another time they got three or four of the colored men and made em get a horse apiece and ride away with em bareback. yankees was all ridin' iron gray horses, and lookin' just as mad. oh lord, yes, they rid right up to the gate. all the horses was just alike--iron gray. sho was perty horses. them yankees took everything miss mary had. "after the war ended we stayed on the place one year and made a crop and then my father bought fifty acres of mr. ben martin. he paid some on it every year and when it was paid for mr. ben give him a deed to it. "i'm the only child my mother had. she never had but me, one. i went to school after the war and i member at night i'd be studyin' my lesson and rootin' potatoes and papa would tell us stories about the war. i used to love to hear him on long winter evenings. "i stayed right there till i married. my father had cows and he'd kill hogs and had a peach orchard, so we got along fine. our white folks was always good to us." interviewer: thomas elmore lucy person interviewed: lucy cotton russellville, arkansas age: [jan ] "lucy cotton's my name, and i was born on the tenth day of june, , jist two months after the surrender. no suh, i ain't no kin to the other cottons around here, so far as i knows. my mother was jane hays, and she was owned by a master named wilson. "i've belonged to the holiness church six years. (they call us 'holiness,' but the real name is pentecostal.) "yes suh, there's a heap of difference in folks now 'an when i was a girl--especially among the young people. i think no woman, white or black, has got any business wastin' time around the votin' polls. their place is at home raisin' a family. i hear em sometimes slinging out their 'damns' and it sure don't soun' right to me. "good day, mistah. i wish you well--but the gov'ment ain't gonna do nothing. it never has yit." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: t.w. cotton, helena, arkansas age: [may ] "i was born close to indian bay. i belong to ed cotton. mother was sold from john mason between petersburg and richmond, virginia. three sisters was sold and they give grandma and my sister in the trade. grandma was so old she wasn't much account fer field work. mother left a son she never seen ag'in. aunt adeline's boy come too. they was put on a block but i can't recollect where it was. if mother had a husband she never said nothing 'bout him. he muster been dead. "now my papa come from la grange, tennessee. master bowers sold him to ed cotton. he was sold three times. he had one scar on his shoulder. the patrollers hit him as he went over the fence down at indian bay. he was a guinea man. he was heavy set, not very tall. generally he carried the lead row in the field. he was a good worker. they had to be quiet wid him to get him to work. he would run to the woods. he was a fast runner. he lived to be about a hundred years old. i took keer of him the last five years of his life. mother was seventy-one years old when she died. she was the mother of twenty-one children. "sure, i do remember freedom. after the civil war ended, ed cotton walked out and told papa: 'rob, you are free.' we worked on till and we moved to joe lambert's place. he had a brother named tom lambert. father never got no land at freedom. he got to own acres, a house on it, and some stock. we all worked and helped him to make it. he was a hard worker and a fast hand. "i farmed all my life till fifteen years ago i started trucking here in helena. i gets six dollars assistance from the sociable welfare and some little helpouts as i calls it--rice and potatoes and apples. i got one boy fifty-five years old if he be living. i haven't seen him since . he left and went to chicago. i got a girl in st. louis. i got a girl here in helena. i jus' been up to see her. i had nine children. i been married twice. i lived with my first wife thirteen years and seven months. she died. i lived with my second wife forty years and some over--several weeks. she died. "i was a small boy when the civil war broke out. once i got a awful scare. i was perched up on a post. the yankees come up back of the house and to my back. i seen them. i yelled out, 'yonder come yankees.' they come on cussing me. aunt ruthie got me under my arms and took me to miss fannie cotton. we lived in part of their house. walter (white) and me slept together. mother cooked. aunt ruthie was a field hand. aunt adeline must have been a field hand too. she hung herself on a black jack tree on the other side of the pool. it was a pool for ducks and stock. "she hung herself to keep from getting a whooping. mother raised (reared) her boy. she told mother she would kill herself before she would be whooped. i never heard what she was to be whooped for. she thought she would be whooped. she took a rope and tied it to a limb and to her neck and then jumped. her toes barely touched the ground. they buried her in the cemetery on the old ed cotton place. i never seen her buried. aunt ruthie's grave was the first open grave i ever seen. aunt mary was papa's sister. she was the oldest. "i would say anything to the yankees and hang and hide in miss fannie's dress. she wore long big skirts. i hung about her. grandma raised me on a bottle so mother could nurse walter (white). there was something wrong wid miss fannie. we colored children et out of trays. they hewed them out of small logs. seven or eight et together. we had our little cups. grandma had a cup for my water. we et with spoons. it would hold a peck of something to eat. i nursed my mother four weeks and then mama raised walter and grandma raised me. walter et out of our tray many and many a time. mother had good teeth and she chewed for us both. henry was younger than walter. they was the only two children miss fannie had. grandma washed out our tray soon as ever we quit eating. she'd put the bread in, then pour the meat and vegetables over it. it was good. "did you ever hear of walter cotton, a cancer doctor? that was him. he may be dead now. me and him caused aunt sue to get a whooping. they had a little pear tree down twix the house and the spring. walter knocked one of the sugar pears off and cut it in halves. we et it. mr. ed asked 'bout it. walter told her aunt sue pulled it. she didn't come by the tree. he whooped her her declaring all the time she never pulled it nor never seen it. i was scared then to tell on walter. i hope eat it. aunt sue had grown children. "the ku klux come through the first and second gates to papa's house and he opened the door. they grunted around. they told papa to come out. he didn't go and he was ready to hurt them when they come in. he told them when he finished that crop they could have his room. he left that year. they come in on me once before i married. i was at my girl's house. they wanted to be sure we married. the principal thing they was to see was that you didn't live in the house wid a woman till you be married. i wasn't married but i soon did marry her. they scared us up some. "i don't know if times is so much better for some or not. some folks won't work. some do work awful hard. young folks i'm speaking 'bout. times is mighty fast now. seems like they get faster and faster every way. i'll be eighty years old this may. i was born in ." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: ellen cragin - / arch street, little rock, arkansas age: around or more [may ] [hw: escapes on cow] "i was born on the tenth of march in some year, i don't know what one. i don't know whether it was in the civil war or before the civil war. i forget it. i think that i was born in vicksburg, mississippi; i'm not sure, but i think it was. "my mother was a great shouter. one night before i was born, she was at a meeting, and she said, 'well, i'll have to go in, i feel something.' she said i was walkin' about in there. and when she went in, i was born that same night. "my mother was a great christian woman. she raised us right. we had to be in at sundown. if you didn't bring it in at sundown, she'd whip you,--whip you within an inch of your life. "she didn't work in the field. she worked at a loom. she worked so long and so often that once she went to sleep at the loom. her master's boy saw her and told his mother. his mother told him to take a whip and wear her out. he took a stick and went out to beat her awake. he beat my mother till she woke up. when she woke up, she took a pole out of the loom and beat him nearly to death with it. he hollered, 'don't beat me no more, and i won't let 'em whip you.' "she said, 'i'm goin' to kill you. these black titties sucked you, and then you come out here to beat me.' and when she left him, he wasn't able to walk. "and that was the last i seen of her until after freedom. she went out and got on an old cow that she used to milk--dolly, she called it. she rode away from the plantation, because she knew they would kill her if she stayed. "my mother was named luvenia polk. she got plumb away and stayed away. on account of that, i was raised by my mother. she went to atchison, kansas--rode all through them woods on that cow. tore her clothes all off on those bushes. "once a man stopped her and she said, 'my folks gone to kansas and i don't know how to find 'em.' he told her just how to go. "my father was an indian. 'way back in the dark days, his mother ran away, and when she came up, that's what she come with--a little indian boy. they called him 'waw-_hoo_'che.' his master's name was tom polk. tom polk was my mother's master too. it was tom polk's boy that my mother beat up. "my father wouldn't let nobody beat him either. one time when somethin' he had did didn't suit tom polk--i don't know what it was--they cut sores on him that he died with. cut him with a raw-hide whip, you know. and then they took salt and rubbed it into the sores. "he told his master, 'you have took me down and beat me for nothin', and when you do it again, i'm goin' to put you in the ground.' papa never slept in the house again after that. they got scared and he was scared of them. he used to sleep in the woods. "they used to call me 'waw-hoo'che' and 'red-headed indian brat.' i got in a fight once with my mistress' daughter,--on account of that. "the children used to say to me, 'they beat your papa yesterday.' "and i would say to them, 'they better not beat my papa,' and they would go up to the house and tell it, and i would beat 'em for tellin' it. "there was an old white man used to come out and teach papa how to read the bible. "papa said, 'ain't you 'fraid they'll kill you if they see you?' "the old man said, 'no; they don't know what i'm doing, and don't you tell 'em. if you do, they will kill me.' signs of the war "one night my father called me outside and told me that he saw the elements opened up and soldiers fighting in the heavens. "'don't you see them, honey?' he said; but i couldn't see them. and he said there was going to be a war. "i went out and told it. the white people said they ought to take him out and beat him and make him hush his mouth. because if they got such talk going 'round among the colored people, they wouldn't be able to do nothin' with them. dr. polk's wife's father, old man woods, used to say that the niggers weren't goin' to be free. he said that god had showed that to him. mean masters "dr. polk and his son, the one my mother beat up and left lying on the ground, were two mean men. when the slaves didn't pick enough cotton for them, they would take them down the field, and turn up their clothes, till they was naked, and beat them nearly to death. "mother was a breeder. while she did that weaving, she had children fast. one day, tom polk hit my mother. that was before she ran away. he hit her because she didn't pick the required amount of cotton. when there was nothin' to do at the loom, mother had to go in the field, you know. i forget how much cotton they had to pick. i don't know how many times he hit her. i was small. i heard some one say, 'they got clarisay down, down there!' i went to see. and they had her down. she was stout, and they had dug a hole in the ground to put her belly in. i never did get over that. i'm an old woman, but tom polk better not come 'round me now even. "i have heard women scream and holler, 'do pray, massa, do pray.' and i was sure glad when she beat up young tom and got away. i didn't have no use for neither one of 'em, and ain't yet. "it wasn't her work to be in the field. he made her breed and then made her work at the loom. that wasn't nothin'. he would have children by a nigger woman and then have them by her daughter. "i went out one day and got a gun. i don't know whose gun it was. i said to myself, 'if you whip my mother today, i am goin' to shoot you.' i didn't know where the gun belonged. my oldest sister told me to take it and set it by the door, and i did it. how freedom came "dr. polk had a fine horse. he came riding through the field and said, 'all you all niggers are free now. you can stay here and work for me or you can go to the next field and work.' "i had an old aunt that they used to make set on a log. she jumped off that log and ran down the field to the quarters shouting and hollering. "the people all said, 'nancy's free; they ain't no ants biting her today.' she'd been setting on that log one year. she wouldn't do no kind of work and they make her set there all day and let the ants bite her. "big niggers" "they used to call my folks 'big niggers.' papa used to get things off a steamboat. one day he brought a big demi-john home and ordered all the people not to touch it. one day when he went out, i went in it. i had to see what it was. i drunk some of it and when he came home he said to me, 'you've been in that demi-john.' i said, 'no, i haven't.' but he said, 'yes, you have; i can tell by the way you look.' and then i told him the truth. "he would get shoes, calico goods, coffee, sugar, and a whole lot of other things. anything he wanted, he would get. that he didn't, he would ask him to bring the next trip. "it was a union gunboat, and ran under the water. you could see the smoke. the white people said, 'that boat's goin' to carry some of these niggers away from here one of these days.' "and sure enough, it did carry one away. buried treasure and a runaway "i went to the big gate one morning and there was a nigger named charles there. "i said, 'what you doing out here so early this morning?' "he said to me, 'you hush yo' mouth and get on back up to the house.' "i went back to the house and told my mother, 'i saw charles out there.' that was before my mother ran away. "my mother said, 'he's fixing to run away. and he's got a barrel of money. and it belongs to the doctor. 'cause he and the dr. went out to bury it to keep the yankees from getting it.' "he ran away, and he took the money with him, too. he went out to kansas city and bought a home. we didn't think much of it, because we knew it was wrong to do it. but old master tom had done a heap of wrong too. he was the first one spotted the boat that morning--charles was. and he went away on it. plenty to eat "my father would kill a hog and keep the meat in a pit under the house. i know what it is now. i didn't know then. he would clean the hog and everything before he would bring him to the house. you had to come down outside the house and go into the pit when you wanted to get meat to eat. if my father didn't have a hog, he would steal one from his master's pen and cut its throat and bring it to the pit. "my folks liked hog guts. we didn't try to keep them long. we'd jus' clean 'em and scrape 'em and throw 'em in the pot. i didn't like to clean 'em but i sure loved to eat 'em. father had a great big pot they called the wash pot and we would cook the chit'lins in it. you could smell 'em all over the country. i didn't have no sense. whenever we had a big hog killin', i would say to the other kids, 'we got plenty of meat at our house.' "they would say back, 'where you got it?' "i would tell 'em. and they would say, 'give us some.' "and i would say to them, 'no, that's for us.' "so they called us 'big niggers.' marriages since freedom "my first baby was born to my husband. i didn't throw myself away. i married mr. cragin in . he lived with me about fifteen years before he died. he got kicked. he was a baker. during the war, he was the cook in a camp. he went to get some flour one morning. he snatched the tray too hard and it kicked him in his bowels. he never did get over it. the tray was full of flour and it was big and heavy. it was a sliding tray. it rolled out easy and fast and you had to pull it careful. i don't know why they called it a kick. "i married a second husband--if you can call it that--a nigger named jones. he had a spoonful of sense. we didn't live together three months. he came in one day and i didn't have dinner ready. he slapped me. i had never been slapped by a man before. i went to the drawer and got my pistol out and started to kill him. but i didn't. i told him to leave there fast. he had promised to do a lot of things and didn't do them, and then he used to use bad language too. occupation "i've always sewed for a living. see that sign up there?" the sign read: all kinds of buttons sewed on mending too "i can't cut out no dress and make it, but i can use a needle on patching and quilting. can't nobody beat me doin' that. i can knit, too. i can make stockings, gloves, and all such things. "i belong to bib bethel church, and i get most of my support from the lord. i get help from the government. i'm trying to get moved, and i'm just sittin' here waiting for the man to come and move me. i ain't got no money, but he promised to move me." interviewer's comment there it was--the appeal to the slush fund. i have contributed to lunch, tobacco, and cold drinks, but not before to moving expenses. i had only six cents which i had reserved for car fare. but after you have talked with people who are too old to work, too feeble to help themselves in any effective fashion, hemmed up in a single room and unable to pay rent on that, odds and ends of broken and dilapidated furniture, ragged clothes, and not even plenty of water on hand for bathing, barely hanging on to the thread of life without a thrill or a passion, then it is a great thing to have six cents to give away and to be able to walk any distance you want to. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: sallie crane see first paragraph in interviewer's comment for residences age: , or more [hw: whipped from sunup to sundown] "i was born in hempstead county, between nashville and greenville, in arkansas, on the military road. never been outside the state in my life. i was born ninety years ago. i been here in pulaski county nearly fifty-seven years. "i was born in a old double log house chinked and dobbed. nary a window and one door. i had a bedstead made with saw and ax. chairs were made with saw, ax, and draw knife. my brother orange made the furniture. we kept the food in boxes. "my mother's name was mandy bishop, and my father's name was jerry bishop. i don't know who my grand folks were. they was all virginia folks--that is all i know. they come from virginia, so they told me. my old master was harmon bishop and when they divided the property i fell to miss evelyn bishop. age "the first man that came through here writing us up for the red cross, i give him my age as near as i could. and they kept that. you know peace was declared in . they told me i was free. i got scared and thought that the speculators were going to put me in them big droves and sell me down in louisiana. my old mistress said, 'you fool, you are free. we are going to take you to your mammy.' i cried because i thought they was carrying me to see my mother before they would send me to be sold in louisiana. my old mistress said she would whip me. but she didn't. when we got to my mother's, i said, 'how old is i?' she said, 'you are sixteen.' she didn't say months, she didn't say years, she didn't say weeks, she didn't say days; she just said, 'you are sixteen.' and my case worker told me that made me ninety years old. "i was in hempstead county on harmon bishop's plantation. it was miss polly, harmon's wife, that told me i was free, and give me my age. "i know freedom come before , because my brothers would tell me to come home from nashville where i would be sent to do nursing by my old mistress and master too to nurse for my young mistress. "when my old master's property was divided, i don't know why--he wasn't dead nor nothin'--i fell to miss evelyn, but i stayed in nashville working for miss jennie nelson, one of harmon's daughters. miss jennie was my young mistress. my brothers were already free. i don't know how miss polly came to tell me i was free. but my brothers would see me and tell me to run away and come on home and they would protect me, but i was afraid to try it. finally miss polly found that she couldn't keep me any longer and she come and told me i was free. but i thought that she was fooling me and just wanted to sell me to the speculators. family "my mother was the mother of twenty children and i am the mother of eighteen. my youngest is forty-five. i don't know whether any of my mother's children is living now or not. i left them that didn't join the militia in hempstead county fifty-seven years ago. them that joined the militia went off. i don't know nothin' about them. i have two girls living that i know about. i had two boys went to france and i never heard nothin' 'bout what happened to them. nothing--not a word. red cross has hunted 'em. police mitchell hunted 'em--police mitchell in little rock. but i ain't heard nothin' 'bout 'em. work "the first work i did was nursing and after that i was water toter. i reckon i was about seven or eight years old when i first began to nurse. i could barely lift the baby. i would have to drag them 'round. then i toted water to the field. then when i was put to plowing, and chopping cotton, i don't know exactly how old i was. but i know i was a young girl and it was a good while before the war. i had to do anything that come up--thrashing wheat, sawing logs, with a wristband on, lifting logs, splitting rails. women in them days wasn't tender like they is now. they would call on you to work like men and you better work too. my mother and father were both field hands. soldiers "oo-oo-oo-ee-ee-ee!! man, the soldiers would pass our house at daylight, two deep or four deep, and be passing it at sundown still marching making it to the next stockade. those were yankees. they didn't set no slaves free. when i knowed anything about freedom, it was the bureaus. we didn't know nothing like young folks do now. "we hardly knowed our names. we was cussed for so many bitches and sons of bitches and bloody bitches, and blood of bitches. we never heard our names scarcely at all. first young man i went with wanted to know my initials! what did i know 'bout initials? you ask 'em ten years old now, and they'll tell you. that was after the war. initials!!! slave sales "have i seen slaves sold! good god, man! i have seed them sold in droves. i have worn a buck and gag in my mouth for three days for trying to run away. i couldn't eat nor drink--couldn't even catch the slobber that fell from my mouth and run down my chest till the flies settled on it and blowed it. 'scuse me but jus' look at these places. (she pulled open her waist and showed scars where the maggots had eaten in--ed.) whippings "i been whipped from sunup till sundown. off and on, you know. they whip me till they got tired and then they go and res' and come out and start again. they kept a bowl filled with vinegar and salt and pepper settin' nearby, and when they had whipped me till the blood come, they would take the mop and sponge the cuts with this stuff so that they would hurt more. they would whip me with the cowhide part of the time and with birch sprouts the other part. there were splinters long as my finger left in my back. a girl named betty jones come over and soaped the splinters so that they would be softer and pulled them out. they didn't whip me with a bull whip; they whipped me with a cowhide. they jus' whipped me 'cause they could--'cause they had the privilege. it wasn't nothin' i done; they just whipped me. my married young master, joe, and his wife, jennie, they was the ones that did the whipping. but i belonged to miss evelyn. "they had so many babies 'round there i couldn't keep up with all of them. i was jus' a young girl and i couldn't keep track of all them chilen. while i was turned to one, the other would get off. when i looked for that one, another would be gone. then they would whip me all day for it. they would whip you for anything and wouldn't give you a bite of meat to eat to save your life, but they'd grease your mouth when company come. food "we et out of a trough with a wooden spoon. mush and milk. cedar trough and long-handled cedar spoons. didn't know what meat was. never got a taste of egg. oo-ee! weren't allowed to look at a biscuit. they used to make citrons. they were good too. when the little white chilen would be comin' home from school, we'd run to meet them. they would say, 'whose nigger are you?' and we would say, 'yor'n!' and they would say, 'no, you ain't.' they would open those lunch baskets and show us all that good stuff they'd brought back. hold it out and snatch it back! finally, they'd give it to us, after they got tired of playing. health "they're burying old brother jim mullen over here today. he was an old man. they buried one here last sunday--eighty some odd. brother mullen had been sick for thirty years. died settin' up--settin' up in a chair. the old folks is dyin' fas'. brother smith, the husband of the old lady that brought you down here, he's in feeble health too. ain't been well for a long time. "look at that place on my head. (there was a knot as big as a hen egg--smooth and shiny--ed.) when it first appeared, it was no bigger then a pea, i scratched it and then the hair commenced to fall out. i went to three doctors, and been to the clinic too. one doctor said it was a busted vein. another said it was a tumor. another said it was a wen. i know one thing. it don't hurt me. i can scratch it; i can rub it. (she scratched and rubbed it while i flinched and my flesh crawled--ed.) but it's got me so i can't see and hear good. dr. junkins, the best doctor in the community told me not to let anybody cut on it. dr. hicks wanted to take it off for fifty dollars. i told him he'd let it stay on for nothin'. i never was sick in my life till a year ago. i used to weigh two hundred ten pounds; now i weigh one hundred forty. i can lap up enough skin on my legs to go 'round 'em twice. "since i was sick a year ago. i haven't been able to get 'round any. i never been well since. the first sunday in january this year, i got worse settin' in the church. i can't hardly get 'round enough to wait on myself. but with what i do and the neighbors' help, i gets along somehow. present condition "if it weren't for the mercy of the people through here. i would suffer for a drink of water. somebody ran in on old lady chairs and killed her for her money. but they didn't get it, and we know who it was too. somebody born and raised right here 'mongst us. since then i have been 'fraid to stay at home even. "i had a fine five-room house and while i was down sick, my daughter sold it and i didn't get but twenty-nine dollars out of it. she got the money, but i never seed it. i jus' lives here in these rags and this dirt and these old broken-down pieces of furniture. i've got fine furniture that she keeps in her house. "i get some help from the welfare. they give me eight dollars. they give me commodities too. they give me six at first, and they increased it. my case worker said she would try to git me some more. god knows i need it. i have to pay for everything i get. have to pay a boy to go get water for me. there's people that gits more 'n they need and have plenty time to go fishin' but don't have no time to work. you see those boys there goin' fishin'; but that's not their fault. one of the merchants in town had them cut off from work because they didn't trade with him. "you gets 'round lots, son, don't you? well; if you see anybody that has some old shoes they don't want, git 'em to give 'em to me. i don't care whether they are men's shoes or women's shoes. men's shoes are more comfortable. i wear number sevens. i don't know what last. can't you tell? (i suppose that her shoes would be seven e--ed.) i can't live off eight dollar. i have to eat, git help with my washing, pay a child to go for my water, 'n everything. i got these dresses give to me. they too small, and i got 'em laid out to be let out. "you just come in any time; i can't talk to you like i would a woman; but i guess you can understand me." interviewer's comment sallie crane lives near the highway between sweet home and wrightsville. wrightsville post office, lucinda hays' box. mclain birch, wolfe street, little rock, knows the way to her house. her age is not less than ninety, because she hoed cotton and plowed before the war. if anything, it is more than the ninety which she claims. those who know her well say she must be at least ninety-five. she has a good memory although she complains of her health. she seems to be pretty well dependent on herself and the welfare and is asking for old clothes and shoes as you will note by the story. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: isaac crawford brinkley, ark. age: "i was born the first year of the civil war. i was born and raised and married in holmes county, mississippi. my parents was named harriett and james crawford. they belong to a widow woman, miss sallie crawford. she had a girl named bettie and three sons named sam, mack, gus. mack and gus was heavy drinkers. moster sam would drink but he wasn't so bad. they wasn't mean to the negroes on the place. they had eight or nine families scattered around over their land. "i farmed till i was eighteen then they made me foreman over the hands on the place i stayed till after i married. "i know sam was in the war and come home cripple. he was in the war five years. he couldn't get home from the war. i drove his hack and toted him to it. i toted him in the house. he said he never rode in the war; he always had to walk and tote his baggage. his feet got frost bit and raw. they never got well. he lived. they lived close to goodman, mississippi. "i heard my mother say she was mixed with creole indian. she was some french. my father was pure african. now what am i? "ole mistress wasn't mean to none of us. she wrung my ears and talked to me. i minded her pretty good. "the children set on the steps to eat and about under the trees. some folks kept their children looking good. some let em go. they fed em--set a big pot and dip em out greens. give em a cup of milk. we all had plenty coarse victuals. we all had to work. it done you no good to be fraid er sweat in them days. "i didn't know bout freedom and i didn't care bout it. they didn't give no land nor no mules away as i ever know'd of. "the ku klux never come on our place. i heard about em all the time. i seen em in the road. they look like hants. "i been farming all my life. i come here to farm. better land and no fence law. "i come to 'ply to the p.w.a. today. that is the very reason you caught me in town today." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mary crosby oak street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "good morning. i don't know anybody 'round here that was born in slavery times 'cept me. i don't know exactly when i was born in georgia but i can remember my mama said her old master, mat fields, sent my father and all the other men folks to arkansas the second year of the war. after the war, i remember there was a colored man named mose come from mississippi to georgia and told the colored folks they could shake money off the trees in mississippi. of course they was just ignorant as cattle and they believed him. i know i thought what a good time i would have. i can remember seeing old master crying cause his colored folks all leaving, but mose emigrated all of us to mississippi. "he kept emigrating folks over there till he like to got killed. the white people give him a stayaway and told him not to come back, but he sure did get some colored folks out of georgia. "i 'member they said the war was to free the niggers. they called it the civil war. i never did know why they called it that. i can't 'member things like i used to. "my mother's old master's granddaughter, miss anne, had a baby that was six months old when i was born and mama said old master come in and tell miss ann, 'i've got a new little nigger for mary lou.' he said he was goin' to give her ten and that i was her first little nigger. when we was both grown mary lou used to write to me once a year and say 'i claim you yet, mary.' "i 'member when garfield was shot. that was the first time i ever heard of gangrene. "yes'm i have worked hard all my life. when i was in mississippi i used to make as much as ten dollars a week washin' and ironin'. but i'm not able to work now. the welfare helps me some." [hw: (copy)] el dorado division folklore subjects (ex-slave) mrs. mildred thompson federal writers' project union county, arkansas [tr: hand dated nov. , ] [tr: ellen crowley] ellen crowley an old negress of jefferson county, known as "old aunt ellen" to both white and colored people. she was quite a character; a slave during civil war and lived in mississippi. she later married and moved to arkansas. aunt ellen was much feared and also respected by the colored race owing to the fact that she could foretell the future and cast a spell on those she didn't like. this unusual talent "come about" while on a white plantation as a nurse. she foretold of a great sorrow that would fall on her white folks and in the year two children passed away. one day soon after she was being teased by a small negro boy to whom she promptly put the 'curse' on and in later years he was subject to "fits." she said she was "purty nigh" when asked her age, always slept in the nude, and on arising she would say: "i didn't sleep well last night, the debil sit at my feet and worried my soul" or vice versa "i had a good rest the lord sit at my head and brought me peace." she was immaculate about her person and clothes and always wore a red bandana around her head. her mania was to clean the yard. when asked about her marriage she would say: "i been married seven times" but jones, brown and crowley were the only husbands she could remember by name. she said the other "four no count negroes wasn't worth remembering." she was ever faithful to those she worked for, and was known to walk ten and twelve miles to see her white folks with whom she had work. would come in and say: "howdy, i'se come to stay awhile. i'll clean the yard for my victuals and i can sleep on the floor." she would go on her way in a few days leaving behind a clean yard and pleasant memories of a faithful servant. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: richard crump gaines street, little rock, arkansas age: [hw: father takes a "deadening"] "i was born right here in aberdeen, mississippi about five miles from the town on the east side of the tom bigbee river in monroe county, mississippi. "my father's name was richard crump. my mother was named emily crump. my grandmother on my father's side was named susan crump. my mother came from middleton, tennessee. but i don't know nothing about any of her people. my father said he come from south carolina when he was a boy eight or ten years old. that was way before i was born. they brought him to mississippi from south carolina. "my father's master was old man johnnie crump. my mistress was named nina crump. that was johnnie crump's wife. my mars had four boys to my remembrance. one was named wess, one was named rufe, one was named joe, and one was named johnnie. he had a girl named annie and one named lulu. "my mother was the mother of thirteen children. i am the onliest one living, that i know of. the way they gwine with us now, i ain't goin' a be here long. just got four dollars to pay rent and bills and git somethin' to eat for a month. you don't git nothin' much when you git the commodities--no grease to cook with. "we never had no trouble much when i was coming along. my mars was a pretty good old man. he didn't allow no overseer to whip his slaves. the overseer couldn't whip my old mother anyhow because she was a kind of bully and she would git back in a corner with a hoe and dare him in. and he wouldn't go in neither. "my grandmother had three or four sons. one was name nels crump, another was named miles and another was named henry and another jim. she had two or three more but i can't think of them. they died before i was old enough to know anything. then she had two or three daughters. one was named lottie. she had another one but i can't think of her name. i was so little. all of them are dead now. all of my people are dead but me. they are trying to find a sister of mine, but i ain't found her yet. she oughter be down here by forrest city somewheres. but there ain't nobody here that i know about but me. and the way they're carryin' them now i ain't goin' to be here long. all of them people you hear me talk about, they're supposed to be dead. "i was born in . at least the old man told me that. i mean my father of course. the first thing i knowed anything about was picking cotton. i was a little bitty old fellow with a little sack hangin' at my side. i was pickin' beside my mother. they would grab us sometimes when we didn't pick right. shake us and pull our ears. "i didn't know anything about sellin' and buying. i never was sold. "the next thing i remember was being told i was free. my daddy said old mars told them they were free. i didn't hear him tell it myself. they come 'round on a monday morning and told papa and the rest that they were free as he was and that they could go if they wanted to or they could stay, 'cause they were free as he was and didn't have no master no more, didn't have no one to domineer over them no more. "right after freedom, my folks worked on old man jim burdyne's farm. that is the first place i remember after freedom. father taken a little deadening. you don't know what a deadening is? that's a lease. he cleaned up some land. we boys were just gettin' so we could pick up brush and tops of trees--and burn it, and one thing and another. two years after the war was over, i got big enough to plow. i was plowing when i was nine years old. we had three boys and four girls older than me. the balance of them was born after freedom. we made crops on shares for three years after freedom, and then we commenced to rent. shares were one-third of the cotton and one-fourth of the corn. they didn't pay everything they promised. they taken a lot of it away from us. they said figures didn't lie. you know how that was. you dassent dispute a man's word then. sometimes a man would get mad and beat up his overseer and run him away. but my daddy wouldn't do it. he said, 'well, if i owe anything i'll pay it. i got a large family to take care of.' "i never got a chance to go to school any. there was too much work to do. i married when i was twenty-one. i would go off and stay a month or two and come back. never left home permanent for a long while. stayed 'round home till i was forty years old. i come to arkansas in . i made a living by farming at first. "i didn't shoot no craps. i belong to the church. i have belonged to the church about forty years or more. i did play cords and shoot craps and things like that for years before i got religion. "i come to little rock in and been here ever since. i worked 'round here in town first one thing and then another. worked at the railroad and on like that. "we used to vote right smart in mississippi. had a little trouble sometimes but it would soon die down. i haven't voted since i been here. do no good nohow. can't vote in none of these primary elections. vote for the president. and that won't do no good. they can throw your ballot out if they want to. "i believe in the right thing. i wouldn't believe in anything else. i try to be loyal to the state and the city. but colored folks don't have much show. work for a man four or five years and go back to him and he don't know nothin' about you. they soon forget you and a white man's word goes far. "i was able to work as late as , but i ain't been no 'count since to do much work. i get a pension for old age from the welfare and commodities and i depend on that for a living. whatever they want to give me, i'll take it and make out with it. if there's any chance for me to git a slave's pension, i wish they would send it to me. for i need it awful bad. they done cut me way down now. i got heart trouble and high blood pressure but i don't give up. "my mother sure used to make good ash cake. when she made it for my daddy, she would put a piece of paper on it on top and another on the bottom. that would keep it clean. she made it extra good. when he would git through, she would give us the rest. sometimes, she wouldn't put the paper on it because she would be mad. he would ask, 'no paper today?' she would say, 'no.' and he wouldn't say nothin' more. "there is some of the meanest white people in the united states in mississippi up there on the yellow dog river. that's where the devil makes meanness. "there's some pretty mean colored folks too. there is some of them right here in little rock. them boys from dunbar give me a lot of trouble. they ride by on their bicycles and holler at us. if we say anything to them, they say, 'shut up, old gray head.' sometimes they say worse. i used to live by brother love. christmas the boys threw at the house and gave me sass when i spoke to them. so i got out of that settlement. here it is quiet because it is among the white folks." interviewer: mrs. carol graham, el dorado division person interviewed: zenia culp age: over [jan ] "yas'm, my name is zenia, zenia culp 'tis now since i married. my old master's name was billy newton. him and three more brothers come here and settled in this county years ago and master billy settled this farm. i was born and raised here and ain't never lived nowheres else. i used to be nurse girl and lived up at the big house. you know up there where mr. john dunbar's widow lives now. and the family burying groun' is jus' a little south of the house where you sees them trees and tomb stones out in the middle of the field. "master billy's folks was so good to me and i sure thought a heap of young master billy. believe i told you i was the nurse girl. well, young master billy was my special care. and he was a live one too. i sure had a time keepin' up wid that young rascal. i would get him ready for bed every night. in summer time he went barefoot like all little chaps does and course i would wash his foots before i put him to bed. that little fellow would be so sleepy sometime that he would say: 'don't wash em, zenia, jes' wet em.' oh, he was a sight, young master billy was. "does you know miss pearl? she live there in el dorado. she is young master's widow. miss pearl comes out to see me sometime and we talks lots bout young master billy. "yas'm, i'se always lived here where i was born. never moved way from de old plantation. course things is changed lots since the days when old master billy was livin'. when he went off to the war he took most of the men black folks and the womens stayed home to take care of mistress and the chillun. "my husban' been dead a long, long time and i live here wid my son. his wife is gone from home dis evenin'. so i thought i'd come out and pick off some peanuts jes' to git out in the sunshine awhile. that's my son out there makin' sorghum. my daughter-in-law is so good to me. she treats me like i was a baby. "you asks me to tell you something bout slave days, and how we done our work then. well, as i tell you, my job was nurse girl and all i had to do was to keep up wid young master billy and that wasn't no work tall, that was just fun. but while i'd be followin' roun' after him i'd see how the others would be doin' things. "when they gathered sweet potatoes they would dig a pit and line it with straw and put the tatoes in it then cover them with straw and build a coop over it. this would keep the potatoes from rotting. the irish potatoes they would spread out in the sand under the house and the onions they would hand up in the fence to keep them from rotting. "in old master newton's day they didn' have ice boxes and they would put the milk and butter and eggs in buckets and let em down in the well to keep em cool. "master's niggers lived in log houses down at de quarters but they was fed out of the big house. i members they had a long table to eat off and kept hit scoured so nice and clean with sand and ashes and they scoured the floors like that too and it made em so purty and white. they made their mops cut of shucks. i always eat in the nursery with young master billy. "they had big old fireplaces in master's house and i never seen a stove till after the war. "i member bein' down at the quarters one time and one of the women had the sideache and they put poultices on her made out of shucks and hot ashes and that sho'ly did ease the pain. "the pickaninnies had a time playin'. seein' these peanuts minds me that they used to bust the ends and put them on their ears for ear rings. course master billy had to try it too, then let out a howl cause they pinched. "lan', but them was good old days when master billy was alive." texarkana district folklore subjects name of interviewer: mrs. w.m. ball subject: anecdotes story: information given by: albert cummins place of residence: laurel st., texarkana, ark. occupation: none (ex-slave) age: [tr: personal information moved from bottom of second page.] an humble cottage, sheltered by four magnificent oak trees, houses an interesting old negro, albert cummins. texarkana people, old and young, reverence this character, and obtain from him much valuable information concerning the early life of this country. this ex-slave was freed when he was fifteen years old, but continued to live in the same family until he was a man. he says: "all de training an' advice i evah had come frum mah mistress. she wuz a beautiful christian; if i am anybody, i owe it to her. i nevah went to school a day in mah life; whut i know i absorbed frum de white folks! mah religion is de golden rule. it will take any man to heaben who follows its teachings. "mah mahster wuz kilt in de battle fought at poison springs, near camden. we got separated in de skirmish an' i nevah did see him again. libin' at that time wuz hard because dere wuz no way to communicate, only to sen' messages by horseback riders. it wuz months befo' i really knew dat mah mahster had been kilt, and where. "mr. autrey bought mah mother when i wuz an infant, and gave us de protection an' care dat all good slave owners bestowed on their slaves. i worshipped dis man, dere has nevah been anudder like him. i sees him often in mah dreams now, an' he allus appears without food an' raiment, jus' as de south wuz left after de war." "i came heah when texarkana wuz only three years old, jus' a little kindly village, where we all knew each udder. due to de location an' de comin' ob railroads, de town advanced rapidly. not until it wuz too late did de citizens realize whut a drawback it is to be on de line between two states. dis being texarkana's fate, she has had a hard struggle overcoming dis handicap for sixty-three years. still dat state line divides de two cities like de "mason and dixon line" divides the north an' south. "living on the arkansas side of this city, albert cummins is naturally very partial to his side. "the arkansas side is more civilized", according to his version. "too easy fo' de texas folks to commit a crime an' step across to arkansas to escape arrest an' nevah be heard ob again." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: betty curlett, hazen, arkansas age: [-- -- ] "i can tell you all about my kin folks. my mama's owners was mars john moore and miss molly moore. they come from virginia and brought grandma mahaley and grandpa tom. "mr. daniel johnson went to north carolina and bought alice and john and their family. when he brought them to mississippi, they come in a hack. it was snowing and cold. it took em so long to came they take turns walkin'. grandma was walking long wid the hack and somewhere she cut through and climbed over a railin' fence. she lost her baby outer her quilts and went on a mile fore she knowed bout it. she say, 'lawd, master daniel, if i ain't lost my baby.' they stopped the hack and she went back to see where her baby could be. she knowed where she got out the hack and she knowed she had the baby then. fore she got to the fence she clum over, she seed her baby on the snow. she said the sun was warm and he was well wrop up. that all what saved em. she shuck him round till she woke him up. she was so scared he be froze. when he let out cryin' she knowed he be all right. she put him in the foot of the hack mong jugs of hot water what they had to keep em warm. she say he never had a cold from it. well, that was john, my papa, what she lost in de snow. grandma used to set and tell us that and way i can member it was my own papa she be talkin' bout. "papa was raised up by the johnson family and mama by the moore family. den alice moore had em marry her and john johnson. their plantations joined, and joined judge reid's (or reed's) place. we all had a big time on them three farms. they was good to their niggers but mr. ---- they said whooped his niggers awful heep. "ed amick was mars daniel johnson's overseer. he told him he wanted his slaves treated mighty good and they was good. yes ma'am, they was good to em!! we had a plenty to eat. every saturday they killed a lamb, a goat or a yearlin' and divided up mong his folks and the niggers. us childen would kill a peafowl and they let us eat em. white folks didn't eat em. they was tender seem like round the head. "miss evaline was mars daniel's sister. she was a old maid. miss evaline, aunt selie old nigger woman and brittain old nigger man done nuthin' but raise chickens, geese, guineas, ducks, pigeons. they had a few turkeys and peafowls all the time. when they stewed chicken it was stewed in a big black pot they kept to cook fowls in. they fry chicken in a pot er grease then turn drap sweet biscuit bread in. they put eggs in it, too. they call it marble cakes. then they pour sweet milk in the bottom grease and make good gravy. when they rendered up lard they always made marble cakes. they cut marble cakes all kind er shapes and twisted em round like knots and rings. they take em up in big pans big as dish pans. "we had plenty to eat and plenty flannel and cotton check dresses. regular women done our quiltin' and made our dresses. she made our dresses plain waist, full gathered skirt and buttons down the backs on our waist. "i was named for miss betty johnson. mars daniel bought me books. i slip and tear abc's outen every book he buy for me. miss betty say a-b-c-d; i say after her. she say, 'betty, you ain't lookin' on the book.' i say, 'miss betty, i hear miss cornelia's baby woke up. agin miss betty--she was my young mistress--abc's me sayin' em long wid her. i say, 'miss betty, i smell ginger bread, can't i go git a piece?' she say, 'betty--i'm so sorry i name you fer me. i wish i named mary.' i say, 'then you name mary betty an' give me nother name.' miss betty git me down agin to sayin' the abc's, i be lookin' off. she say, 'betty, you goin' to be a idiot.' i say, 'that what i wanter be--zactly what i wanter be.' i didn't know what a idiot was then. "i took up crocheting. miss cornelia cut me some quilt pieces. she say 'betty that's her talent' bout me. miss betty say, 'if she goin' to be mine i want her to be smart.' miss mary lernt my sister mary fast. "when i was bout fifteen i was goiner to the nigger school. i wanted to go to the white school wid miss mag. miss betty say, 'betty, that white woman would whoop you every day.' i take my dinner in a bucket and go on wid mary. i'd leave fore the teacher have time to have my lesson and git in late. the teacher said, 'betty, miss cornelia and miss betty say they want you to be smart and you up an' run off and come in late, and do all sorts er ways. ain't you shamed?' "they had a big entertainment. miss betty learned me a piece to say--poetry. i could lern it from sayin' it over wid miss betty. they bought me and mary our fust calico dresses. i lack to walked myself to death. i was so proud. it had two ruffles on the bottom of the skirt and a shash tied at the waist behind. we had red hats wid streamers hanging down the back. the dresses was red and black small checks. mary lernt her piece at school. we had singing and speeches and a big dinner at the school closin'. "mr. john moore went to war and was killed at the beginnin' of the first battle soon as he got there. they had a sayin, 'you won't last as long as john moore when he went to war.' "mr. criss moore was kickin' a nigger boy. old miss say, 'criss, quit kickin' him, you hurt him.' he say, 'i ain't hurtin' him, i'm playin' wid him!' white boys played wid nigger boys when they come round the house. glad to meet up to get to play. "mr. criss moore, jr. (john moore's grandson) is a doctor way up north and so is mr. daniel johnson, jr. one of em in washington i think. i could ask miss betty carter when i go back to mississippi. "when i left mississippi mr. criss hated to see me go. mr. johnson say, 'i wanted all our niggers buried on our place.' he say to jim, my husband, 'now when she die you let me know and i'll help bring her back and bury her in the old graveyard.' when my papa died mr. johnson had the hearse come out and get him and take him in it to the graveyard. he was buried by mama and nearly all the johnson, moore, and reed (or reid) niggers buried there. my husband is buried here (hazen, arkansas) but he was a curlett. "papa set out apple trees on the old johnson place, still bearin' apples. the old farm place is forty-eight miles from tupelo and three miles from houlka, mississippi. "my mother had eighteen children and i had sixteen but all mine dead now but three. mama's ma and grandpapa haley had twenty-two children. yes ma'am, they sho did have plenty to eat. mars daniel say to his wife, 'cornelia, feed my niggers.' that bout last he said when he went off to war. mars green, daniel, and jimmie three brothers. three johnson brothers buried their gold money in stone jars and iron cookin' pots fore they left and went to war. "when the fightin' stopped, people was so glad they rung and rung the farm bells and blowed horns--big old cow horns. when mars daniel come home he went to my papa's house and says, 'john, you free.' he says, 'i been free as i wanter be whah i is.' he went on to my grandpa's house and says, 'toby, you are free!' he raised up and says, 'you brought me here frum africa and north carolina and i goiner stay wid you long as ever i get sompin to eat. you gotter look after me!' mars daniel say, 'well, i ain't runnin' nobody off my place long as they behave.' purtnigh every nigger sot tight till he died of the old sets. mars daniel say to grandpa, 'toby, you ain't my nigger.' grandpa raise up an' say, 'i is, too.' "they had to work but they had plenty that made em content. we had good times. on moonlight nights somebody ask mars daniel if they could have a cotton pile, then they go tell mars moore and judge reid (or reed). they come, when the moon peep up they start pickin'. pick out four or five bales. then mars daniel say you come to the house. ring the bell. then we have a big supper--pot of chicken, stew and sweet potatoes roasted. have a wash pot full of molasses candy to pull and all the goobers we could eat. "then we had three banjos. the musicians was william word, uncle dan porter, and miles porter. did we dance? square dance. then if somebody been wantin' to marry they step over the broom and it be nounced they married. you can't get nobody--colored folks i mean--to step over a broom; they say it bad luck. if it fall and they step over they step back. they say if somebody sweep under your feet you won't marry that year. folks didn't visit round much. they had some place to go they went but they had to work. they work together and done mighty little--idle vistin'. folks took the knitting long visting lest it be sunday. "white women wouldn't nurse their own babies cause it would make their breast fall. they would bring a healthy woman and a clean woman up to the house. they had a house close by. she would nurse her baby and the white baby, too. they would feed her everything she wanted. she didn't have to work cause the milk would be hot to give the babies. dannie and my brother bradford, and mary my sister and miss maggie nursed my mama. rich women didn't nurse their babies, never did, cause it would cause their breast to be flat. "my papa was the last slave to die. mama died twelve months fore he died. i was born after freedom but times changed mighty little mama and papa said. grandma learned me to cut doll dresses and miss cornelia learned me to sew and learned aunt joe (a ex-slave negro here in town) to play miss betty's piano. she was their house girl. yes ma'am, when i was small girl she was bout grown. aunt joe is a fine cook. miss cornelia learnt her how. i could learned to played too but i didn't want to. i wanted to knit and crochet and sew. miss cornelia said that was my talent. i made wrist warmers and lace. sister mary would spin. she spun yarn and cotton thread. they made feather beds. picked the geese and sheared the sheep. i got my big feather bed now. "when i married, miss betty made my weddin' dress. we had a preacher marry us at my home. my mama give me to miss betty and they raised me. i was the weaslingest one of her children. she give me to miss betty. now she wants me to come back. i think i go back christmas and stay. miss betty is old and feeble now. i got three children living here in hazen now. all i got left. "the men folks did all go off, white and black, and vote. i don't know how they voted. now, honey, you know i don't know nothing bout voting. "times is so changed. conditions so changed that i don't know if the young generation is improved much. they learn better but it don't do em no more good. it seems like it is the management that counts. that is the reason my grandpa didn't want to leave mars daniel johnson's. he was a good manager and miss betty is a good manager. we don't know how to manage and ain't got much to manage wid. that the way it looks to me. some folks is luckier than others." little rock district folklore subjects name of interviewer: irene robertson [hw: yankees stole food] subject: history--slavery days subject: musical instrument story:--information [tr: additional topic moved from subsequent page.] [tr: hand dated - - ] this information given by: betty curlett place of residence: hazen, arkansas occupation: washwoman age: [tr: personal information moved from bottom of first page.] "my mother said during the war and in slavery times they ate out of wooden spoons and bowls they made." they cooked a washpot full of peas for a meal or two and roasted potatoes around the pot in the ashes. they always cooked hams and greens of all kinds in the big iron pots for there were so many of them to eat and in slavery times the cook, cooked for her family in with what she cooked for the master. they made banks of dirt, sand, leaves and plank and never washed the sweet potatoes till they went to cook them. they had rows of banks in the garden or out behind some of the houses, and had potatoes like that all winter and in the spring to bed. they saved the ashes and put them in a barrel and poured water over them and saved the drip--lye--and made soap or corn hominy--made big pots of soap and cooked pots full of lye hominy. they carried corn to the mill and had it ground into meal and flour made like that too. the women spun, wove, and knitted. the men would hunt between crop times. if the slaves were caught stealing, the patty row would catch him and his master whip him. my grandpas and grandmas and mamma's master was john moore. mr. john said before his daughter and wife should go to the washtub he would wade blood saddle-skirt deep. he set out to war. went to vicksburg and was killed. his wifes name was mrs. elisabeth and his daughters name was miss inez. they say thats where the saying "he won't last longer than john moore did when he went to war" sprang up but i don't know about that part of it for sure. grandma becky said when the yankees came to mrs. moores house and to judge rieds place they demanded money but they told them they didn't have none. they stole and wasted all the food clothes, beds. just tore up what they didn't carry with them and burned it in a pile. they took two legs of the chickens and tore them apart and threw them down on the ground, leaving piles of them to waste. song her mother and grandmother sang: old cow died in the fork of the branch baby, ba, ba. dock held the light, kimbo skinned it. ba, ba, ba. old cow lived no more on the ranch and frank no more from branch, kinba a pair of shoes, he sewed from the old cows hide he had tanned. baby, ba, ba. musical instrument "the only musical instrument we had was a banjo. some made their banjos. take a bucket or pan a long strip of wood. horse hairs twisted made the base string. horsehairs twisted made the second string. horse hair twisted made the fourth and the fifth string was the fine one, it was not twisted at all but drawn tight. they were all bees waxed." circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--samuel s. taylor address--little rock, arkansas date--december, subject--ex-slave [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] . name and address of informant--j.h. curry, washington, arkansas . date and time of interview-- . place of interview--washington, arkansas . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant-- . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you-- . description of room, house, surroundings, etc. personal history of informant . ancestry--father, washington curry; mother, eliza douglass; grandmother; malinda evans; grandfather, mike evans. . place and date of birth--born in haywood county, tennessee in . . family-- . places lived in, with dates--tennessee until . from until now, in arkansas. . education, with dates--he took a four-years' course at haywood after the war. . occupations and accomplishments, with dates--minister . special skills and interest--church work. . community and religious activities--preacher . description of informant-- . other points gained in interview--his father was a slave and he tells lots of slavery. [hw: master educates slave] text of interview (unedited) "i was born in , september first. i got that off the bible. my father, he belonged to a doctor and the doctor, he was a kind of a wait man to him. and the doctor learnt him how to read and write. right after the war, he was a teacher. he was ready to be a teacher before most other people because he learnt to read and write in slavery. there were so many folks that came to see the doctor and wanted to leave numbers and addresses that he had to have some one to 'tend to that and he taught my father to read and write so that he could do it. "i was born in tennessee, in haywood county. my father was born in north carolina, so they tell me. he was brought to tennessee. he was a slave and my mother was a slave. his name was washington curry and my mother's name was eliza douglass before she married. her master was named john douglass and my father's master was named t.a. curry, tom curry some folks called him. "i don't know just how many slaves tom curry owned. lemme see. there was my daddy, his four brothers, his five sisters. my father's father had ten children, and my father had the same number--five boys and six girls. ten of us lived for forty years. my mother had ten living children when she died in . since ' , three girls died. my father died in . "my father's master had around a hundred slaves. douglass was a richer man than my father's master. i suspect he had two hundred slaves. he was my mother's father as well as her master. i know him. he used to come to our house and he would give mama anything she wanted. he liked her. she was his daughter. "my father's father--i can't remember what his name was. i know his mother was candace. i never did see his father but i saw my grandma. he was dead before i was born. my mother's mother was named malinda evans. only one thing i remember that was remarkable about her. her husband was a free man named mike evans. he come from up north and married her in slave time and he bought her. he was a fine carpenter. they used to hire him out to build houses. he was a contractor in slave time. i remember him well. "after the war, he used to have white men getting training for the carpenter's training under him. he was grandma evans' husband. he wasn't my father's father. my father was born before grandma evans was freed. all the rest of them were born afterward. they sold her to him but the children all belonged to the douglasses. he probably paid for her on time and they kept the children that was born. "the doctor was good to my father. way after freedom, he was our family doctor. he was at my father's bedside when father died. he's dead now. "my father was a carpenter and a wait man (waiter). he was a finished carpenter. he used to make everything 'round the house. sometimes he went off and worked and would bring the money back to his master, and his master would give him some for himself. "my mother worked 'round the house. she was a servant. i don't know that she ever did the work in the field. my daddy just come home every saturday night. my father and mother always belonged to different masters in slavery time. the douglasses and the currys were five or six miles apart. my father would walk that distance on saturday night and stay there all day sunday and git up before day in the morning monday so that he would be back home monday morning in time for his work. i remember myself when we moved away. that's when my memory first starts. "i could see that old white woman come out begging and saying, 'uncle washington, please don't carry aunt lize away.' but we went on away. when we got where we was going, my mother made a pallet on the floor that night, and the three children slept on the pallet on the floor. nothing to eat--not a bite. i went to bed hungry, and you know how it is when you go to bed hungry, you can't sleep. i jerk a little nod, and then i'd be awake again with the gnawing in my stomach. one time i woke up, and there was a big light in the house, and father was working at the table, and mama reached over and said, 'stick your head back under the cover again, you little rascal you.' i won't say what i saw. but i'll say this much. we had the finest breakfast the next morning that i ever ate in all my life. "i used to hear my people talk about pateroles but i don't reckon i can recall now what they said. there is a man in washington named bob sanders. he knows everything about slavery, and politics too. he used to be a regular politician. he is about ninety years old. they came there and got him about two year ago and paid him ten dollars a day and his fare. man came up and got him and carried him to the capitol in his car. they were writing up something about arkansas history. "i have been married fifty-seven years. i married in . my wife was a lemons. i married on february tenth in tennessee at stanton. nancy lemons. "i went to public school a little after the war. my wife and i both went to haywood after we were married. after we married and had children, we went. i took a four-years' course there when it was a fine institution. it's gone down now. "i was the oldest boy. we had two mules. we farmed on the halves. we made fifteen bales of cotton a year. never did make less than ten or twelve. "i have been in the ministry fifty-three years. i was transferred to arkansas in in the conference which met at humboldt. my first work here was in searcy in . "i think the question of negro suffrage will work itself out. as we get further away from the civil war and the reconstruction, it will be less and less opposition to the negro's voting. you can see a lot of signs of that now. "i don't know about the young people. they are gone wild. i don't know what to say about them. "i think where men are able to work i think it is best to give them work. a man that is able to work ought to be given work by the government if he can't get it any other way." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: lyttleton dandridge w. tenth street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was told i was born in ' in east carroll parish, louisiana. "oh, i can remember before the war broke out. yes ma'am, i had good owners. old master and mistress was named james railey and matilda railey. i called her mistress. "i remember one time my father carried me to natchez on christmas to spend with his people. his parents were servants on a plantation near natchez. "i remember two shows i saw. they was the daniel rice shows. they was animal shows but they had em on a boat, kind of a flatboat. we didn't have trains and things like that--traveled on the big waters. "i remember when we refugeed to texas in ' . they raised tobacco there. "we got free in ' and the governor or somebody ordered all the owners to take all the folks back that wanted to go. "all the young folks, they had them in tyler, texas makin' bullets. my father had the care of about fifty youngsters makin' bullets. "old master had two plantations in louisiana and three in mississippi. he was a large slaveholder. "when we got back to louisiana from texas, ever'thing was the same except where the levees had been cut and overflowed the land. "old master died before the war broke out and my mistress died in ' . "my father died in texas. that left my mother a widow. she spent about two weeks at the old home place in louisiana. she pulled up then and went to natchez to my father's people. she made two crops with my young master. his name was otie railey. help her? well, i was comin'. i had one brother and one sister. "in ' she worked with a colored man on the shares. "i started to school in ' . a colored man come in there and established a private school. i went in ' , ' , and ' and then i didn't go any more till ' and ' . i got along pretty well in it. i know mine from the other fellows. i can write and any common business i can take care of. "we had two or three men run off and joined the yankees. one got drowned fore he got there and the other two come back after freedom. "my mother worked for wages after freedom. she got three bales of cotton for her services and mine and she boarded herself. "in ' she rented. i still stayed with her. she lived with me all her life and died with me. "i come over to arkansas the twenty-third day of december in . worked for long-bell lumber company till they went down. then i just jobbed around. i can still work a little but not like i used to. "i used to vote republican when i was interested in politics but i have no interest in it now. "the younger generation is faster now than they was in my time. they was more constrictions on the young people. when i was young i had a certain hour to come in at night. eight o'clock was my hour--not later than that. i think the fault must be in the times but if the parents started in time they could control them. "i remember one time a cow got after my father and he ran, but she caught up with him. he fell down and she booed him in the back. my grandfather come up with a axe and hit her in the head. she just shook her head and went off. "outside of my people, the best friend i ever met up with was a white man." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: ella daniels w. eleventh street, little rock, arkansas age: , or over [hw: food rationed] "i was born in north carolina, in halifax county, in the country near scotland neck. my mother's name was nellie doggett. her name was hale before she married. my father's name was tom doggett. i never did see any of my grand people. "my mother's master was named lewis hale. he was a farmer. he was fairly good himself but the overseers wasn't. they have mistreated my mother. all i know is what i heard, of course; i wasn't old enough to see for myself. my mother was a field hand. she worked on the farm. my father did the same thing. "my father and mother belonged to different masters. i forgot now who my father said he belonged to. my father didn't live on the same plantation with my mother. he just came and visited her from time to time. food "sometimes they didn't have any food to eat. the old missis sometimes saw that my mother's children were fed. my mother's master was pretty good to her and her children, but my father's master was not. food was issued every week. they give molasses, meal, a little flour, a little rice and along like that. house "my mother and father lived in old weatherboard houses. i don't know whether all of the slaves lived in weatherboarded houses or not. but i nursed the children and had to go from one house to the other and i know several of them lived in weatherboarded houses. most of the houses had two rooms. the food that was kept by the slaves, that is the rations given them, was kept in the kitchen part of the house. breeding "i don't know of any cases where slaves were compelled to breed but i have heard of them. i don't know the names of the people. just remember hearing talk about them. freedom comes "my mother and father never found out they were free till april . some of them were freed before then. i don't know how they found it out, but i heard them talking about it. right after freedom "right after freedom, my father and mother worked right on in the same place just like they always did. i reckon they paid them, i don't know. they did what they wanted to. patrollers, ku klux, and reconstruction "i remember the ku klux. they used to come and whip the niggers that didn't have a pass. i think them was pateroles though. there was some people too who used to steal slaves if they found them away from home, and then they would sell them. i don't know what they called them. i just remember the ku klux and the pateroles. "the ku klux were the ones that whipped the niggers that they caught out without a pass. i don't remember any ku klux whipping niggers after the war because they were in politics. voters and officeholders "i have heard of negroes voting and holding office after the war. i wasn't acquainted with any of them except a man named kane gibbs and another named cicero barnes. i heard the old people talking about them. i don't know what offices they held. they lived in another county somewhere. life since emancipation "i went from north carolina to louisiana, and from louisiana here. they had it that you could shake trees out in louisiana and the money would fall off. they had some good land out there too. one acre would make all you wanted--corn or anything else. that was a rich land. but i don't know--i don't care what you had or what you owned when you left there, you had to leave it there. never would give you no direct settlement or pay you anything; that is, pay you anything definite. just gave you something from time to time. whatever you had you had to leave it there. occupational experiences "i used to work in the field when i was able. that was when i was in the country. when i came to the city i usually did washing and ironing. now i can't do anything. all the people i used to work for is dead. there was one woman in particular. she was a good woman, too. i don't have any help at all now, except my son. he has a family of his own--wife and seven children. right now, he is cut off and ain't making nothing for himself nor nobody else. but i thank god for what i have because things could be much worse." interviewer's comment here again, there is a confusion of patrollers with ku klux. it seems to point to a use of the word ku klux before the war. of course, it is clear that the ku klux klan operated after the war. ella daniels' age is given as seventy-four on her insurance policy, and i have placed that age on the first page of this story in the heading. but three children were born after her and before the close of the war. she says they were born two years apart. allowing that the youngest was born, in , the one next to her would have been born in , and she would have been born in . this seems likely too because she speaks of nursing the children and going from house to house (page two) and must have been quite a child to have been able to do that. born in , she would have been seven years old in and would have been able to have been doing such nursing as would have been required of her for two years probably. so it appears to me that her age is eighty, but i have recorded in the heading the same age decided upon for insurance. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mary allen darrow, forrest city, arkansas age: "i was born at monticello, arkansas at the last of the cibil (civil) war. my parents' names was richard and ann allen. they had thirteen children. mother was a house girl and papa a blacksmith and farmer. "my great-grandma and grandpa was killed in indian nation (alabama) by sam and will allen. they was coming west long 'fo'e the war from one of the carolinas. i disremembers which they told me. great-grandpa was a chief. they was shot and all the children run but they caught my grandma evaline and put her in the wagon and brought her to monticello, arkansas. they fixed her so she couldn't get loose from them. she was a little full-blood indian girl then. they got her fer my great-grandpa a wife. he seen her and thought she was so pretty. "she was wild. she wouldn't eat much else but meat and raw at that. she had a child 'fo'e ever she'd eat bread. they tamed her. grandpa's pa that wanted the indian wife was full-blood african. mama was little lighter than 'gingercake' color. "my indian grandma was mean. i was feard of 'er. she run us down and ketch us and whoop us. she was tall slender woman. she was mean as she could be. she'd cut a cat's head off fer no cause er tall. grandpa was kind. he'd bring me candy back if he went off. i cried after him. i played with his girl. we was about the same size. her name was annie mathis. he was a mathis. he was a blacksmith too at monticello and later he bought a farm three and one-half miles out. i was raised on a farm. papa died there. i washed and done field work all my life. grandma married bob mathis. "our owner was sam and lizzie allen. william allen was his brother. i think sam had eight children. there was a claude allen in monticello and some grandchildren, eva allen and lent allen. eva married robert lawson. i lived at round pond seventeen or eighteen years, then come to forrest city. i been away from them allen's and mathis' and gill's so long and 'bout forgot 'em. they wasn't none too good to nobody--selfish. they'd make trouble, then crap out of it. pack it on anybody. they wasn't none too good to do nothing. some of 'em lazy as ever was white men and women. some of 'em i know wasn't rich--poor as 'jobe's stucky.' i don't know nothing 'bout 'em now. they wasn't good. "i was a baby at freedom and i don't know about that nor the ku klux. grandpa started a blacksmith shop at monticello after freedom. "my pa was a white man. richard allen was mama's husband. "me and my husband gats ten dollars from the old age pension. he is ninety-six years old. he do a little about. i had a stroke and ain't been no 'count since. he can tell you about the cibil war." interviewer's comment i missed her husband twice. it was a long ways out there but i will see him another time. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: alice davis vaugine street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in mississippi. my mistress was jane davis. she raised me. she owned my mother too. "when miss jane's husband died, he willed the niggers to his childun and mandy paine owned me then. when i was one month old they said i was so white mandy paine thought her brother was my father, so she got me and carried me to the meat block and was goin' to cut my head off. when the childun heard, they run and cried, 'mama's goin' to kill harriet's baby.' old mistress, jane davis, heard about it and she come and paid miss jane forty dollars for me and carried me to her home, and i slep right in the bed with her till the war ceasted." "her childun was grown and they used to come by and say, 'ma, why don't you take that nigger out of your bed?' and she'd reach over and pat me and say, 'this the only nigger i got.' "i stayed there two or three years after freedom. i didn't know what free meant. big childun all laugh and say, 'all niggers free, all niggers free.' and i'd say, 'what is free?' i was lookin' for a man to come. "i worked in the house and in the field. i had plenty chances to go to school but i didn't have no sense. "my mother was sold to nigger traders and i never did see her again. i always say i never had no mother, and i never did know who my father was. "i've worked hard since i got to be a women. i never been the mother of but three childun. me and my boy stay together. "i had a happy time when i lived with miss jane, but i been workin' ever since." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: charlie davis north plum, pine bluff, arkansas age: "they said i was born in , the second day of march, in little rock. "i 'member the war. i 'member the bluecoats. i knowed they was fightin' but i didn't know what about. "my old master was killed in the war. i don't know his name, i just heered 'em call him old master. "i know old missis kept lookin' for him all durin' the war and looked for him afterward. as long as i could understand anything she was still lookin'. "far as i know, my parents stayed with old missis after the war. "i 'member my father hired me out when i was a little boy. they treated, me good. "never have done anything 'cept farm work. i'm failin' now. hate to say so but i found out i am. "i never did want to go away from here. i could a went, but i think a fellow can do better where he is raised. i have watched the dumb beasts go off with others and see how they was treated, so i never did crave to go off from home. i have knowed people have went away and they'd bring 'em back dead, and i'd say to myself, 'i wonder how he died?' i've studied it over and i've just made myself satisfied. "i went to school some but i was the biggest help the old folks had and they kept me workin'." interviewer: watt mckinney person interviewed: d. davis r.f.d., six miles north of marvell, arkansas age: uncle d. davis, an ex-slave, years of age lives some miles north of marvell, arkansas with a widowed daughter on a small farm the daughter owns. uncle d himself also owns a nice little farm some distance further up the road and which he rents out each year since he is no longer able to tend the land. this old negro, now old and bent from years of work and crippled from the effects of rheumatism hobbles about with the assistance of a crutch and a cane. his mind however is very clear and his recollection keen. as i sat with him on the porch of his daughter's home he told me the following story: "yes sir, mr. mckinney, i has been in phillips county fer pas forty-five years and i is now pas eighty-five. i wuz a grown en settled man when i fust cum here en hed chillun nigh bout growd. dats how cum me ter com here on er count of one of my boys. dis boy he cum befo i did en hed done made one crop en dat boy fooled me ober here from mississippi. yo know how dese young bucks is, allus driftin er roun en he hed done drifted rite down dere below marvell on de cypress bayou, en war wukin fer mr. fred mayo when he writ me de letter ter cum ober here. i guess dat yo has heard of mr. fred mayo dat owned de big plantation dere close ter turner. well dat is de man whut ay boy wuz wid and atter i cum i jined up wid mr. mayo en stayed wid him fer two years en i wud er ben wid him fer good i rekkin iffen i hadn't wanter buy me er place of my own, kase mr. fred mayo he wuz a nathal good man en treted all he hands fair. "when i cided ter git me er little place of my own, i went en got quainted wid mr. marve carruth kase he hed er great name wid de niggers, en all de niggers in dem days dey went ter mr. carruth fer ter git de advice, en mr. carruth he hoped me ter git de place up de road whut is mine yit. dere neber wuz no white man whut wuz no better dan mr. marve carruth. no sir dat is a fac. "yo see, capn, i wuz borned en raised in de hills of mississippi, in oktibbawa county not so fer frum starkville, en dat wuz a ole country time i hed got grown en de lan hit wuz gittin powful thin, en when i cumed ter dis state en seen how much cotton de folks mekin on de groun, en how rish de lan, i jist went crazy ober dis country en stayed rite here en mobed my fambly rite off. folkses hed cotton piled up all er round dey houses en i cided rite off dat dis war gwine ter be my home den. "my ole marster wuz tom davis en capn dere warnt never no finer man whut ever libed dan marse tom. marse tom wuz lubed by ebery nigger dat he hed, en marse tom sho hed a passel of em. he had bettern two-hundred head en de las one dey crazy bout marse tom davis. he war rather old frum my fust riccolection of im, en he neber libed meny years atter de war. marse tom he owned a grete heap er lan. his lan hit stretch out fer god knows how fer en den too he hed de big mill whut runned wid de water wheel whar dey saw de lumber en grine de meal en de flour. dey neber bought no flour en dem days kase dey raised de wheat on de place, en all de meat en nigh bout ebery thing whut dey hed er need of. marse tom he tuk de best kine er care of his slabe people en he neber blebe in buyin er sellin no niggers. dat he didn't. he neber wud sell er one, en he neber did buy but three. dat is er fac, capn, en one of dem three whut he bought wuz "henry" whut wuz my own pappy, en he buyed henry frum mr. spence kase henry hed done got married ter malindy, whut wuz my mammy. dat is whut my mammy en pappy dey bofe tole me. "marse tom he neber jine de army kase he too old when de war brek out, but marse phil he jined up. marse phil dat war marse tom's son, en de onliest boy dat ole marster en ole mis hed, en dey jist hed one mo chile en dat wuz de girl, miss rachel, en atter de war ober miss rachel she married capn dan travis whut cum from alabama. ole marster he neber laked capn dan er bit, en he jes bucked en rared er bout miss rachel gwine ter git married ter dat capn, but hit neber done him no good ter cut up kase ole mis she sided wid miss rachel, en den too miss rachel she hab er head of her own en she know her pa aint gwine ter stop her. marse tom he didn't lak capn dan kase de capn he er big sport, en mighty wild, en lub he whiskey too well, en den he a gamblin man besides dat, do he sho war a fine lookin gentman. "whilst marse tom he too old ter jine up wid de army, he hired him er man ter fite fer him in his place jes de same, en him en ole mis dey neber want marse phil ter jine up, en sey dey gwine ter hire er man fer ter tek marse phil's place so he won't hatter go, but marse phil he sey he gwine ter do he own fitin, en eben do he ma en pa dey cut up right smart bout marse phil goin ter de war, he up en jine jes de same. marse phil he neber wuz sich a stout, healthy pussen, en he always sorter sikly, en it warnt long fore he tuk down in de camp wid sum kine er bad spell er sikness en died. dat wuz sho tuf on marse tom en de ole mis fer dem ter lose marse phil, kase dey put er heap er sto by dat boy, him bein de onliest son dat dey got, en day so tached ter im. hit mighty nigh broke dem ole peoples up. "no sir, capn, i betcha dat dere warnt airy uther er slabe-owning white man ter be foun dat wuz er finer man, er dat was mo good ter he niggers dan marse tom davis. now jes tek dis, dere wuz "uncle joe" whut wuz my grand-pappy, en he wuz jes bout de same age as marse tom, en dey growed up ter gedder, en dey tole hit dat marse tom's pappy git "uncle joe" when he war jes a boy frum de speckle-lady (speculator) fer er red hankerchief, dats how cheap he git im en, dat rite off he gib im ter marse tom, en atter marse tom git up en growd ter be er man, en he pappy died en lef him all de lan en slabes, en den atter er lot mo years pas, en uncle joe done raise marse tom seben chillun, den marse tom he up en sot uncle joe free, en gib him er home en forty acres, en sum stock kase uncle joe done been good en fathful all dem years, en raise marse tom all dem seben chillun, en one of dem seben wuz my own mammy. "capn, aint yo eber heard tell of de speckle-ladies? (speculators) well, i gwine ter tell yo who dey wuz. dey wuz dem folkses whut dealed in de niggers. dat is whut bought em, en sole em, en dey wud be gwine round thru de country all de time wid a grete gang er peoples bofe men en womens, er tradin, en er buyin, en er sellin. hit wuz jes lak you mite sey dat dey wud do wid er gang er mules. jist befo dese here speckle-ladies wud git ter er town er plantation whar dey gwine ter try ter do sum bizness lak tradin er sich matter, dey stop de crowd long side er creek er pond er water en mek em wash up en clean up good lak, en comb em up rite nice, en mek de wimmens wrap up dey heads wid some nice red cloth so dey all look in good shape ter de man whut dey gwine try ter do de bizness wid. dats zackly de way dey do capn, jes lak curryin en fixin up mules fer ter sell, so dey look bettern dey actually is. "whilst marse tom davis hed oberseers hired ter look atter de farmin of de lan, he hed his own way er doin de bizness, kase he know dat all he niggers is good wukkers, en dat he kin pend on em, so de fust of ebery week he gib each en ebery single man er fambly er task fer ter do dat week, en atter dat task is done den dey fru wuk fer dat week en kin den ten de patches whut he wud gib dem fer ter raise whut dey want on, en whut de slabes raise on dese patches dat he gib em wud be deres whut-sum-eber hit wud be, cotton er taters er what, hit wub be, dey own, en dey cud sell hit en hab de money fer demselves ter buy whut dey want. "marse tom he wud ride out ober de place at least once a week en always on er sattidy mornin, en ginerally he wud pass de word out mongst de folkses fer em all ter cum ter de big house er sattidy atter noon fer er frolic. ebery pussen on de place frum de littlest chile ter de oldest man er woman wud clean dey selves up en put on dey best clo's for ter "go befo de king", dats whut us called it. all wud gather in bak of de big house under de big oak trees en marse tom he wud cum out wid he fiddle under he arm, yo kno marse tom he war a grete fiddler, en sot hisself down in de chere whut uncle joe done fotched fer im, en den he tell uncle joe fer ter go git de barrel er whiskey en he wud gib em all er gill er two so's dey cud all feel rite good, en den marse tom he start dat fiddle playin rite lively en all dem niggers wid dance en hab de bes kin er frolic, en marse tom he git jes es much fun outen de party as de niggers demselves. dats de kine er man whut marse tom wuz. "i tell yo, capn, my marster he sho treated his slabes fair. dey all draw er plenty rations once ebery week en iffen dey run out tween times dey cud always git mo, en marse tom tell em ter git all de meal en flour at de mill eny time dat dey need hit. dats rite, capn, en i sho tells dis fer de truf, en dat is i say dat iffen all de slabe owning white folks lak marse tom davis, den dere wudn't ben no use er freedom fer de darkies, kase marse tom's slabes dey long ways better off wid him in dey bondage dan dey wuz wid out im when dey sot free en him dead en gone. "at chrismus time on marse tom's place dey wud hab de fun fer er week er mo, wid no wuk gwine on at all. de candy pullin, en de dances wid be gwine on nigh bout constant, en ebery one gits er present frum de marster. "all endurin of de war times, marse tom he neber raised no cotton er tall but instid he raised de wheat, en de corn en hogs fer de confedrits, en de baggage waggins wud cum from time ter time fer de loads of flour, en meal en meat dat he wud sen ter de army. de yankees sumhow dey missed us place en neber did fin hit, en do de damage er bruning [tr: burning?] en sich dat i is heard dat dey done in places in other parts of de state. we all heard one time dat de yankees wuz close er roun en wuz on de way ter burn marse tom's mill but dey got on de wrong road en day neber did git ter our place, en us sho wuz proud er dat too. yit en still attar de war ober, marse tom, he had bout four hundred bales er cotton on han at de barn en de yankee govment dey sho tuk dat en didn't pay him er bit fer dat cotton. i knows dat ter be er fac. "i members de war rail well, kase ye see, i wuz bout twelve year old when hit ober. en de last two er three years of de trubble i wuz big enuf ter be doin sum wuk, so dey tuk me in de big house fer ter be er waitin boy round de house, en i slept in dar too on er pallit on de floor, en er lot er times de calvary sojers wud stop at marse tom's en spen de nite, en i wud be layin on de pallit but wudn't be sleep, en i cud hear dem talkin ter marse tom, en marster he wud ax dem how de fite cumin on, en iffen dey whippin de yankees, en de calvary sojers dey say dat dey whippin de yankees ebery day en killin em out, en marse tom he sey "yo is jes er big lie, how cum yo runnin er way iffen yo whippin dem yankees? dem yankees is atter yo, en yo is runnin frum em dats whut yo doin. yo know yo aint whippin no yankees kase if yo wuz yo wud be atter dem rite now stid dem atter yo". no sir, dem calvary sojers cudn't fool marse tom. "yes sir, i tell yo, capn, de slabes dey fared well wid marse tom davis, en dere wudn't neber ben no war ober de slabery question iffen every body ben lak marse tom. all his peoples wuz satisfied en dey didn't eben know what de yankees en de southern white folks wuz fitin er bout, kase dey wuzn't worried bout no freedom, yit en still atter de freedom cum dey wuz glad ter git hit, but atter dey git hit dey don't know whut ter do wid hit. en atter de bondage lifted, marse tom he called em all up en tell em dat dey free es he is, en dey kin lebe if dey want to, but dere wuzn't nairy nigger lef de place. dey ebery one stayed, en i spect dat er lot of dem davis niggers is rite dere till yit on dat same lan wid whoever hit belongs to. "when er slabe man en woman got married in dose days dere wuzn't no sich thing as er license fer dem. all dey hed ter do wuz ter git de permit frum de marster en den ter start in ter libbin wid each udder. atter de freedom do, all er dem whut wuz married en libbin wid one er nudder wuz giben er slip ter sho dat dey married, en ter mek dey marriage legal. "atter freedom cum ter de darkies, en de trubble all ober in de fitin, en atter de surrender, marse tom he hed his whole place lined out by de surveyor en marked off in plots er groun, en he sell er plot er forty acres ter ebery fambly dat he hed, on de credik too, en sell em de stock wid de place so dey kin all hab er home, en dey all set in ter buy de lan frum marse tom, but hit warnt long atter dat till marse tom en ole mis bofe died, en dat wuz when capn dan travis, miss rachel's husband, he taken charge of de bizness en broke all de contracts dat de darkies hed made wid marse tom, an dat wuz de las of de lan buyin on dat place, en dat wuz de startin of de niggers er leavin de davis place, wid capn dan travis in charge, en marse tom gone. but capn dan he en miss rachel didn't keep dey place long atter her pa dead, kase de capn he too wild, en he soon fooled all de money en lan off wid he drinkin en gamblin. "capn, did yo eber hear of de "chapel hill" fight dat de colored folks en de white folks hed in mississippi? i will tell yo bout dat fight en de leadin up ter de trubble. "atter de war dey hed de carpet-baggers en de klu klux bofe, en de white folks dey didn't lak de carpet-baggers tolerable well, dat dey didn't. i don't know who de carpet-baggers wuz but dey wuz powful mean, so de white folks say. you know sum way er udder de yankees er de carpet-baggers er sum ob de crowd, dey put de niggers in de office at de cote house, en er makein de laws at de statehouse in jackson. dat wuz de craziest bizness dat dey eber cud er done, er puttin dem ignorant niggers whut cudn't read er write in dem places. i tell yo, capn, dem whut put dose niggers in de office dey mus not had es much since es de niggers, kase dey mought know dat hit wudn't wuk, en hit sho didn't wuk long. dey hed de niggers messed up in sum kind er clubs whut dey swaded dem to jine, en gib em all er drum ter beat, en dey all go marchin er roun er beatin de drums en goin ter de club meetins. dem ignorant niggers wud sell out fer er seegar er a stick er candy. hit wasn't long do till de trubble hit broke out en de fite tuk place. de klu klux dey wuz er ridin de country continual, en de niggers dey skeered plum sick by dem tall white lookin hants wid dey hosses all white wid de sheets, en sum sey dey jes cum outen dey grabe en er lookin fer er niggers ter tek bak wid em when de day light cum. all de time de niggers habin dey club meetins in er ole loose house dere at chapel hill, en de klux er gittin more numerous all de time, en de feelin mongst de white en de black wuz er gittin wus en wus, en one night when de niggers habin er grete big meetin, en er beatin dey drums en er carryin on, here cum de klu klux er sumpin er shootin right en lef en er pourin de shots in ter dat ole house en at ebery niggers dey see, en de niggers dey start er shootin bak but not fer long, kase mos of em done lit out fer de woods, dats is mos all whut ain't kilt, en dat wuz de bery las of de club meetins en de bery las of de niggers er holdin de office in de cote house. i heard bout de fight de nex morn in kase chapel hill hit warn't fer frum whar i libed at dat time. i seed dr. marris gray on de rode on he hoss, en he hoss wuz kivered wid mud frum he tall ter he head. dr. marris gray he pulled up en sed, "good mornin "d" is ye heard bout de fite whut wuz had last nite at chapel hill" en i sey "no sir doctor, whut fite wuz dat en whut dey fitin er bout?", en de doctor sey he didn't know whut dey fightin bout lessin dey jes tryin ter brake up de club meetin, en he went on ter say dat er heap er niggers wuz kilt en also sum white folks too, en sum mo wuz shot whut ain't dead yit, en dat he been tendin ter dem whut is shot en still ain't dead. en den i sey "doctor morris wuz yo dere when de fightin goin on"?, en de doctor he say "en cose i warn't dere yo don't think i gwine be roun what no shootin tekin place, does yo"?, en i say "naw suh" en de doctor he rid on down de rode den, but i knowed in my own mine dat doctor morris wuz in dat fightin, kass he hoss so spattered up wid mud, en i seed er long pistol barrel stickin out frum under he coat, en den sides dat i iz knowed de doctor eber since i wuz a chile when marse tom uster hab him ter gib de darkies de medicine when dey sik, en i seed him one night er ridin wid de klu klux en heard him er talkin when i wuz hid in de bushes lon side de rode when i cumin home frum catchin me er possum in de thicket, en den doctor morris he wid general forrest all throo de war en he know whut fightin is, an he sho wudn't neber go outen his way to miss no shootin." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: james davis indiana st. (owner), pine bluff, ark. age: occupation: cotton farmer "this is what's left of me. how old? me? now listen and let me tell you how 'twas. old mistress put all our ages in the family bible, and i was born on christmas morning in in raleigh, north carolina. "my old master was peter davis and he was old jeff davis' brother. there was eight of them brothers and every one of em was as rich as cream. "old master was good to us. he said he wanted us singin' and shoutin' and workin' in the field from morning to night. he fed us well and we had plenty good clothes to wear--heavy woolen clothes and good shoes in the winter time. when i was a young man i wore good clothes. "i served slavery about twenty-four years before peace was declared. we didn't have a thing in god's world to worry bout. every darky old master had, he put woolen goods and good heavy shoes every winter. oh, he was rich--had bout five or six thousand slaves. oh, he had darkies aplenty. he run a hundred plows. "i went to work when i was seven pullin' worms off tobacco, and i been workin' ever since. but when i was comin' up i had good times. i had better times than i ever had in my life. i used to be one of the best banjo pickers. i was good. played for white folks and called figgers for em. in them days they said 'promenade', 'sashay', 'swing corners', 'change partners'. they don't know how to dance now. we had parties and corn shuckin's, oh lord, yes. "i'll sing you a song 'oh lousy nigger oh grandmammy knock me down with the old fence rider, ask that pretty gal let me court her young gal, come blow the coal.' "when i was twenty-one i was sold to the speculator and sent to texas. they started me at a thousand and run me up to a thousand nine hunnerd and fifty and knocked me off. he paid for me in old jeff davis' shin plasters. "i runned away and i was in mississippi makin' my way back home to north carolina. i was hidin' in a hollow log when twenty-five of sherman's rough riders come along. when they got close to me the horses jumped sudden and they said, 'come out of there, we know you're in there!' and when i come out, all twenty-five of them guns was pointin' at that hole. they said they thought i was a revel and 'serted the army. that was on new years day of the year the war ended. the yankees said, 'we's freed you all this mornin', do you want to go with us?' i said, 'if you goin' north, i'll go.' so i stayed with em till i got back to north carolina. "after surrender, people went here and yonder and that's how come i'm here. i emigrated here. i left raleigh, north carolina christmas eve . i've seen ninety-six christmases. "i member the folks said the war was to keep us under bondage. the south wants us under bondage right now or they wouldn't do us like they do. "when i come to this country of arkansas i brought twelve chillun and left four in north carolina. i've had six wives and had twenty-nine chillun by the six wives. "i've seen them ku klux in slavery times and i've cut a many a grapevine. we'd be in the place dancin' and playin' the banjo and the grape vine strung across the road and the ku klux come ridin' along and run right into it and throw the horses down. "cose i believe in hants. they're in the air. can't everybody see em. some come in the shape of a cat or a dog--you know, old folks spirits. i ain't afeared of em--ain't afeared of anything cept a panter. cose i got a gun--got three or four of em. you can't kill a spirit cept with silver. "i was in the road one time at night next to a cemetery and i see somethin' white come right up side of me. i didn't run then. you know you can git so scared you can't run, but when i got so i could, i like to killed myself runnin'. "i'm not able to work now, but i just go anyhow. i got a willin' mind to work and a strong constitution but i ain't got nothin' to back it. i never was sick but twice in my life. "since i been in pine bluff i worked sixteen years at night firing up and watchin' engines, makin' steam, and never lost but one night. i worked for the cotton belt forty-eight years. i worked up until the fust day of this last past may, five years ago, when they laid me off. "i'm disabled wif dis rheumatism now but i works every day anyway. "i'll show you i haven't been asleep atall. i worked for the railroad company forty-eight years and i been tryin' to get that railroad pension but there's so much red cross (tape) to these things they said it'd be three months before they could do anything." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: jim davis indiana street pine bluff, arkansas age: "well, i've broke completely down. i ain't worth nothing. got rheumatism all over me. "i never seen inside a schoolhouse--allus looked on the outside. "the general run of this younger generation ain't no good. what i'm speakin' of is the greatest mass of 'em. they ain't healthy either. why, when i was comin' along people was healthy and portly lookin'. why, look at me. i ain't never had but two spells of sickness and i ain't never had the headache. the only thing--i broke these three fingers. hit a mule in the head. killed him too. "yes'm, that was in slavery times. why, they passed a law in raleigh, north carolina for me never to hit a man with my fist. that was when i was sold at one thousand nine hundred dollars. "ever' time they'd make me mad i'd run off in the woods. "but they sure was good to their darkies. plenty to eat and plenty good clothes. sam davis was my owner. and he wouldn't have no rough overseer." folklore subjects name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: slavery time songs subject: superstitions story:--information [tr: additional topic moved from subsequent page.] this information given by: jim davis place of residence: indiana street, pine bluff, arkansas occupation: none age: [tr: personal information moved from bottom of first page.] [tr: some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. letters surrounded by [] represent long vowels.] "i used to be a banjo picker in civil war times. i could pick a church song just as good as i could a reel. "some of 'em i used to pick was 'amazing grace', 'old dan tucker,' used to pick one went like this 'farewell, farewell, sweet mary; i'm ruined forever by lovin' of you; your parents don't like me, that i do know i am not worthy to enter your d[o].' i used to pick 'dark was the night cold was the ground on which the lord might lay.' i could pick anything. 'amazing grace how sweet it sounds to save a wretch like me.' 'go preach my gospel says the lord, bid this whole earth my grace receive; oh trust my word ye shall be saved.' i used to talk that on my banjo just like i talked it there." superstitions "oh, yes ma'am, i believe in all the old signs. "you can take a rabbit foot and a black cat's bone from the left fore shoulder, and you take your mouth and scrape all the meat offin that bone, and you take that bone and sew it up in a red flannel--i know what i'm talkin' 'bout now--and you tote that in your pocket night and day--sleep with it--and it brings you good luck. but the last one i had got burnt up when my house burnt down and i been goin' back ever since. "and these here frizzly chicken are good luck. if you have a black frizzly chicken and anybody put any poison or anything down in your yard, they'll scratch it up." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: jeff davis texas street, pine bluff, arkansas age: [may ] "what's my name? i got a good name. name's jeff davis. miss mary vinson was some of my white folks. "oh lord yes, i was here in slavery times--runnin' around like you are--ten years old. i'm eighty-five even. "soldiers used to give me dimes and quarters. blue coats was what they called 'em. and the rebs was gray. "yankees had a gun as long as from here to there. had cannon-balls weighed a hundred and forty-four pounds. "i'm a musician--played the fife. played it to a t. had two kinds of drums. had different kinds of brass horns too. i 'member one time they was a fellow thought he could beat the drum till i took it. "had plenty to eat. old master fed us plenty. "oh, i used to do a heap of work in a day. "i was 'bout ten when freedom come. yes ma'am." interviewer: watt mckinney person interviewed: jeff davis r.f.d. five miles south, marvell, arkansas age: "i'se now seventy-eight year old an' gwine on seventy-nine. i was borned in de tennessee valley not far from huntsville, alabama. right soon atter i was borned my white folks, de welborns, dey left alabama an' come right here to phillips county, arkansas, an' brung all the darkies with 'em, an' that's how come me here till dis very day. i is been here all de time since then an' been makin' crops er cotton an' corn every since i been old enough. i is seen good times an' hard times, boss, all endurin' of those years followin' de war, but de worst times i is ever seen hab been de last several years since de panic struck. "how-some-ever i is got 'long first rate i reckon 'cause you know i owns my own place here of erbout eighty acres an' has my own meat an' all such like. i really ain't suffered any for nothin'. still they has been times when i ain't had nary a cent an' couldn't get my hands on a dime, but i is made it out somehow. us old darkies what come up with de country, an' was de fust one here, us cleared up de land when there wasn't nothin' here much, an' built de log houses, an' had to git 'long on just what us could raise on de land an' so on. couldn't mind a panic bad as de young folks what is growed up in de last ginnyration. "you see, i was borned just three years before de darkies was sot free. an' course i can't riccolect nothin' 'bout de slavery days myself but my mammy, she used to tell us chillun 'bout dem times. "like i first said, us belonged to de welborns an' dey was powerful loyal to de souf an' er heap of de young ones fit in de army, an' dey sont corn an' cows an' hogs an' all sich like supplies to de army in tennessee an' georgia. dat's what my mammy tole me an' i know dey done dem things, an' dey crazy 'bout mr. jefferson davis, de fust an' only president of de confedracy, an' dat's how come me got dis name i got. yas suh, dat is how come me named 'jeff davis.' an' i always has been proud of my name, 'cause dat was a sure great one what i is named after. "my pappy was a white man, dat's what my mammy allus told me. i knows he bound to been 'cause i is too bright to not have no white blood in me. my mammy, she named 'mary welborn'. she say dat my pappy was a white man name 'bill ward' what lived back in alabama. dat's all my mammy ever told me about my pappy. she never say iffen he work for de welborns er no, er iffen he was an overseer er what. i don't know nothin' 'bout him scusin' dat he er white man an' he named 'bill ward'. my steppappy, he was name john sanders, an' he married my mammy when i 'bout four year old, an' dat was atter de slaves taken outen dey bondage. "my steppappy, he was a fine carpenter an' could do most anything dat he want to do with an axe or any kind of a tool dat you work in wood with. i riccolect dat he made a heap of de culberts for de railroad what was built through marvell from helena to clarendon. he made dem culberts outen logs what would be split half in two. then he would hew out de two halves what he done split open like dey used to make a dug-out boat. dey would put dem two halves together like a big pipe under de tracks for de water to run through. "there was several white mens dat i knowed in dis part of de county what raised nigger famblys, but there wasn't so many at dat. i will say this for them mens though. whilst it wasn't right for dem to do like dat, dem what did have 'em a nigger woman what dey had chillun by sure took care of de whole gang. i riccolect one white man in particular, an' i knows you is heered of him too. how-some-ever, i won't call no names. he lived down on de ribber on de island. dis white man, he was a overseer for a widder woman what lived in helena an' what owned de big place dat dis man oberseer was on. dis white man, he hab him dis nigger woman for de longest. she have five chillun by him, three boys an' two gals. "after a while dis man, he got him a place up close to marvell where he moved to. he brought his nigger fambly with him. he built dem a good house on his farm where he kept them. he give dat woman an' dem chillun dey livin' till de chillun done grown an' de woman she dead. then he married him a nice white woman after he moved close to marvell. he built him a house in town where his white wife live an' she de mammy of a heap of chillun too by dis same man. so dis man, he had a white fambly an' a half nigger fambly before. de most of de chillun of dis man is livin' in this county right now. "yas suh, boss, i is sure 'nough growed up with dis here county. in my young days most all de west end of this county was in de woods. there wasn't no ditches or no improvements at all. de houses an' barns was most all made of logs, but i is gwine to tell you one thing, de niggers an' de white folks, dey get erlong more better together then dan dey does at dis time. de white folks then an' de darkies, dey just had more confidence in each other seems like in dem days. i don't know how 'twas in de other states after de war, but right here in phillips county de white folks, dey encouraged de darkies to buy 'em a home. dey helped dem to git it. dey sure done dat. mr. marve carruth, dat was really a good white man. he helped me to get dis very place here dat i is owned for fifty years. an' then i tell you dis too, boss, when i was coming up, de folks, dey just worked harder dan dey do these days. a good hand then naturally did just about three er four times as much work in a day as dey do now. seems like dis young bunch awful no 'count er bustin' up and down de road day and night in de cars, er burnin' de gasoline when dey orter be studyin' 'bout makin' er livin' an' gettin' demselves er home. "yas suh, i riccolect all 'bout de time dat de niggers holdin' de jobs in de courthouse in helena, but i is never took no part in that votin' business an' i allus kept out of dem arguments. i left it up to de white folks to 'tend to de 'lectin' of officers. "de darkies what was in de courthouse dat i riccolect was: bill gray, he was one of de clerks; hense robinson, dave ellison, an' some more dat i don't remember. bill gray, he was a eddycated man, but de res', dey was just plain old ex-slave darkies an' didn't know nothing. bill gray, he used to be de slave of a captain on a steamboat on de ribber. he was sorter servant to he mars on de boat where he stayed all the time. the captain used to let him git some eddycation. darkies, dey never last long in de courthouse. dey soon git 'em out. "i gwine tell you somepin else dat is done changed er lot since i was comin' up. dat is, de signs what de folks used to believe in dey don't believe in no more. yet de same signs is still here, an' i sure does believe in 'em 'cause i done seen 'em work for all dese years. de lawd give de peoples a sign for all things. de moon an' de stars, dey is a sign for all them what can read 'em an' tells you when to plant de cotton an' de taters an' all your crops. de screech owls, dey give er warnin' dat some one gwine to die. about de best sign dat some person gwine die 'round close is for a cow to git to lowin' an' a lowin' constant in de middle of de night. dat is a sign i hardly is ever seen fail an' i seen it work out just a few weeks ago when old aunt dinah died up de road. i heered dat cow a lowin' an' a lowin' an' a walkin' back an' forth down de road for 'bout four nights in a row, right past aunt dinah's cabin. i say to my old woman dat somepin is sure gwine to take place, an' dat some pusson gwine die soon cause dat cow, she givin' de sign just right. dere wasn't nobody 'round sick a tall an' aunt dinah, she plumb well at de time. about er week from then aunt dinah, she took down an' start to sinkin' right off an' in less than a week she died. i knowed some pusson gwine die all right, yet an' still i didn't know who it was to be. i tell you, boss, i is gittin' uneasy an' troubled de last day or two, 'cause i is done heered another cow a lowin' an' a lowin' in de middle of de night. she keeps a walkin' back an' forth past my house out there in de road. i is really troubled 'cause me an' de old woman both is gittin' old. we is both way up in years an' whilst both of us is in real good health, aunt dinah was too. dat cow a lowin' like she do is a bad sign dat i done noticed mighty nigh allus comes true." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: jordan davis cypress street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was a boy in the house when the war started and i heard the mistress say the abolitionists was about to take the south. yes ma'm. that was in natchez, mississippi. i was about nine or ten. "mistress' name was eliza a. hart and master's name was dave a. hart. "i guess they _was_ good to me. i lived right there in the house with then. mistress used to send me to sunday school and she'd say 'now, jordan, you come right on back to the house, don't you go playin' with them nigger chillun on the streets.' "my daddy belonged to a man named davis way down the river in the country and after the war he came and got me. sure did. carried me to davis bend. i was a good-sized boy about twelve or fifteen. he took me to mrs. leas hamer and you know i was a good-sized boy when she put me in the kitchen and taught me how to cook. yes'm, i sure can cook. she kept me right in the house with her children. i did her cooking and cleaned up the house. i never got any money for it, or if i did i done forgot all about it. she kept me in clothes, she sure did. i didn't need any money. i stayed five or six years with her, sure did. i thought a lot of her and her children--she was so kind to me. "yes ma'm, i went to school one or two years in mississippi. "when i come here to arkansas on the steamboat and got off right here in pine bluff, there was a white man standin' there named burks. he kept lookin' at me and directly he said 'can you cook?' i was married then and had all my household goods with me, so he got a dray and carried me out to his house. his wife kept a first-class boarding house. just first-class white folks stayed there. after the madam found out i had a good idea 'bout cookin' she put me in the dining room and turned things over to me. "miss, it's been so long, i don't study 'bout that votin' business. i have never bothered 'bout no republican or votin' business--i never cared about it. i know one thing, the white people are the only ones ever did me any good. "mrs. j.b. talbot has been very good to me. my wife used to work for her and so did i. she sure has been a friend to me. mrs. j.b. talbot has certainly stuck to me. "oh i think the colored folks ought to be free but i know some of 'em had a mighty tight time of it after the war and now too. "ain't nothin' to this here younger generation. i see 'em goin' down the street singin' and dancin' and half naked--ain't nothin' to 'em. "my wife's been dead five or six years and i live here alone. yes ma'm! i don't want nobody here with me." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mary jane drucilla davis w. barraque, pine bluff, arkansas age: "'little baby's gone to heaven to try on his robe oh, lord, i'm most done toiling here little baby, m-m-m-m-m-m.' "oh, it was so mournful. and let me tell you what they'd do. they'd all march one behind the other and somebody would carry the baby's casket on their shoulder and sing that song. that's the first song i remember. i was three years old and now i'm seventy-three and crippled up with rheumatism. "my mother had a garden and they went 'round that way to the graveyard and i thought they was buryin' it in the garden. that was in georgia. "in the old days when people died they used to sit up and pray all night, but they don't do that now. "i was married young. i don't love to tell how old but i was fifteen and when i was seventeen i was a widow. i tried and tried to get another husband as good as my first one but i couldn't. i didn't marry then till i was thirty some. "my parents brought me from georgia when i was five years old and now i ain't got no blood kin in pine bluff. "do i believe in signs? well, let me tell you what i do know. before my house burned in , i was sittin' on my porch, and my mother and sister come up to my house. they come a distance to the steps and went around the house. they was both dead but i could see 'em just as plain. and do you know in about two or three weeks my house burned. i think that vision was a sign of bad luck. "and another time when i was havin' water put in my house, i dreamed that my sister who was dead told a friend of mine to tell me not to sign a contract and i didn't know there was a contract. and that next day a man come out for me to sign a contract and i said, 'no.' he wanted to know why and finally i told him, and he said, 'you're just like my mother.' it was two days 'fore i'd sign. the men had quit work waitin' for me to sign. but let me tell you when they put the water in and when they'd flush the pipes my tub overflowed. the ground was too low and i never could use the commode. now don't you think that dream was a warning? "just before i had this spell of sickness i dreamed my baby--he's dead--come and knocked and said. 'mama.' and i said, 'yes, darlin', god bless your heart, you done been here three times and this time mama's comin'. i really thought i was goin' to die. i got up and looked in the glass. you know you can see death in the eyes, but i didn't see any sign of death and i haven't gone yet. "last saturday i was prayin' to god not to let me get out of the heart of the people. you see, i have no kin people and i wanted people to come to my rescue. the next day was sunday and more people come to see me and brought me more things. "i been in the church fifty-seven years. i'm the oldest member in st. john's. i joined in may . "i went to school some. i went as far as the fourth grade." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: minerva davis, biscoe, arkansas age: "my father was sold in richmond, virginia when he was eighteen years old to the nigger traders. they had nigger traders and cloth peddlers and horse traders all over the country coming by every few weeks. papa said he traveled to tennessee. his job was to wash their faces and hands and fix their hair--comb and cut and braid their hair and dress them to be auctioned off. they sold a lot of children from virginia all along the way and he was put up in tennessee and auctioned off. he was sold to the highest bidder. bill thomas at brownsville, tennessee was the one bought him. papa was a large strong man. "he run off and went to war. he had learned to cook and he was one-eyed and couldn't fight. all the endurin' time he cooked at the camps. then he run off from war when he got a chance before he was mustered out and he never got a pension because of that. he said he come home pretty often and mama was expecting a baby. he thought he was needed at home worse. he was so tired of war. he didn't know it would be valuable to him in his old days. he was sorry he didn't stay till they got him mustered out. he said it was harder in the war than in slavery. they was putting up tents and moving all the time and he be scared purt nigh to death all the time. never did know when they would be shot and killed. "mama said the way they bought grandma was at a well. a drove of folks come by. it was the nigger traders. she had pulled up her two or three buckets. she carried one bucket on her head and one in each hand. they said, 'draw me up some water to drink.' she was so smart they bragged on her. they said, 'she such a smart little thing.' they went to see her owner and bought her on the spot. they took her away from her people and she never heard tell of none of them no more. she said there was a big family of them. they brought her to brownsville, tennessee and johnny williams bought her. that was my grandma. "mother was born there on johnny williams' place and she was heired by his daughter. his daughter married bill thomas, the one what done bought my papa. her young mistress was named sallie ann thomas. mama got married when she was about grown. she said after she married she'd have a baby about the same time her young mistress had one. mama had twelve children and raised eleven to be grown. four of us are living yet. my sister was married when i was born. white folks married young and encouraged their slaves to so they have time to raise big families. mama died when i was a year old but papa lived on with johnny williams where he was when she died. i lived with my married sister. i was the baby and she took me and raised me with her children. "the ku klux wanted to whoop my papa. they all called him dan. they said he was mean. his white folks protected him. they said he worked well. they wouldn't let him be whooped by them ku kluxes. "miss sallie ann was visiting and she had mama along to see after the children and to help the cook where she visited. they was there a right smart while from the way papa said. the pattyrollers whooped somebody on that farm while she was over there. they wasn't many slaves on her place and they was good to them. that whooping was right smart a curiosity to mama the way papa told us about it. "when mama and papa married, johnny williams had a white preacher to read out of a book to them. they didn't jump over no broom he said. "they was the biggest kind of methodist folks and when mama was five years old johnny williams had all his slaves baptized into that church by his own white preacher. papa said some of them didn't believe niggers had no soul but johnny williams said they did. (the negroes must have been christened--ed.) "papa said folks coming through the country would tell them about freedom. mama was working for miss sallie ann and done something wrong. miss sallie ann says, 'i'm a good mind to whoop you. you ain't paying 'tention to a thing you is doing the last week.' mama says, 'miss sallie ann, we is free; you ain't never got no right to whoop me no more care what i do.' when bill come home he say, 'how come you to sass my wife? she so good to you.' mama say, 'master bill, them soldiers say i'm free.' he slapped her. that the first time he laid hands on her in his life. in a few days he said, 'we going to town and see is you free. you leave the baby with sallie ann.' it was the courthouse. they questioned her and him both. seemed like he couldn't understand how freedom was to be and mama didn't neither. then papa took mama on johnny williams' place. he come out to arkansas and picked cotton after freedom and then he moved his children all out here. "uncle albert and grandpa take nights about going out. uncle albert was courting. "they put potatoes on fire to cook when next morning they would be warm ready to eat. the fire popped out on mama. she was in a light blaze. not a bit of water in the house. her sisters and brothers peed (urinated) on her to put out the fire. her stomach was burned and scarred. they was all disappointed because they thought she would be a good breeder. miss sallie ann took her and cured her and when miss sallie ann was going to marry, her folks didn't want to give her minerva. she tended (contended) out and got her and agnes both. agnes died at about emancipation. "i'm named for my mother. i'm her youngest child. "i recollect my grandmother and what she told, and papa's mind went back to olden times the older he got to be. when folks would run down slavery he would say it wasn't so bad with them--him and mama. he never seen times bad as times is got to be now. then he sure would wanted slavery back some more. he was a strong hard laboring man. he was a provider for his family till he got so no 'count. "times is changing up fast. folks is worse about cutting up and carousing than they was thirty years ago to my own knowledge. i ain't old so speaking." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: rosetta davis, marianna, arkansas age: "i was born in phillips county, arkansas. my folks' master was named dr. jack spivy. grandma belong to him. she was a field woman. i don't know if he was a good master er not. they didn't know it was freedom till three or four months. they was at work and some man come along and said he was going home, the war was over. some of the hands asked him who win and he told them the yankees and told them they was free fer as he knowed. they got to inquiring and found out they done been free. they made that crap i know and i don't recollect nothing else. "i farmed at foreman, arkansas for taylor price, steve pierce, john huey. i made a crap here with will dale. i come to arkansas twenty-nine years ago. i come to my son. he had a cleaning and pressing shop here (marianna). he died. i hired to the city to work on the streets. i never been in jail. i owned a house here in town till me and my wife separated. she caused me to lose it. i was married once. "i get ten dollars a month from the gover'ment. "the present time is queer. i guess i could git work if i was able to do it. i believe in saving some of what you make along. i saved some along and things come up so i had to spend it. i made so little. "education has brought about a heap of unrest somehow. education is good fer some folks and not good fer some. some folks git spoilt and lazy. i think it helped to do it to the people of today." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: virginia (jennie) davis scott street, forrest city, arkansas age: or "this is what my father, isaac johnson, always told us: 'i was born in raleigh, north carolina. mama died and left three of us children and my papa. he was a blacksmith.' i don't recollect grandpa's name now. 'a man come to buy me. i was a twin. my sisters cried and cried but i didn't cry. i wanted to ride in the surrey. i was sold and taken to montgomery, alabama.' "angeline was his oldest sister and emmaline was his twin sister. he never seen any of his people again. he forgot their names. his old master that bought him died soon after he come back from north carolina. "his young master didn't even know his age. he tried to get in the army and he did get in the navy. they said he was younger than he told his age. he enlisted for three years. he was in a scrimmage with the indians once and got wounded. he got twenty dollars then fifty dollars for his services till he died. "he wasn't old enough to be in the civil war. he said he remembered his mistress crying and they said lincoln was to sign a freedom treaty. his young master told him he was free. the colored folks was having a jubilee. he had nowheres to go. he went back to the big house and sot around. they called him to eat, and he went on sleeping where he been sleeping. he had nowheres to go. he stayed there till he joined the navy. then he come to mississippi and married sallie bratcher and he went back to alabama and taught school. he went to school at night after the civil war till he went to the navy. he was a light-brown skin. "grandma, jane cash, was one brought from huntingdon, tennessee in a gang and sold at auction in memphis, tennessee. she said her mother, father, the baby, her brother and two sisters and herself was sold, divided out and separated. grandma said one of her sisters had a suckling baby. she couldn't keep it from crying. they stopped and made her give it away. "then grandma fell in the hands of the walls at holly springs, mississippi. she was a good breeder, so she didn't have to work so hard. they wouldn't let her work when she was pregnant. "mrs. walls buried her silver in the front yard. she had an old trusty colored man to dig a hole and bury it. no one ever found it. the soldiers took their meat and let the molasses run out on the ground. they ransacked her house. mr. walls wasn't there. "my auntie, eliza williamson, was half white. she was one of her master's son's children. her first master put her and her husband together. she lives near conway, arkansas now and is very old. "grandma was living at menifee, arkansas, and a man from de valls bluff, arkansas come to her house. she saw a scar on his arm. he was marked by gingerbread. she asked him some questions. epps was his name and he was older than herself. he told her about the sale in memphis. he remembered some things she didn't. he knowd where they all went. her sister was mary wright at milan, tennessee. grandma was twelve years old when that sale come off. she shouted and they cried. she couldn't eat for a week. "she said old man walls was good to them. when my mama was a little girl she was short and fat and light color. old man walls would call them in his parlor, all dress up and show them to his company. he was proud of them. he'd give them big dances ever so often. in the evening they had their own preaching in white folks' church. grandma was good with the needle. she sewed for the mistress and her own family too. she had twelve children i think they said. they said her mistress had a large family too. "grandpa belong to mike cash. he give her husband what he made on saturday evening. i think grandpa was sold from the walls to mike cash. he took the cash name and my mother was a cash and she married isaac johnson. she was raised in arkansas. papa was married twice. i was raised around holly grove, arkansas. that is where my folks lived in the last of slavery--that is mama's folks. papa come to arkansas at a later time. "i think times is queer. i work and makes the best of 'em. (ten dollars a month house rent.) i work all the time washing and ironing. (she has washed for the same families years and years. she is a light mulatto--ed.) "young folks is lost respect for the truth. not dependable. that is their very worst fault, i think. "no-oom, i wouldn't vote no quicker 'en i'd smoke a cigarette. but i haben never smoked narry one." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: ex-slaves story:--information this information given by: winnie davis (c) place of residence: e. twenty-first street pine bluff, arkansas occupation: none age: [tr: personal information moved from bottom of first page.] "katie butler was my old missis 'fore i married my husband. his name david davis. i cooked for jeff davis and took care of his daughter, winnie. i stayed with old missis, jeff davis' wife, till she died. she made me promise i'd stay with her. that was in virginia." (i have made three trips trying to get information and pictures of winnie davis. her granddaughter said that a good many years ago when winnie's mind was good, she was down town shopping and that when she gave her name, the clerk said, "were you named after jeff davis' daughter?" and that winnie replied, "she must have been named after me 'cause i cooked for jeff davis 'fore she was born." her mind is not very good at times, but the day i took her picture, i asked who she used to cook for and she said, "jeff davis." she is rather deaf, nearly blind and toothless, but can get around the house quite well. the neighbors say that she has been a hard worker and of a very high-strung temperament. the granddaughter, mattie sneed, says her grandmother said she was sold in virginia when she was eight years old.) interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: leroy day (c) age: home: n. walnut street, pine bluff, ark. "good lord yes, lady, i was here in slavery days. i remember my old marster had an overseer that whipped the people pretty rapid. "i remember when the soldiers--the yankees--come through, some said they was takin' things. "old marster, his name was joe day, he was good to us. he seemed to be a christian man and he was a judge. they generally called him judge day. i never seen him whip nobody and never seen him have no dispute. i tell you if he wasn't a christian, he looked like one. "i was born in georgia and i can remember the first governor we had after freedom. his name was governor bullock. i heard it said the people raised a lot of sand because they said he was takin' the public money. that was when milledgeville was the capital of georgia. "i used to vote after freedom. i voted republican. i went to school a little after the war and then emigrated to louisiana and arkansas. "things has got so now everything is in politics. some votes cause they want their friends in office and some don't take no interest. "some of the younger generation is prospering very well and some are goin' kinda slow. some is goin' take another growth. the schoolin' they is gittin' is helpin' to build 'em up. "yes mam, i use to be strong and i have done a heap of work in my life. cotton and corn was the business, the white man had the land and the money and we had to work to get some of that money. "i remember when the ku klux was right bad in louisiana. i never did see any--i didn't _try_ to see 'em. i know i heard that they went to a school house and broke up a negro convention. they called for a colored man named peck and when he come out they killed him and one white man got killed. they had a right smart little scrummage, and i know the colored people ran off and went to kansas. "the fust man i ever seed killed was one time a colored man's dog got in another colored man's field and ate his roasting ears, it made him so mad he shot the dog and then the man what owned the dog killed the other man. i never did know what the punishment was. "since i have become afflicted (i'm ruptured) i can't do no work any more. i can't remember anything else. if i had time to study i might think of something else." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: hammett dell, brasfield, arkansas age: [-- -- ] [tr: some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. letters surrounded by [] represent long vowels.] "i was born in tennessee, miles from murfreesboro. they call it now releford. i was born october , . i stayed wid old master till he died. i was bout thirty-five years old. he lernt me a good trade, brick layin'. he give me everything i needed and more. after the war he took me by the old brass lamp wid twisted wick--it was made round--and lernt me outer the blue back speller and rithmetic. the spelling book had readin' in it. lady ain't you seed one yit? then i lernt outer rays rithmetic and mcguffeys reader. old master say it ginst the law to teach slaves foe the war. dat what he said, it was ginst the law to educate a nigger slave. the white folks schools was pay foe the war. "my old master had a small farm. his wife died. he never married no more. i caint member her name. she died when i was a little bitter of a boy. they had a putty large family. there was marion, william, fletcher, john, miss nancy, miss claricy, miss betsy. i think that all. the older childern raised up the little ones. my master named mars pleasant white. long as i stayed wid him i had a plenty to eat an' wear an' a dollar to spend. i had no sense to save a cent for a old day. mars white was a good man if ever one lived. he was a good man. four old darkies all mars white had. they was my mama, grandma, papa, auntie. my name i would lack it better white but that is where the dell part come in; papa b'long to the dells and b'fo the war he talked to me bout it. he took his old master's name. they call him louis dell white. he didn't have no brothers but my mama had two sisters. her name was mary white. them was happy days b'fo the war. the happiest days in all my life. bout at the beginnin' of the war mama took cole at the loom and died. we all waited on her, white folks too. she didn't lack for waitin' on. something white folks et, we et. we had plenty good grub all time long as mars white live. "how'd i know bout to git in war? i heard white folks talkin' bout it. one time i heard mars white talkin' to my folks bout takin' us away. we was happy an' doin' well an' i didn't lack the talk but i didn't know what "war" was. no mam that was two years foe they got to fightin' down at murfreesboro. mars white was a ruptured man. he never left our place. i never heard bout none of my folks bein' sold. mars white aired (heired) all us. my papa left and never come back. i d[o]n[o] how he got through the lines in the army. i guess he did fight wid the yankees. "papa didn't speak plain. grandma couldn't speak plain. they lisp. they talk fast. sound so funny. mama and auntie speak well. plain as i do now. they was up wid mars white's childern more. mars white sent his childern to pay school. it was a log house and they had a lady teacher. they had a accordion. mars marion's neighbor had one too. all of em could play. "white women would plat shucks an' make foot mats, rugs and horse collars. the white women lernt the darkie women. there was no leather horse collars as ever i seed. i lernt to twist shucks and weave chair bottoms. then i lernt how to make white oak split chair bottoms. i made all kinds baskets. we had all sizes and kinds of baskets. when they git old they turn dark. shuck bottom chairs last longer but they kinner ruff an' not so fancy. "well when they started off fightin' at murfreesboro, it was a continual roar. the tin pans in the cubbord (cupboard) rattle all time. it was distressful. the house shakin' all time. all our houses jar. the earth quivered. it sound like the judgment. nobody felt good. both sides foragin' one bad as the other, hungry, gittin' everything you put way to live on. that's "war". i found out all bout what it was. lady it ain't nuthin' but hell on dis erth. "i tole you i was ten miles from the war and how it roared and bout how the cannons shook the earth. there couldn't be a chicken nor a goose nor a year of corn to be found bout our place. it was sich hard times. it was both sides come git what you had. whole heap of yankees come in their blue suits and caps on horses up the lane. they was huntin' horses. they done got every horse and colt on the place cepin one old mare, mother of all the stock they had on the place. young mistress had a furs bout her and led her up the steps and put her in the house. "then when they started to leave, one old yankee set the corner of the house on fire. we all got busy then, white folks and darkies both carry in' water ter put it out. we got it out but while we doin' that, mind out, they went down the lane to the road by the duck pond we had dug out. one old soldier spied a goose settin' in the grass. she been so scared she never come to the house no more. nobody knowed there was one on our place. he took his javelin and stuck it through her back. she started hollowin' and flutterin' till the horses, nearly all of em, started runnin' and some of em buckin'. we got the fire bout out. we couldn't help laughin' it look so funny. i been bustin' i was so mad cause they tried take old beck. three of em horses throwd em. they struck out cross the jimpson weeds and down through the corn patch tryin' to head off their horses. them horses throwd em sprawlin'. that was the funniest sight i ever seed. "we got our water out of a cave. it was good cold limestone water. we had a long pole and a rope with a bucket on the end. we swing the pole round let it down then pull it back and tie it. they go to the other end and git the bucket of water. i toted bout all the water to both places what they used. one day i goin' to the cave after water. i had a habit of throwin' till i got to be prutty exact bout hittin'. i spied a hornets nest in a tree long the lane. i knowd them soldiers be long back fer sompin else, pillagin' bout. it wasn't long show nuff they come back and went up to the house. "i got a pile of rocks in my hands. i hid down in the hazel nut bushes. when they come by gallopin' i throwd an' hit that big old hornets nest. the way they piled out on them soldiers. you could see em fightin' far as you could see em wid their blue caps. the horses runnin' and buckin'. i let out to the house to see what else they carried off. "i tole mars white bout how i hit that hornets nest wid the first rock i throwd. he scolded me, for he said if they had seen me they would killed me. it scared him. he said don't do no more capers like that. that old hornets nest soon come down. it was big as a water bucket. mars white call me son boy. i tole him what terrible language they used, and bout some of the horses goin' over the lane fence. it was made outer rails piled up. mars white sho was glad they didn't see me. he kept on sayin' son boy they would killed you right on the spot. don't do nuthin' to em to aggravate em. "it look lack we couldn't make a scratch on the ground nowhere the soldiers couldn't find it. we had a ash hopper settin' all time. we made our soap and lye hominy. they took all our salt. we couldn't buy none. we put the dirt in the hopper and simmered the water down to salt. we hid that. no they didn't find it. our smoke house was logs dobbed wid mud and straw. it was good size bout as big as our cabins. it had somepin in it too. all the time i tell you. "you ever eat dried beef? it is fine. "i say i been to corn shuckins. they do that at night. we hurry and git through then we have a dance in front of mars white's house. we had a good time. mars white pass round ginger bread and hard cider. we wore a thing on our hands keep shucks from hurtin' our hands. one darkie sit up on the pile and lead the singin'. old dan tucker was one song we lernt. i made some music instruments. we had music. folks danced then more they do now. most darkies blowed quills and jew's harps. i took cane cut four or six made whistles then i tuned em together and knit em together in a row like a mouth harp you see. [tr: there is a drawing of the whistles, something like this: _ - | | - | | | | _ | | | | | | - | | | | | | | | - | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | - - - - - - [hw: blow] two lines across all the whistles may indicate strings.] another way get a big long cane cut out holes long down to the joint, hold your fingers over different holes and blow. i never had a better time since freedom. i never had a doctor till since i been years old neither. "later on i made me a bow of cedar, put one end in my mouth and pick the string wid my fingers while i hold the other end wid this hand. (left hand. it was very peculiar shaped in the palm.) see my hand that what caused it. i have been a musician in my time. i lernt to handle the banjo, the fiddle and the mandolin. i played fer many a set, all over the country mostly back home (in tennessee). "we had a heap of log rollins back home in slavery times. they have big suppers spread under the trees. we sho know we have a good supper after a log rollin'. "we most always worked at night in winter. mama worked at the loom and weaved. grandma and old mistress carded. they used hand cards. auntie spun thread. i reeled the thread. i like to hear it cluck off the hanks. papa he had to feed the stock and look after it. he'd fool round after that. he went off to the war at the first of it and never come home. "the war broke us up and ruined us all but me. grandma married old man soon after freedom. he whooped and beat her up till she died. he was a mean old scoundel. they said he was a nigger driver. his name was wesley donald. she died soon after the war. mama was dead. auntie married and went on off. i was years old. when freedom come on mars white says you all set free. you can leave or stay on here. i stayed there. mars white didn't give us nuthin'. he was broke. all he had was land. "come a talk bout lincoln givin' em homes. some racketed bout what they outer git. that was after freedom. most of em never got nuthin'. they up and left. some kept on workin'. they got to stealin' right smart. some the men got so lazy they woulder starved out their families and white folks too. white folks made em go to work. the darky men sorter quit work and made the women folks do the work. they do thater way now. some worse den others bout it. "me and mars white went to work. we see droves darkies just rovin' round. said they huntin' work and homes. some ask for victuals. yes they give em something to eat. when they come in droves they couldn't give em much. some of em oughter left. some of the masters was mean. some of em mighty good. "me and mars white and his boys rigged up a high wheel that run a band to a lay (lathe). one man run the wheel wid his hands and one man at the lay (lathe) all time. we made pipes outer maple and chairs. we chiseled out table legs and bed post. we made all sort of things. anything to sell. we sold a heap of things. we made money. if i'd had sense to keep part of it. mars white always give me a share. we had a good livin' soon as we got over the war. "i farmed. i was a brick layer. mars white lernt me that. when he died i followed that trade. i worked at new orleans, van buren, jackson, meridian. i worked at lake villiage with mr. lasley, and mr. ivy. they was fine brick layers. i worked for dr. stubbs. mr. scroggin never went huntin' without me but once over here on cache river. he give me land to build my cabins. i got lumber up at the mills here. folks come to my cabins from states. j. dall long at st. louis sent me a block wid my picture. i didn't know what it was. mr. moss told me it was a bomb like they used in the world war. i had some cards made in memphis, some little rock. i sent em out by the telephone books tellin' em it was good fishin' now. "j. dall long said when i go back home i send you somethin' nice. that what he sent in the mail. "it was ugliest picture of me in a boat an' a big fish holt my britches leg pullin' me over out the boat. he had me named "hambones" under it. i still got my block. i got nuther thing--old aunties bonnet she wore in slavery. "i quit keepin' club house. i kept it years. i rented the cabins, sold minnows and bates. they give me the land but i couldn't sell it. old woman everybody call "nig" cook fer me. i wanter live like nig and go up yonder. i ainter goner be in this world long but i want to go to heben. nig was not my wife. she was a fine cook. she cooked an' stayed at my cabins. this little chile--orphan chile--i got wid me was nig's grandchild. when nig died i took him. i been goin with him to pick cotton. i want er lern him to work. egercation ain't no good much to darkies. i been tryin' to see what he could do bettern farm. they ain't nuthin'. i set down on the ground and pick some so he will pick. he is six years old. when it rain i caint pick and set on the wet ground. ku klux "the onlies sperience i had myself wid the ku klux was one night fo grandma and auntie left. somebody wrap on our cabin door. they opened it. we gat scared when we seed em. they had the horses wrapped up. they had on white long dresses and caps. every one of em had a horse whoop (whip). they called me out. grandma and auntie so scared they hid. they tole me to git em water. they poured it some whah it did not spill on the ground. kept me totin' water. then they say, "you bin a good boy?" they still drinkin'. one say, "just from hell pretty dry." then they tole me to stand on my head. i turned summer sets a few times. they tickled me round wid the ends of the whoops. i had on a long shirt. they laugh when i stand on my head. old mars white laughed. i knowed his laugh. then i got over my scare. they say, "who live next down the road?" i tole em nells christian. they say, "what he do?" i said, "works in the field." they all grunt, m-m-m-m. then they say, "show us the way." i nearly run to death cross the field to keep outer the way of the white horses. the moon shining bright as day. they say nells come out here. he say "holy moses." he come out. they say "nells what you do?" "i farms." they say "what you raise?" he say "cotton and corn." they say "take us to see yo cotton we jess from hell. we ain't got no cotton there." he took em out there where it was clean. they got down and felt it. then they say "what is dat?", feelin' the grass. nells say "that is grass." they say, "you raise grass too?" he said, "no. it come up." they say "let us see yo corn." he showed em the corn. they felt it. they say "what this?" nells say, "it grass." they say, "you raise grass here?" they all grunt m-m-m-m everything nells say. they give him one bad whoopin' an' tell him they be back soon see if he raisin' grass. they said "you raise cotton and corn but not grass on this farm." they they moan, "m-m-m-m." i herd em say his whole family and him too was out by day light wid their hoes cuttin' the grass out their crop. i was sho glad to git back to our cabin. they didn't come back to nells no more that i herd bout. the man nells worked for muster been one in that crowd. he lived way over yonder. no i think the ku klux was a good thing at that time. the darkies got sassy (saucy), trifling, lazy. they was notorious. they got mean. the men wouldn't work. their families have to work an' let them roam round over the country. some of em mean to their families. they woulder starved the white out and their selves too. i seed the ku klux heap a times but they didn't bother me no more. i herd a heap they done along after that. they say some places the ku klux go they make em git down an' eat at the grass wid their mouths then they whoop em. sometimes they make em pull off their clothes and whoop em. i sho did feel for em but they knowd they had no business strollin' round, vistin'. the ku klux call that whoopin' helpin' em git rid of the grass. nells moster lived at what they called caneville over cross the field. "the way that patty rollers was. the mosters paid somebody. always somebody round wantin' a job like that. mars white was his own overseer. all round there was good livers. they worked long wid the slaves. some of the slaves would race. papa would race. he wanted to race all time. grandma cooked for all of us. they had a stone chimney in the kitchen. big old hearth way out in front. made outer stone too. we all et the same victuals long as mars white lived. then i left." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: james dickey, marianna, arkansas age: [may ] "i don't know much to tell about my folks. my parents died when i was young. mother died when i was twelve and father when i was seven years old. great-grandma was an indian squaw. my father's pa was his young master. his old master was named george dickey. the young master was john dickey. i reckon to start with my mother had a husband. she had twelve children but the last seven was by my pa. he was lighter than i am and paler. this red is indian in me. i know how he looked and how she looked too. the young master never married. he had some brothers. my father lived with us and his pa was there too some. i don't know what become of john dickey but my pa was buried at mt. tursey cemetery. it was a sorter mixed burying grown (ground) but at a white church. mother come here and was buried at cat island in a colored church cemetery. "i farmed in mississippi, then i come to miller lumber company and i worked with them forty-two years. i worked at marked tree, then they sent me here (marianna). "i voted in caruthersville, missouri last i voted. it don't do much good to vote. i am too old to vote. i never voted in arkansas. i voted some in mississippi but not regular. "times is hard. so many white women do their own cooking and washing till it don't leave no work fer the colored folks. the lumber work is gone fer good. "the present generation is going back'ards. for awhile it looked like they was rising--i'm speaking morally. they going back down in a hurry. drinking and doing all kinds of devilment. the race is going back'ard now. seems like everybody could see that when whiskey come back in. "i got high blood pressure. i do a little work. i watch on sunday at the mills. i don't get no help from the gover'ment." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: benjamin diggs n. cypress, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in in north carolina. oh, sure, i remember when the yankees come through. they said they done right smart of damage. i remember goin' by a place where they had burned it down. they didn't do nothin' to my white folks 'cept took the stock. "the lyles was my white folks. they called her polly lyles. oh, they was good to us. my mother and her sister and another colored woman and we children all belonged to one set of people--miss polly lyles; and my father belonged to the diggs. "after freedom we moved off but they was good to us just the same, and we was glad to pay 'em a visit and they was glad to have us. "i've heard my mother say she'd ignore the idea of a cold biscuit but my father said he was glad to get one. he said he didn't get 'em but once a week. "oh, indeed there was a lot of difference in the way the colored folks was treated. some of 'em was very good, just like they is now. "well, all those old people is dead and gone now 'cause they was old then. "i come here to arkansas in ' . that was when they was emigratin' the folks. i was grown and married then. i was twenty-six when i married in ' . "i went to school a little. i can sorta scribble a little and read a little, but my eyes is failin' now. i started wearin' glasses 'fore i really needed 'em. i got to projectin' with my mother's glasses looked like they read so good. "farmin' is all i know how to do. never done anything else. i owned some land and farmed for myself. "sure, i used to vote--republican. i never had any trouble. i always tried to conduct my life to avoid trouble. i believe in that policy. "i joined the church when i was very young, very young. i go by the golden rule and by the bible. "i first lived in pope county. "i learned since i come here to pine bluff there's enough churches here to save the world, but there's some mean people here." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: katie dillon hazel street, pine bluff, arkansas age: [dec ] "i hope i was here in slavery days--don't i look like it? i was a good big girl after surrender. "i was born in rodney, mississippi in . "i had a good old master--doctor williams. didn't have no mistress. he never married till after surrender. "we lived right in town--right on the mississippi river where the gun boats went by. they shelled the town one day. remember it just as well as if 'twas now. i hope it was exciting. everybody moved out. some run and left their stores. they run to alcorn university, five miles from there. some of em come back next day and some never come back till after surrender. "the old doctor bought my mother when she was twelve years old. when she got big enough she was the cook. made a fine one too. i worked around the house and toted in wood and water. "after surrender, dr. williams wanted my mother to give me and my brother to him and he would give her a home, but she wouldn't. i wish she had but you know i wasn't old enough to know what was best. she hired out and took us with her. i hired out too. i reckon i was paid but i never did see it. i reckon my mother collected it. i know she clothed me. i had better clothes than i got now. we stayed there till we come to arkansas. i was married then. i married when i was seventeen. i was fast wasn't i? i got a good husband. didn't have to work, only do my own work. just clean up the house and garden and tend to the chickens. my husband was a picture man. yes'm, i've lived in town all my life--born and raised up in town. "after surrender i went to the first free school ever was in rodney, mississippi. i went about two sessions. i ought to've learned more'n i did but i didn't see how it would benefit me. "in slavery days we used to go right to the table and eat after the white folks was through. we didn't eat out of no pots and pans. whatever was on the table you et it until you got enough. "when i was comin' up and they was goin' to have a private ball, they sent out invitations and i went, but when they had that kind where everybody could go i wouldn't a gone to one of them for nothin'. "the way things is goin' now i don't think the end can be very far off. "i remember when peace was declared i saw the soldiers across the street and they had their guns all stacked. i was lookin' and wonderin' what it was. you know children didn't ask questions in them days. i heard some of the older ones talkin' and i heard em say the war was over. "i never had but two children and only one livin' now. yes'm, i own my home and my son helps me what he can. i'm thankful i got as much as i have." el dorado district folklore subjects [hw: customs] name of interviewer: pernella anderson subject: customs--slavery days [nov ] this information given by: alice dixon place of residence: rock island quarters occupation: none age: (approx) [tr: personal information moved from last page of interview.] well honey ah can't tell jes when ah wuz born. de white fokes have mah age. ah blong tuh de newtons. as near as ah can get at mah age ahm bout now but ah wuz big nough to member the soldiers comin aroun atter surrender. mah mutha had ten chillun but ah can't member but two uv mah sisters and one uv mah bruthes. we staid wid de newtons till we wuz set free and i nuss fuh de newtons aftuh we wuz set free. de newtons wuz awful good ter me and dey wuz good tuh mah ma too. ah slept up in de big house wid de newtons. ah nevah went ter school. ah didn' have a chance. ah went ter church jes sometimes. we didn have churches. we jes had meetin in our house we lived in. we cooked on fire places. we cooked our bread in what we called oven bout so high. we had chickens and eggs, peas, tatoes, meat and bread but ah didn know there was no sich thing as cake an pie till ah got to be an oman. ah can't recollect jes how ole ah wuz in slave time but ah shore can recollect dem yankees riding dem hosses and ah ask may ma what dey was doin and she said gatherin up cotton dey made in slave time an ah kin recollect an oman a gin. yo know we had steps made of blocks saved from trees and she wuz a goin ovah em steps er shoutin and singin "ah am free, at last, ah am free at last, ah'm free at last, thank gawd a mighty ah'm free at last." she wuz so glad ter be free. my ma in huh time would make cloth. she had a loom. hit wuz a high thing and th thread would go ovah th top and come down jes so in what we call shickle. she'd have a bench so high. the loom was high as dis door and my ma would set on the bench and her foots wuz on somethin like a bicycle and when she put her foots on de pedal dat shickle would come open and make a blum blum an that would make a yard of cloth, an she'd mash the pedal agin and another yard of cloth. jes so we'd make eight and ten yards of cloth in one day. an when hit wuz made we would carry hit to de white fokes. dey would make us clo'es outn dat cloth. ifn dey wanted colored cloth dey would dye de thread. dey had what we called a loom dat would make, le' me see now, card would card the cotton, and de looms would make de thread and de shickle would make de cloth, as well as ah can recollect we would make little roll uv cotton on de cards an put it on de loom and make thread. de looms was jes so long. ever time the wheel would say o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o we had a spool uv thread. ah don' know whar dey got the spools, made em tho ah guess. ah jes caint tell you how hit wuz hits so much. de newton's nevah did whup me. she started to whup me tho one day. ah kin recollect bout de dogs. there wuz one dog whut wuz called dinah. but yo know dey had ten uv em. one day ole uncle henry jones done somethin and run off and climbed a tree and de newton's miss him so dey called de dogs and dey went on to de tree. dat very tree wha he wuz and stopped. uncle henry had been gone all dat mornin and dem dogs track him right dere, to de spot and wouldn let him down till de newtons come. an chile dem newtons whip de skin off uncle herny's [tr: henry's] back. dem dogs would git yo. mrs. newton nevah got outn de bed no time. ah would lift her from one bed to de utha to make de beds and when she got ready to get dressed ah would bath her and dress huh all de times. ah'll tell yo nother funny joke bout henry johnson. he had ter clean up mos uv de time. so mrs. newton's dress wuz hangin in de room up on de wall and when he come out he said to ole uncle jerry, he said: "jerry guess whut ah done" and jerry said: "whut?" and uncle henry said: "ah put mah han undah ole mistess dress." uncle jerry said: "whut did she say?" uncle henry say: "she didn' say nothin." so uncle jerry cided he'd try hit. so he went draggin on in de house. set down on de floor by ole mistess. ater while he run his han' up under huh dress and old marster jumped up and jumped on jerry and like to beat him ter death. jerry went out cryin and got out and called henry. he said: "henry ah though yo said yo put yo hand undah ole mistess's dress and she didn' say nothin." uncle henry said: "ah did and she didn' say nuthin." jerry said: "ah put mah han' undah huh dress and ole marster like tuh beat me ter death." uncle henry said: "yo crazy thing huh dress wuz hangin up on de wall when ah put mah han up undah hit." we didn' eat eggs only on sunday mornin. me and mah sis et together in de same plate. we didn know whut knives and forkes wuz den. we et wid our fingahs. ah had a good ole pa too. he died a long time ago. ah member one night he started tuh whoop mah brudder and mah pa and mah brudder had hit. so mah brudder runned off, an de marster called ole dinah, dinah wuz a dog yo know but dinah was a big dog ovah the other dogs yo know and dem dogs went and got me brudder and dem newtons sho did beat him. but twasnt long befo mah pa taken sick and died aftuh dat. an when we wuz goin ter bury mah pa lamme tell yo what happened: two turtle doves flew roun the wagon three times, den dey flew right on top uv mah pa's coffin box an hollered three times; and yo know mah sistuh died bout three days aftuh dat. ah didn' bleave in signs till den. ah know mah pa always bleaved in signs cause ah know when hit would start lightnin and thunderin round dat place of ourn mah pa would always make us stop. he say twas bad luck. an ah know when evah a dove would holler at night he'd tell us jes tuh tie a knot in th' south cornuh uv de sheet and he would hush. an we would do hit an he would hush. yo kno hits bad luck fuh dem tuh holler roun yo place. oh we use ter have lots o sheep, at least ole mistess did. we made all of our wool clothes from dem sheeps wool and let me tell yo somethin else, ah think ah got some sheep wool in mah trunk now ah had hit fifty years. hits good fer sores if yo has er cut on yo han' or feet or if blood poison set up jes take a little piece of dat wool an put a piece of fire on hit and [hw: put] some [hw: on] the sore parts and chile, honey, hit will git well right now. chile ah had use ter ruther go ter dances than ter eat. ah'd go ter dances an git early dare and heah dem fiddles. uh, my! ah jus couldn make mah foots act right. we use ter dance sixteen sets. we'd be er dancing and hit would sound so good. someone would say swing de one yo love bes but ah wouldn swing de one ah love best cause ah didn want anyone tah know him. on sunday mornin dats when we play. ole marster would put a rope cross fer us ter jump and we'd line up. the rope wuz bout five feet high and chile if we didn' jump it we'd catch hit. o-o-o-o-oooo. we had ter run. he line up two at a time an he say one fuh de money, two fuh de show, three tuh make ready and fo' tuh go. an yo talk bout runnin. we had ter run. he would make us box and de one dat git whooped is de one dat would haft ter box till he got whooped and we had ter whoop three times befo' stoppin. oh chile, ah had a time when ah miz a chile. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: luke d. dixon devalls bluff, ark. age: "my father's owner was jim dixon in elmo county, virginia. that is where i was born. i am years old. jim dixon had several boys--baldwin and joe. joe took some of the slaves, his pa give him, and went to new mexico to shun the war. uncle and pa went in the war as waiters. they went in at the ending up. we lived on the big road that run to the atlantic ocean. not far from richmond. ma lived three or four miles from pa. she lived across big creek--now they call it farrohs run. ma belong to harper williams. pa's folks was very good but ma's folks was unpleasant. "ma lived to be years old. pa died in and was years old. i used to set on grandma's lap and she told me about how they used to catch people in africa. they herded them up like cattle and put them in stalls and brought them on the ship and sold them. she said some they captured they left bound till they come back and sometimes they never went back to get them. they died. they had room in the stalls on the boat to set down or lie down. they put several together. put the men to themselves and the women to themselves. when they sold grandma and grandpa at a fishing dock called new port, va., they had their feet bound down and their hands bound crossed, up on a platform. they sold grandma's daughter to somebody in texas. she cried and begged to let them be together. they didn't pay no 'tenshion to her. she couldn't talk but she made them know she didn't want to be parted. six years after slavery they got together. when a boat was to come in people come and wait to buy slaves. they had several days of selling. i never seen this but that is the way it was told to me. "the white folks had an iron clip that fastened the thumbs together and they would swing the man or woman up in a tree and whoop them. i seen that done in virginia across from where i lived. i don't know what the folks had done. they pulled the man up with block and tackle. "another thing i seen done was put three or four chinquapin switches together green, twist them and dry them. they would cry like a leather whip. they whooped the slaves with them. "grandpa was named sam abraham and phillis abraham was his mate. they was sold twice. once she was sold away from her husband to a speculator. well, it was hard on the africans to be treated like cattle. i never heard of the nat turner rebellion. i have heard of slaves buying their own freedom. i don't know how it was done. i have heard of folks being helped to run off. grandma on mother's side had a brother run off from dalton, mississippi to the north. after the war he come to virginia. "when freedom was declared we left and went to wilmington and wilson, north carolina. dixon never told us we was free but at the end of the year he gave my father a gray mule he had ploughed for a long time and part of the crop. my mother jes picked us up and left her folks now. she was cooking then i recollect. folks jes went wild when they got turned loose. "my parents was first married under a twenty-five cents license law in virginia. after freedom they was remarried under a new law and the license cost more but i forgot how much. they had fourteen children to my knowing. after the war you could register under any name you give yourself. my father went by the name of right dixon and mother jilly dixon. "the ku klux was bad. they was a band of land owners what took the law in hand. i was a boy. i scared to be caught out. they took the place of pattyrollers before freedom. "i never went to public school but two days in my life. i went to night school and paid mr. j.c. price and mr. s.h. vick to teach me. my father got his leg shot off and i had to work. it kept me out of meanness. work and that woman has kept me right. i come to arkansas, brought my wife and one child, april , . we come from wilson, north carolina. her people come from north carolina and moultrie, georgia. "i do vote. i sell eggs or a little something and keep my taxes paid up. it look like i'm the kind of folks the government would help--them that works and tries hard to have something--but seems like they don't get no help. they wouldn't help me if i was bout to starve. i vote a republican ticket." note: on the wall in the dining room, used as a sitting room, was a framed picture of booker t. washington and teddy roosevelt sitting at a round-shaped hotel dining table ready to be served. underneath the picture in large print was "equality." i didn't appear to ever see the picture. this negro is well-fixed for living at home. he is large and very black, but his wife is a light mulatto with curly, nearly-straightened hair. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: martha ann dixon (mulatto) devalls bluff, arkansas age: "i am eighty-one years old. i was born close to saratoga, north carolina. my mother died before i can recollect and my grandmother raised me. they said my father was a white man. they said jim beckton. i don't recollect him. my mother was named mariah tyson. "i recollect how things was. my grandmother was miss nancy tyson's cook. she had one son named mr. seth tyson. he run her farm. they et in the dining room, we et in the kitchen. clothes and something to eat was scarce. i worked at whatever i was told to do. grandma told me things to do and miss nancy told me what to do. i went to the field when i was pretty little. once my uncle left the mule standing out in the field and went off to do something else. it come up a hard shower. i crawled under the mule. if i had been still it would been all right but my hair stood up and tickled the mule's stomach. the mule jumped and the plough hit me in my hip here at the side. it is a wonder i didn't get killed. "after the civil war was times like now. money scarce and prices high, and you had to start all over new. pigs was hard to start, mules and horses was mighty scarce. seed was scarce. everything had to be started from the stump. something to eat was mighty plain and scarce and one or two dresses a year had to do. folks didn't study about going so much. "i had to rake up leaves and fetch em to the barn to make beds for the little pigs in cold weather. the rake was made out of wood. it had hickory wood teeth and about a foot long. it was heavy. i put my leaves in a basket bout so high [three or four feet high]. i couldn't tote it--i drug it. i had to get leaves in to do a long time and wait till the snow got off before i could get more. it seem like it snowed a lot. the pigs rooted the leaves all about in day and back up in the corners at night. it was ditched all around. it didn't get very muddy. rattle snakes was bad in the mountains. i used to tote water--one bucketful on my head and one bucketful in each hand. we used wooden buckets. it was lot of fun to hunt guinea nests and turkey nests. when other little children come visiting that is what we would do. we didn't set around and listen at the grown folks. we toted up rocks and then they made rock rows [terraces] and rock fences about the yard and garden. they looked so pretty. some of them would be white, some gray, sometimes it would be mixed. they walled wells with rocks too. all we done or knowed was work. when we got tired there was places to set and rest. the men made plough stocks and hoe handles and worked at the blacksmith shop in snowy weather. i used to pick up literd [hw: lightwood] knots and pile them in piles along the road so they could take them to the house to burn. they made a good light and kindling wood. "they didn't whoop grandma but she whooped me a plenty. "after the war some white folks would tell grandma one thing and some others tell her something else. she kept me and cooked right on. i didn't know what freedom was. seemed like most of them i knowed didn't know what to do. most of the slaves left the white folks where i was raised. it took a long time to ever get fixed. some of them died, some went to the cities, some up north, some come to new country. i married and come to fredonia, arkansas in . i had been married since i was a young girl. but as i was saying the slaves was still hunting a better place and more freedom. the young folks is still hunting a better place and more freedom. grandma learnt me to set down and be content. we have done better out here than we could done in north carolina but i don't believe in so much rambling. "we come on the passenger train and paid our own way to arkansas. it was a wild and sickly country and has changed. not like living in the same country. i try to live like the white folks and grandma raised me. i do like they done. i think is the reason we have saved and have good a living as we got. we do on as little as we can and save a little for the rainy day." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: railroad dockery short th, pine bluff, arkansas age: "railroad dockery, that's my name. i belonged to john dockery and we lived at lamertine, arkansas where i was born. my mother's name was martha and i am one of quadruplets, three girls and one boy, that's me. red river, ouachita, mississippi and railroad were our names. (mrs. mary browning, who is now ninety-eight years of age, told me that her father, john dockery, was the president of the mississippi, red river, ouachita railroad, the first one to be surveyed in arkansas, and that when the directors heard of the quadruplets' birth, they wanted to name them after the railroad, which was done--ed.) "yes ma'm, red river and ouachita died when they were tots and mississippi and railroad were raised. now that's what my mother said. mississippi died five or six years ago and i'm the onliest one left. "i remember mighty little about the war. i never thought anything about the war. all i did then was a crowd of us little chaps would go to the woods and tote in the wood every day for the cook woman. that's what i followed. never did nothing else but play till after the war. "after surrender i went with my father and mother to work for general tom dockery. he was john dockery's brother. i was big enough to plow then. i followed the plow all the time. my father and mother were paid for their work. we stayed there about five years and then moved to falcon, arkansas. father died there. "in the time of the war i heard the folks talkin' about freedom, and i heard my father talk about the ku klux but that was all i knowed, just what he said about it. "i remember the presidents and i voted for some of them but oh lord, i haven't voted in several years. "i got along after freedom just as well as i ever did. i never had no trouble--never been in no trouble. "about the world now--it looks like to me these days things are pretty tight. i could hardly tell you what i think of the younger generation. i think one thing--if the old heads would die all at once they would be out, because it's all you can do to keep em straight now. "i went to school only three months in my life. i learned to read and write very well. i don't need glasses and i read principally the bible. to my mind it is the best book in the world. biggest part of the preachers now won't preach unless they are paid three-fourths more than they are worth. "the biggest part of my work was farming. i never did delight in cooking. now i can do any kind of housework, but don't put me to cooking. "i just can't sing to do no good. never could sing. seems like when i try to sing something gets tangled in my throat. "oh lord, i remember one old song they used to sing 'a charge to keep i have a god to glorify.' "i don't remember anything else but now if mississippi was here, she could tell you lots of things." interviewer: irene robertson subject: ex-slave information given by: callie donalson, biscoe, arkansas story i wasn't born in slavery but i was born in the white folks kitchen. bob walker was ma mother's master and james austin ma father's master. they said he wasn't good to none of dem, he was mighty tight. now ma mothers white folks was sho good to her. when de war was all over me family jined and worked fer people not berry far from ma mother's masters. there was two brothers and a sister older than me. she thought her white folks do better by her than anybody so she went back to em during her pregnancy and thats how come i was born in der kitchen a white mid-wife tended on er. i never will forget her. she was named mrs. coffee. there wasn't many doctors in the whole country then. i was born in haywood county tennessee in . no'm i tell you when you first come i wasn't born in slavery. my white mistress named me, the young mistress, she named me callie. bob walkers girl married ben geeter. i was right in ben geeters kitchen when miss sallie named me. they seemed proud of the little black babies. ma mother was a field hand and she washed and ironed. she was a good spinner. she carded and wove and spun all. she knitted too. she knitted mostly by nite. all the stockings and gloves had to be knit. she sewed and i learned from her. we had to sew with our fingers. when i was a little girl i just set around, brought in wood. yes maam we did play and i had some dolls, i was proud of my dolls, just rag dolls. we use to drive the calves up. if they didn't come up they sent the dog fur de cows. one of dem wore a bell. they had shepherd dogs, long haired, gentle dogs, to fetch the cows when they didn't come. ma folks farmed in tennessee till i married and den we farmed. agents jess kept comin after us to get us to come to this rich country. they say: hogs jess walking round with knife and forks stickin in der backs beggin somebody to eat em over in arkansas. no'm i aint seed none lack dat, i seed em down in the swamps what you could saw a good size saplin down wid der backbones. i says i mean i seed plenty raysor back hogs, and long noses and long straight ears. i show have since i come here. the land was so poor in tennessee and this was uncleared land so we come to a new country. it show is rich land. they use guano back in tennessee now or they couldn't raise nuthin. abe miller an old slave owner what we worked wid come out here. he was broke and he paid our way. we come on the josie harry boat. der was several families sides us come wid him. he done fine out here--we got off the boat at augusta and i worked up there in woodruff county till ma husbands brother's wife died and he had a farm his own. we raised his boys and our family till dey was ob age. i left em. they went in big business here in biscoe and lost de farm and everything. ma husband died i lives with ma girl. i got one boy married lives in chicago, and a girl up there too. no'm dey aint rich. dem his children come home wid ma daughters on a visit--little yankees ain't got no manners. i voted one time in ma life, in , for hoover. i don't know nothing about voting. i can read. i reads ma bible. ma young mistress learnt me to read. i never got to go to school much. whut my young mistress learnt me was ma a b c's and how to call words. yes maam i can write ma name but i forgot how to write, been so long since i wrote a letter. all the songs i ever sung was "in dixie" "little brown jug" an mostly religious songs, lawd i forgot em now. i never knowd about no slave uprisings--white folks alway good to us. we misses em now. times not lack dey use to be. dese young generations don't take no interest in nothin no mo. its kinder kritical. no use trying to tell em nuthin. dey's getting an education i don't know whut thell do with it. if dey had somebody to manage fur them seem like they kaint kandle no business without getting broke. they work hard and make some seems lack they jes kaint keep nuthin. no'om i don't think they are so bad. in me and ma husband worked on our own place till we come down here we sold it and went on his brothers place. i owns ma house thats all. ma daughters help me and we get a little provisions and clothes along from the relief. if i could work i wouldn't ax nobody for no help. i jess past working much. i jess don't know what is going to become of the present generation. the conditions are better than they use to be, heap better. they have no education and don't have to work as hard as we use to. they seems so restless and don't take no interest in nothin. they are all right. it is jess the times an the bible full filling fast as it can. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: charles green dortch victory street, little rock, arkansas age: [hw: father a pet] "i was born june , . the reason i don't show my age is because i got scotch-irish, indian, and negro mixed up in me. i was born in princeton--that is, near princeton--in dallas county. princeton is near fordyce. i was born on hays' farm. hays was my second master--archie hays. dortch was my first master. he brought my parents from richmond, virginia, and he settled right in princeton. "my father's name was reuben rainey dortch. he was an octoroon i guess. he looked more like a cuban than a negro. he had beautiful wavy hair, naturally wavy. he was tall, way over six feet, closer to seven. his father was dortch. some say rainey. but he must have been a dortch; he called himself dortch, and we go in the name of dortch. rainey was a white man employed on dortch's plantation. rainey's name was wilson rainey. my name has always been dortch. "my mother was named martha dortch. i am trying to think what her maiden name was. my sister can tell you all the details of it. she is five years older than i am. she can tell you all the old man's folks and my mother's too more easily than i can. "my father had, as nearly as i can remember--lemme see--cordelia, adrianna, mary, jennie, emma, and dortch. emma and dortch were children by a first wife. cordelia was his stepdaughter. my brothers were alec and gabe. there is probably some i have overlooked. "the indian blood in me came through my mother's father. he was a full-blooded red indian. i can't think of his name now. her mother was a dark woman. "my father was a carpenter, chair maker, and a farmer too. all the work he did after peace was declared was carpentry and chair and basket making. he made coffins too just after peace was declared. they didn't have no undertakers then. he made the bottoms to chairs too. he could put a roof on a house beautifully and better than any one i know. nobody could beat him putting shingles on a house. "my mother was reared to work in the house. she was cook, housekeeper. she was a weaver too. she worked the loom and the spinning wheel. she gardened a little. but her work was mostly in the house as cook and weaver. she never went out in the field as a hand. my father didn't either. kind masters "my father seemed to have been more of a pet than a slave. he was a kind of boss more than anything else. he had his way. nobody was allowed to mistreat him in any way. my mother was the same way. i don't think she was ever mistreated in any way by the white folks--not that i ever saw. attitude of slaves toward father "there wasn't any unfriendliness of the other slaves toward my father. my oldest sister can tell you with clearness, but i don't think he ever had any trouble with the other slaves any more than he had with the white folks. he was well liked, and then too he was able to take care of himself. then again, he had a good master. hays was a good man. we made a trip down there just a short while ago. we hadn't been there since the civil war. they made it so pleasant for us! we all set down to the same table and ate together. frank was down there. he was my young master. thirty acres--not forty "they gave us thirty acres of land when we came out of slavery. they didn't give it to us right then, but they did later. i am going down there again sometime. my young master is the postmaster down there now. he thinks the world and all of me and my oldest sister. "i don't mind telling people anything about myself. i was born in june. they ain't nothing slipping up on me. i understand when to talk. there are two of us, adrianna kern--that's her married name. she and i are the ones mr. frank gave the thirty acres to. i have a younger sister. slave work "i don't know how much cotton a slave was expected to pick in a day. the least i ever heard of was one hundred fifty pounds. some would pick as high as three and four hundred pounds. "my father was not a field hand. he was what they called the first man 'round there. he was a regular leader on the plantation--boss of the tool room. he was next to the master of them, you might say. he was a kind of boss. "i never heard of his working for other men besides his master. i believe he drove the stage for a time from arkadelphia to camden or princeton. i don't know just how that come about. my sister though has a more exact remembrance than i have, and she can probably tell you the details of it. boyhood experiences "my father used to take me to the mill with him when i was a kid. that was in slavery time. he went in a wagon and took me with him. "the biggest thing i did was to play with the other kids. they had me do such work as pick berries, hunt up the stock, drive the sheep home from the pasture. and as near as i can remember it seems like they had me more picking berries or gathering peaches or something like that. food, houses, clothes "corn bread, buttermilk and bacon and all such as that and game--that was the principal food. the people on our place were fed pretty well. we lived off of ash cakes and biscuits. "the slaves lived in old log houses. i can almost see them now. let's see--they usually had just one window. the slaves slept on pallets mostly and wore long cotton shirts. patrollers "i have heard a great deal of talk about the pateroles--how they tied ropes across the road and trapped them. sometimes they would be knocked off their horses and crippled up so that they had to be carried off from there. of course, that was sometimes. they was always halting the slaves and questioning them and whipping them if they didn't have passes. how freedom came "the way i understand it there came a rumor all at once that the negroes were free. it seems that they throwed up their hands. they had a great fight at pine bluff and helena and de valls bluff. then came peace. the rumor came from helena. meade and thomas winded the thing up some way. sherman made his march somewhere. the colored soldiers and the white soldiers came pouring in from little rock. they come in a rush and said, 'tell them niggers they're free.' they run into the masters' and notified them they were going to take all the negroes to little rock. it wasn't no time afterwards before here come the teams and the wagons to take us to little rock. "when they brought us here, they put us in soldiers' camps in a row of houses up just west of where the arch street graveyard is now. they put us all there in the soldiers' buildings. they called them camps. they seemed to be getting us ready for freedom. it wasn't long before they had us in school and in church. the freedmen's bureau visited us and gave us rations just like the government has been doing these last years. they gave us food and clothes and books and put us in school. that was all done right here in little rock. schooling "my first teacher was miss sarah henley. i could show you the home she used to live in. it's right up the street. it's on third street between izard and state right in the middle of the block--next to the building on the corner of izard on the south side of third street. there is a brick building there on the corner and her house is a very pretty one right next to it. she was a white woman and was my first teacher. she taught me, as near as i can remember, one session. my next teacher was mrs. hunt. she was from ohio. my first teacher was from ohio too. mrs. hunt taught me about two sessions. lemme see, mrs. clapp came after her. she was from pennsylvania. mrs. clapp taught me one session. i am trying to think of that other teacher. we went over to union school then. charlotte andrews taught us there for a while. that was her maiden name. her married name is stephens. she was the first colored teacher in the city. mrs. hubbard teached us a while, too. mrs. scull taught us right here on gaines and seventh streets where this church is now. they moved us a long time ago down to the mess house at the rock island for a while but we didn't stay there long. we came back to the methodist church--the one on eighth and broadway, not the bethel church on ninth and broadway. there was a colored church on eighth and broadway then. they kept sweeping us 'round because the schools were all crowded. woods, a colored man, was one of the teachers at capitol hill public school. we were there when it first opened. that was the last school i went to. i finished eight grades. me and scipio jones went to school together and were in the same class. i left him in school and went to work to take care of my folks. occupational experiences "right after the civil war, i went to school. i did no work except to sell papers and black boots on the corner of main and markham on sunday. after i stopped school i went to work as assistant porter in the railroad office at the union station for the st. louis, iron mountain, southern railway and cairo and fulton. that was one road or system. i stayed with them from till in the office as office porter. from that i went train porter out of the office in . i stayed as train porter till . then right back from i went in the general superintendent's private car. then from there i went to the shop here in north little rock--the missouri pacific shops--as a straw boss of the storeroom gang. that was in . i stayed in the shop until . then i was transferred back on this side as coach cleaner. that was in . i stayed as coach cleaner till . from that i went to the state capitol and stayed there as janitor of the supreme court for three years. in , i went back to the coach cleaning department. that was during the war. i stayed there till . i come out on the strike and have been out ever since. since then i have done house cleaning all over the city. that brings me up to about two years ago. now i pick up something here and something there. i have been knocking around sick most of the time and supported by the relief and the welfare principally. ku klux klan "i don't remember much about the ku klux klan. they never bothered me, and never bothered any one connected with me. powell clayton "i have stood at the bar and drank with powell clayton. he had been 'round here ever since we had. he was a very particular friend of my boss'--the bosses of my work after the war and freedom. they were all yankees together. they would all meet at the office. that was while i was working my way through school and afterwards too. he was strictly a 'negroes' friend'. he was a straight out and out yankee. a broken thumb in a political fight "i got this thumb broken beating a white man up. no, i'll tell the truth. he was beating me up and i thought he was going to kill me. it was when benjamin harrison had been elected president. i was in sol joe's saloon and i said, 'hurrah for harrison.' a white man standing at the bar there said to me, 'what do you mean, nigger, insulting the guests here?' and before i knew what he was going to do--bop!--he knocked me up on the side of the head and put me flat on the floor. he started to stamp me. my head was roaring, but i grabbed his legs and held them tight against me and then we was both on the floor fighting it out. i butted him in the face with my head and beat him in the face with my fists until he yelled for some one to come and stop me. there was plenty of white people 'round but none of them interfered. a great commotion set up and i slipped out the back door and went home during the excitement. "when i went back to the saloon again after about a week or so, the fellow had left two dollars for me to drink up. sol joe told me that he showed the man he was wrong, that i was one of his best customers. to make sol and me feel better, he left the two dollars. when i got there and found the money waiting for me, i just called everybody in the house up to the bar and treated it out. "they claimed i had hit him with brass knucks, but when i showed them my hand--it was swollen double--and then showed them how the thumb was broken, they agreed on what caused the damage. that thumb never did set properly. you see, it's out of shape right now. domestic life "i met my wife going home. i was a train porter between here and memphis. she was put in my care to see that she took her train all right out of memphis, tennessee, going on farther. i fell in love with her and commenced courting her right from there. she was so white in color that you couldn't tell she was colored by looking at her. after i married her, i was bringing her home, and three white men from another town got on the train and followed us, thinking she was white. every once in a while they would come back and peep in the negro coach. sometimes they would come in and sit down and smoke and watch us. my sister notice it and called my attention to it. i went to the conductor and complained. he called their hand. "it seems that they were just buying mileage from time to time and staying on the train to be able to get off where i got off. the conductor told them that if they went into little rock with the train there would be a delegation of white people there to meet them and that the reception wouldn't be a pleasant one, that i worked on the road, and that all the officials knew me and knew my wife, and that if i just sent a wire ahead they'd find themselves in deep. they got off the train at the next stop, but they gave me plenty of eye, and it looked like they didn't believe what had been told them. "we were married only three and a half years when she died. her name was lillie love douglass before she married me. she was a perfect angel. white folks tried to say that she was white. we had two children. both of them are dead. one died while giving birth to a child and the other died at the age of thirty-three. "i married the second time. i met my second wife the same way i met the first. i was working on the railroad and she was traveling. i was a coach cleaner. we lived together three years and were separated over foolishness. she had long beautiful hair and an old friend of hers stopped by once and said that he ought to have a lock of her hair to braid into a watch chain. she said, 'i'll give you a lock.' i said, 'you and your hair both belong to me; how are you going to give it away without asking me.' she might have been joking, and i was not altogether serious. but it went on from there in to a deep quarrel. one day, i had been drinking heavily, and we had an argument over the matter. i don't remember what it was all about. anyway, she called me a liar and i slapped her before i thought. "for two or three weeks after that we stayed together just as though nothing had happened, except that she never had anything more to say to me. she would lie beside me at night but wouldn't say a word. one day i gave her a hundred dollars to buy some supplies for the store. she was a wonderful hat maker, and we had put up a store which she operated while i was out on the road working. when i came back that evening, the store was wide open and she was gone. she had slipped off and gone home from the station across the river. i didn't find that out till the next day. she hid during part of the night at the home of one of my friends. and another of my friends carried her across the river and put her on the train. i was out with a shotgun watching. i am glad i did not meet them. she is living in chicago now, married to the man she wanted to give the lock of hair to and doing well the last i heard from her. she was a good woman, just marked with a high temper. there was no reason why we should not have lived together and gotten along well. we loved each other and were making money hand over fist when we separated. opinions "the young people are too much for me. women are awful now. the young ones are too wild for me. the old ones allow them too much freedom. they are not given proper instruction and training by their elders." interviewer's comment dortch's grandfather on the father's side was a white man and either his master or someone closely connected with his master--his first master. his last master was the father of his half-sister, cordelia, born before any of the other members of his family. these facts account largely for the good treatment accorded his mother and father in slave time and for the friendly attitude toward them subsequent to slavery. dortch's whole sister, adrianna, is living next door to him, and is eighty-five years old going on eighty-six. she has a clearer memory than dortch, and has also a clear vigorous mentality. she never went to school but uses excellent english and thinks straight. i have not made dortch's interview any longer because i am spending the rest of this period on his sister's, and there was no need of taking some material which would be common to both and more clearly stated by her. i have already finished ten pages of her story. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: fannie dorum w. twenty-fourth street north little rock, arkansas age: [tr: some word pronunciation was marked in this interview. letters surrounded by [] represent long vowels, and by () short vowels.] [hw: church holds old age contest] "i was here in slavery time. know the years i plowed. ginned cotton in slavery time. my daddy was the ginner. his name was hamp high. stayed down in lonoke county. "i was here in slavery time. the third year of the surrender ( ), i married--married burton dorum. "i was born in franklin, north carolina. my old master's name was jack green, franklin county. he had five boys--henry, john, james, robert, and william henry. and he had a daughter named mary. my old mistress' name was jennie green. they all came from north carolina and i think they are still there. work "a slave better pick a hundred pounds of cotton in a day. you better pick a hundred. i couldn't pick a hundred. i never was much on picking cotton. "i weeded corn, planted corn and cotton, cut up wheat, pulled fodder, and did all such work. i plowed before the war about two years. i used to have to take the horses and go hide when the soldiers would go through. i was about nineteen years old when lee surrendered. that would make me somewheres about ninety-four years old. the boys figgered it all out when they had the old age contest 'round here. they added up the times i worked and put everything together. family "i raised eight children. have five living. and i reckon about forty children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great-grandchildren. you see i have been here right smart time. schooling "colored folks didn't get no learning then. i never learned to read or write. before i married, i learned to spell my name, but i had so much to do i have forgot how to do that. how freedom came "the yankees were coming through the place. a great crowd of soldiers. the day the corps of yankees were to go out, they all went up to the pike and it looked like a dark cloud. there were great big wagons loaded down with everything to eat. they took all the meat, all the whiskey, all the flour. that they didn't take, they give to the slaves or poured on the ground. they took the corn out of the crib. "the next day, old master called us up to the stand around him. he told us we were all free and that if we would stay with him, he would pay us. whipping "my old master never whipped me but once and never hit me much then. i said, 'master, if you don't hit me no more, i'll tell you who's been stealing all your eggs.' he said, 'will, you tell me, sure 'nough.' i said, 'yes.' but i never done it. patrollers "i heard about the pateroles catching the colored folks. they would catch them on the road as they were going places and whip them. the pateroles was white folks that was supposed to catch colored folks when they were out without a pass. sometimes the colored folks would stretch ropes across the road and trip them up. you would hear them laughing about it when they got amongst themselves the next day. house, etc. "i was born in a old log house--two rooms. one for the kitchen and one to sleep in. we had homemade furniture. mighty few of them had bought furniture. most of then made it themselves. if you had bought furniture, that was called fine. there was no rollers to any bed. food was kept in the house. wheat was kept under the bed because they had nowhere else to keep it. planks were put around it. we children used to jump up and down in it. rations "when the white folks got ready to give us milk, they poured it out in a tub and said, 'come and git it.' "they would kill hogs and the colored folks' meat would be put back of the white folks' meat in the smokehouse. they put the white folks' meat in the front and the colored folks' meat in the back. when you wanted something, you would go up to old master and say, 'my meat is out,' and they would give you some more out of the smokehouse. "brandy was kept in the storehouse too; but they didn't give that to the colored [tr: corrected from 'cullud'] folks--they didn't give any of it to them. my daddy used to make it and buy it from the white folks and slip and sell it to the colored folks. he didn't tell the white folks who he was gettin' it for. "you didn't have a regular time to git rations. you didn't on my place. you got things any time you needed them. my master was a good man. my dad got anything he wanted because he was the ginner. when he was working and it came mealtime, he would go right by the white folks' house and git anything he wanted and eat it--brandy, meat, anything. slave wages "my daddy not only did the ginning on my place; he did the ginning for other folks. he did the ginning for an old rich man named jack green, who lived in franklin county. jack green paid wages for my father's, hampton high's, work and the money was turned over to his mistress. i don't know whether they paid him and he turned it over to his mistress, or whether they told him about it and paid his mistress. they trusted him and i know he did work for pay. on account of the money my father earned he was considered a valuable slave. that's why he could go and eat and drink anything he wanted to. life since slavery "my husband married me in may. he went to his uncle and worked an shares for two or three years. then my husband took a crop to himself. he bought a cow and hog and stayed there twenty-one years. raised a great big orchard. all my children were born right there. white people owned the farm. priestley mangham and his wife were the white people. when we left that place, my children were all big enough to work. that was in north carolina. the nearest town was college. "when the white folks tried to take advantage of us and take our crops, then we left and came here. my husband is dead and has been dead over twenty years. "my daughters do the best they can to help me along, but they're on relief themselves and can't do much for me. opinions "the young people of today are in no good at all, except to eat. they are there on mealtime, but that is about all." interviewer's comment about three years ago, there was an old age contest in one of the colored churches of north little rock. sister hatchett was considered the oldest, fannie dorum next. sarah jane patterson was among those considered in the nineties also. it is very probable that all of these three are ninety or more. stories of dorum and patterson are already in, and interview with hatchett will be completed soon. this paper fails to record fannie dorum's accent with any approach to accuracy. she speaks fairly accurately and clearly and with a good deal of attention to grammaticalness. but she pronounces all "er" ending as "uh"; e.g., nigguh, cullud, fathuh, mothuh, m(o)stuh, daughtuhs. there are a number of variations from correct pronunciation which i do not record because they do not constitute a variation from the normal pronunciation; e.g., "wuz" for "was", "(e)r" for "[e]r". the slave pronunciation of "m(o)ster" is more nearly correct than the normal pronunciation of "m(a)ster." frequent pronunciations are marse, marsa, m(o)ssa, m(o)stuh, and m(a)ssa. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: silas dothrum pulaski street, little rock, arkansas age: or occupation: field hand, general work [may ] [hw: don't know nothin'] "the white people that owned me are all dead. i am in this world by myself. do you know anything that a man can put on his leg to keep the flies off it when it has sores on it? i had the city doctor here, but he didn't do me no good. i have to tie these rags around my foot to keep the flies off the sores. "i worked with a white man nineteen years--put all that concrete down out there. he is still living. he helps me a little sometimes. if it weren't for him i couldn't live. the government allows me and my wife together eight dollars a month. i asked for more, but i couldn't get it. i get commodities too. they amount to about a dollar and a half a month. they don't give any flour or meat. last month they gave some eggs and those were nice. what they give is a help to a man in my condition. "i don't know where i was born and i don't know when. i know i am eighty-two or eighty-three years old. the white folks that raised me told me how old i was. i never saw my father and my mother in my life. i don't know nothin'. i'm just on old green man. i don't know none of my kin people--father, mother, uncles, cousins, nothin'. when i found myself the white people had me. "that was right down here in arkansas here on old dick fletcher's farm. there was a big family of them fletchers. they took me to harriet lindsay to raise. she is dead. she had a husband and he is dead. she had two or three daughters and they are dead. slave houses "i can remember what they used to live in. the slaves lived in old wooden houses. they ain't living in no houses now--one-half of them. they were log houses--two rooms. i have forgot what kind of floors--dirt, i guess. food was kept in a smokehouse. relatives "the whole family of fletchers is dead. i think that there is a jef fletcher living in this town. i don't know just where but i met him sometime ago. he doesn't do nothing for me. nobody gives me anything for myself but the man i used to work for--the concrete man. he's a man. how freedom came "all i remember is that they boxed us all up in covered wagons and carried us to texas and kept us there till freedom came. then they told us we were free and could go where wanted. but they kept me in bondage and a girl that used to be with them. we were bound to them that we would have to stay with them. they kept me just the same as under bondage. i wasn't allowed no kind of say-so. "after dick fletcher died, his wife and his two children fetched us back--fetched us back in a covered wagon. "i am a arkansas man. was raised here. i am very well known here, too. some years after that she turned us loose. i can't remember just how many years it was, but it was a good many. right after the war "after mrs. fletcher turned us loose, we worked with some families. i was working by the year. if i broke anything they took it out of my wages. if i broke a plow they would charge me for it. i was working for niggers. i can't remember how much they paid, but it wasn't anything when they got through taking out. i'm dogged if i know how much they were supposed to pay; it has been so long. but i know that if i broke anything--a tool or something--they charged me for it. i didn't have much at the end of the year. it would take me a lifetime to make anything if i had to do that. patrollers "i have been out in the bushes when the pateroles would come up and gone into log houses and get niggers and whip their asses. they would surround all the niggers and make them go into the house where they could whip them as much as they wanted to. all that is been years and years ago. i never seen any niggers get away from them. i have heared of them getting away, but if they did i never knowed it. ku klux klan "i heared of the ku klux, but they never bothered me. i never saw them do anything to anybody. recollections relating to parents "i don't know who my parents were, but it seems like i heard them say my father was a white man, and i seen to remember that they said my mother was a dark woman. opinions "the young people today ain't worth a shit. these young people going to school don't mean good to nobody. they dance all the night and all the time, and do everything else. that man across the street runs a whiskey house where they dance and do everything they're big enough to do. they ain't worth nothing." interviewer: pernella m. anderson person interviewed: sarah douglas route , box -a, el dorado, arkansas age: ? [illustration: sarah and sam douglas] [tr: the library of congress photo archive notes "'tom' written in pencil above 'sam' in title."] "i was born in alabama. i don't know when though. i did not find out when i was born because old miss never told me. my ma died when i was real small and my old miss raised me. i had a hard time of my life. i slept on the floor just like a cat--anywhere i laid down i slept. in winter i slept on rags. if i got sick old miss would give me plenty of medicine because she wanted me to stay well in order to work. my old master was name john buffett and old misses name was eddie buffett. she would fix my bread and licker in a tin lid and shove it to me on the floor. i never ate at the table until i was twelve and that was after freedom. "to whip me she put my head between the two fence rails and she taken the cow hide whip and beat me until i couldn't sit down for a week. sometimes she tied our hands around a tree and tie our neck to the tree with our face to the tree and they would get behind us with that cow hide whip with a piece of lead tied to the end and lord have mercy! child, i shouted when i wasn't happy. all i could say was, 'oh pray, mistress, pray.' that was our way to say lord have mercy. the last whipping old miss give me she tied me to a tree and oh my lord! old miss whipped me that day. that was the worse whipping i ever got in my life. i cried and bucked and hollered until i couldn't. i give up for dead and she wouldn't stop. i stop crying and said to her, 'old miss, if i were you and you were me i wouldn't beat you this way.' that struck old miss's heart and she let me go and she did not have the heart to beat me any more. "i did every kind of work when i was a little slave; split rails, sprouted, ditched, plowed, chopped, and picked and planted. "i remember young master going to war and i remember hearing the first gun shoot but i did not see it. i saw the smoke though. "i never went to school a day in my life. the white folks said we did not need to learn, if we needed to learn anything they could learn us with that cow hide whip. "we went to the white folks' church, so we sit in the back on the floor. they allowed us to join their church whenever one got ready to join or felt that the lord had forgiven them of their sins. we told our determination; this is what we said: 'i feel that the lord have forgiven me for my sins. i have prayed and i feel that i am a better girl. i belong to master so and so and i am so old.' the white preacher would then ask our miss and master what they thought about it and if they could see any change. they would get up and say: 'i notice she don't steal and i notice she don't lie as much and i notice she works better.' then they let us join. we served our mistress and master in slavery-time and not god. "i recollect miss died just after the war. old miss was very strict on us and after she died we was so glad we had a big dance in miss's kitchen and old miss came back and slapped one of the slaves and left the print of her hand on her face. that white hand never did go away and that place was forever haunted after that. "now i don't know how to tell you to get after my age but i was twelve years old two years after surrender." interviewer: carol graham subject: ex-slaves information given by: sarah douglas, el dorado, arkansas mornin' honey. i thought you wuz comin' back tuh see me ergin las' summer an' i looked fuh you the longes' time. i'se plum proud tuh see you ergin. dis other lady ain't de one that wuz wid you las' summer is she? now jes lis'en tuh that will yuh, she wants aunt sarah tuh tell huh some more 'bout slave'y times. john bufford wuz mah marster's name. i wuz bo'n in alabama an' brought to louisiana by my marster's fambly. aftuh de wah he freed us an' some of 'em mixed up in politics an' the white folks from the north fooled 'em into makin speeches fuh 'em, but dey soon learnt bettuh. i ain't been well lately. the doctuh said i had slamatory rheumatis. i'm ol' now end don' have nobody tuh do nothin fuh me. my mistress wuz mammy in de ol' days. aftuh i got up fum mah rheumatism i went down tuh that church you sees, i give de lan' fuh hit, me and tom did and i jes felt good and wanted tuh praise the lord. i wuz so glad the sperit come once more, i got happy and i got up and went down tuh de fron' and said; "i want to shake hand wid ever' body in dis house. i wanna stroke yo hand." an' i stood down there at the front so happy an' duh yuh know one little chile and two women come down an' shook hands wid me, i jes didn't know whut tuh think. yoh know when i wuz young and a body got happy evuh body did an' dey made a noise but not so now. an' tuh think dey couldn't turn praises. you say yo' wants tuh talk tuh tom? well he's out dar in de back yard but he aint well and i specks he won't talk tuh but if you mus' come on. tom here is a lady wants tuh talk tuh you. i'll go back an talk tuh de lady whuts waitin' in de car. (the above written just as sarah douglas expressed it). (taken down word for word.) (august , .) interviewer: pernella m. anderson person interviewed: tom douglas route , box -a, el dorado, arkansas age: "i was born in marion, louisiana september , at o'clock in the morning. i was eighteen years of age at surrender. my master and missus was b.b. thomas and miss susan thomas. old master had a gang of slaves and we all worked like we were putting out fire. lord child, wasn't near like it is now. we went to bed early and got up early. there was a gang of plow hands, hoe hands, hands to clear new ground, a bunch of cooks, a washwoman. we worked too and didn't mind it. if we acted like we didn't want to work, our hands was crossed and tied and we was tied to a tree or bush and whipped until we bled. they had a whipping post that they tied us to to whip us. "we was sold just like hogs and cows and stock is sold today. they built nigger pens like you see cow pens and hog pens. they drove niggers in there by the hundred and auctioned them off to the highest bidder. the white folks kept up with our age so when they got ready to sell us they could tell how old we were. they had a 'penetenture' for the white folks when they did wrong. when we done wrong we was tied to that whipping post and our hide busted open with that cow hide. "we stayed out in the field in a log house and old master would allowance our week's rations out to us and sunday morning we got one biscuit each. if our week's allowance give out before the week we did not get any more. "cooked on fireplaces, wasn't no stoves. we did not have to worry about our clothes. old missus looked after everything. we wore brogan shoes and homespun clothes. there was a bunch of women that did the spinning and weaving just like these sewing room women are now. i was a shoe maker. i made all the shoes during the time we wasn't farming. we had to go nice and clean. if old missus caught us dirty our hide was busted. i got slavery time scars on my back now. you ought to see my back. scars been on my back for seventy-five years. "i never went to school a day in my life. i learned my abc's after i was nineteen years old. i went to night school, then to a teacher by the name of nelse otom. i was the first nigger to join the church on this side of the mason and dixie line. during slavery we all joined the white folk's church set in the back. after slavery in they met in conference and motioned to turn all of the black sheep out then. there was four or five they turned out here and four or five there, so we called our preacher and i was the first one to join. old master asked our preacher what we paid him to preach to us. we told him old shoes and clothes. old master says, 'well, that's damn poor pay.' our preacher says, 'and they got a damn poor preacher.' "i did not know anything about war. only i know it began in , closed in , and i know they fought at vicksburg. that was two or three hundred miles from us but we could not keep our dishes upon the table whenever they shot a bomb. those bombs would jar the house so hard and we could see the smoke that far. "we was allowed to visit saturday night and sunday. if you had a wife you could go to see her wednesday night and saturday night and stay with her until monday morning and if you were caught away any other time the patrollers would catch you. that is where the song come from, 'run nigger run, don't the patarolls will catch you.' sometimes a nigger would run off and the nigger dogs would track them. in slavery white folks put you together. just tell you to go on and go to bed with her or him. you had to stay with them whether you wanted them or not. "after freedom old master called all us slaves and told us we was free, opened a big gate and drove us all out. we didn't know what to do--not a penny, nowhere to go--so we went out there and set down. in about thirty minutes master came back and told us if we wanted to finish the crop for food and clothes we could, so we all went back and finished the crop and the next year they gave us half. so ever' since then we people been working for half. "here is one of my boy songs: 'sadday night and sunday too, a pretty girl on my mind as soon as monday morning come the white folks get me gwi-ng.'" [hw: regrets end of slavery] old slave stories [tr: sarah and tom douglas] [tr: aunt sarah douglas]--ah wuz baptized de second year of surrender. wuz twelve years ole at de time an my mistress spoke fuh me when ah j'ined de church. in them days when chillun j'ined de church some grown person had ter speak fuh em an tell if they thought they wuz converted or not. now when chillun j'in de church if they is big enough ter talk they take em in widout grown fokes speaking fuh em a tall. slavery times wuz sho good times. we wuz fed an clothed an had nothin to worry about. now poar ole niggers go hungry. sho we wuz whipped in slavery times. mah ole man has stripes on his back now wha he wuz whipped an ah wuz whipped too but hit hoped me up till now. coase hit did. hit keeps me fum goin aroun here tellin lies an stealin yo chickens. me an mah ole man is been married sixty-six years an have nevah had no chillun. yo know little chillun is de sweetest thing in the worl'. now if we had chillun we would have someone tuh take care of us in our ole days. mah ole man, tom, is an i'se . poar ole man. ah does all ah kin fuh him but i'se ole too. these young niggers is gettin so uppity. they think they is better than we is. a darkey jes don' love one another an stick t'gether like white fokes does. but ah is goin ter stick ter my ole man. he needs me. he is jes like a little helpless chile widout me ter look after him. ah used to be mighty frisky an mighty proud when ah wuz young but ah wazn' as good then as ah is now. ah likes ter go ter church. see that little white church over de hill? that is douglas chapel, a baptist church. me an mah ole man give de lan' fuh that church. we had plenty them days when douglas was laid out (meaning douglas addition). but now poar ole niggers don' have enough ter eat all de time. none of them church members is missionary enough ter bring us somethin' ter eat. white fokes have good hearts but niggers is grudgeful. de bigges thing among white fokes is they do lie sometime an when they do they kin best a nigger all to pieces. niggers don' have as much 'ligion as they use ter. ah went to a missionary meeting at one sister's house an she said ter me: "sister douglas, start us off wid a song" an ah started off with "amazing grace." sang bout half of de first verse an noticed none of them j'ined in but ah kep' right on singin' an wuz gettin full of de sperit when that sister spoke up an said: "sister douglas, don' yo know that is done gone out of style?" an selected "fly away" an den all of them sisters j'ined in an sung "fly away, fly away" an hit sounded jes like a dance chune. yas'm, that is our ole buggy standin aroun de corner of de house. we use ter ride in hit till hit got so rickety. an that ole horse is our fambly horse. dolly jane ah calls her. we've had her forty years an she gits sick sometime jes like ah does an ah thinks sho she is gone this time but she gits ovah hit jes like ah does when ah has a spell. we has lived in this house since but we is goin ovah on de utha side of de tracks soon wid the res of de niggers. nobody lef on this side but white fokes now ceptin us. when de railroad come through down there ah had a cotton patch growin there an ah cried cause hit went through mah cotton patch an ruint part of hit. all we got out'n hit wuz damages. no'm, mah ole man caint talk ter yo all terday; he is sick. mebby ifn yo all come back he kin talk ter yo then. (in the meantime we investigated tom and sarah douglas and found that he has a bank account and at one time owned all the land that is now douglas addition. in a few days we went back and found tom sitting on the porch.) uncle tom douglas--yas'm, ah members de wah. ah wuz fo'teen when de wah began an eighteen when hit closed. mah marster wuz b.b. thomas, union parish, louisiana, near marion, louisiana. ah saw de fust soldiers go an saw young marster go. when young marster come back at de close of de wah he brought back a big piece of mule meat ter show us niggers what he done have ter eat while he wuz in de army. ah nevah wuz sold but lots of marster's slaves wuz sold. they wuz sold jes like stock. ah members one fambly. de man wuz a blacksmith, de woman a cook, an one of their chillun wuz waitin boy. they wuz put on de block an sold an a diffunt man bought each one an they went ter diffunt part of de country ter live on nevah did see one nother no moah. they wuz sole jes like cows an horses. no'm, ah didn't like slavery days. ah'd rather be free an hungry. (tom is the only ex-slave who has told us that he had rather be free and we believe that is because he has a bank account and is independent.) yo say tell yo about hants. there is such a thing. yes mam. some fokes calls it fogyness but hit sho is true fuh me an sarah has seed em haint we sarah. here young missy, what is yo doin wid that pencil? (after we had put up our notebooks and pencils and assured them that we would not repeat it, they told us the following): when me an sarah lived out at de moore place about three miles east on the main street road we seed plenty of haints. de graveyard wuz in sight of our house an we could see them sperits come up out de groun an they would go past de house down in a grove an we could see them there campin. we could see they campfires. we could hear their dishes rattling an their tincups an knives an forks. an hear em talkin. den again they would be diggin with shovels. sometimes in de graveyard we could see de sperits doin de things they did befo they died. some would be plowing, some blacksmithing an each one doin what he had done while he wuz livin. when day wuz breakin they would go runnin crost our yard an git back in de graves. yes'm, we seed em as long as we lived there. after we moved from ther somebody dug up some gold that wuz buried at de corner of de chimney. an hit is said that from that day hants have not been seen there. yes'm, there is no doubt erbout hit. they is such thin's as hants. me an sarah has both seed em but we aint seed any in a long time. interviewer: mrs. carol graham person interviewed: tom & sarah douglas resident: el dorado, arkansas age: and . note: this is a second interview with uncle tom and aunt sarah douglas. the first was sent to your office in september from interview by mrs. mildred thompson, el dorado, arkansas. mrs. thompson is not now with the project. mrs. carol graham made the second interview. _tom douglas--ex-slave_. i was a slave boy till i was eighteen. was born in , 'mancipated in ' . no, my master did not give me forty acres of land and a mule. when we was 'mancipated my master came took us outside the gate across the road and told us we was freed. "you are free to work for anybody you want to." we set there a while then we went whare ol' master was and he tol' us if we wanted to stay wid him and finish the crop he would provide our victuals and clothes. the next year we worked for him on the halves, and continued to do so for four or five years. 'f we didn' eat an' wear it up he would give us the balance in money an we of'en had as much as fifty dollars when the year was over. my ol' master was s.b. [tr: in two previous interviews, b.b. thomas] thomas. the young master was emmett thomas. mr. emmett was his son. dey was near marion, louisiana, then i worked fuh his brother-in-law 'lias george. his wife was susan george. i tell you the fact, these times is much bettuh than slave times. if i'm hungry an' naked, i'm free. i'm crazy 'bout liberty. i've heard of the ku klux klan but never did see none of 'em. have seen where they is been but nevuh did see 'em. we voted several years. was considered citizens--voted an' all that sort of thing. i think if we pay taxes we ought to vote for payin' taxes makes us citizens don' it? i used to be a big politics man--lost all i had house, forty acres, a good well an' stock an' ever'thing. i was tol' one day that the ku kluxes was comin' to my house that night an' i got on my horse at sundown an left an aint nevuh been back. i was a big politics man then--lost all i had and quit politics. i'm ninety years old and fifteenth of next september. looks like the old might get pensions if old has anything to do with it i ought to get a pension but us ol' folks that is gettin' long an has a place to stay an' somethin' to eat they say don' get none. i come to el dorado january , . this place was in the woods then. i bought acres from mr. dave armstrong at five dollars per acre and in nine years i had it all paid for. it was after i got tired of workin' on the halves that i bought me a place. worked at a sawmill four years beginnin in or . than i jobbed aroun' town three years doin' this an' that an' the other. carried $ with me when i moved to town and brought $ back with me. cleared $ a year an' got tired of that. am livin' off my land. have sol' some an' am sellin some now but times is hard and folks can't pay. i takes in from $ to $ per month. the young folks is gone to destruction. aint nothin' but destruction. you is young your self but you can tell times aint the same as they was ten years back. young folks is goin' to destruction. me, i'm goin' home. goin' back years an comin' up to day i is seen a mighty big change. me, i'm goin' home. don't know what you young folks going to see eighty years from now. everybody is trying to get something for nothing. we use to sing "gimme this old time religion, it's good enough for me". an' we sung "i'm a soldier of the cross" an lots of others. we don' live right now, don' serve god. pride, formality an love of money keeps folks from worshipping an' away from the ol' time religion. you know that ol' sayin: "preacher in the pulpit preachin' mighty bold; all for your money an' none for your soul." seems like its true now days. you ask does i have stripes on my back from bein beat in slave'y times? no maam. i was always a good boy and smart boy raised in the same yard with the little white chillun. you says sarah told you that las' year? missy you mus' be mistaken. i was whipped once or twice but i needed it then or ol' master wouldn't a whipped me an he never did leave no stripes on me. my old master was good to all his niggers and i'm tellin you i was raised up with his chullun an him and old mistress was good to me. all we little black chillun et out of the boilin' pot an every sunday mornin' we had hot biscuit and butter for breakfact. no maam my old master was always good to his niggers. (above is as exactly told by tom douglas with the exception that he used the word marster, for master; wuz for was, tuh for to; ah for i and other quaint expressions--these were omitted because of instruction in bulletin received august th, .) taken down word for word. august , . interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: sebert douglas catalpa street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in lebanon, kentucky. gover hood was my old master. his wife's name was ann hood. "i 'member morgan's raid. i don't 'member what year it was but i 'member a right smart about it. cumberland gap was where they met. "the rebs and yankees both come and took things from old master. i 'member three horses they taken well. yankees had tents in the yard. they was right in the yard right in front of the methodist church. "my mother was mrs. hood's slave, and when she married she took my mother along and i was born on her place. "i was the carriage boy in slave times. my father did the driving and i was the waitin' boy. i opened the gates. "i 'member billy chandler and lewis rodman run off and j'ined the yankees but they come back after the war was over. "paddyrollers was about the same as the ku klux. the ku klux would take the roof off the colored folks' houses and take their bedding and make 'em go back where they come from. "we stayed right there with old master for two or three years, then we went to the country and farmed for ourselves. "i went to school just long enough to read and write. i never seed no use for figgers till i married and went to farmin'. "since i been in pine bluff i done mill work. i was a sash and door man. "i used to vote every election till hoover, but i never held any office. "the younger generation is bad medicine. can't tell what's gwine come of 'em!" interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: henry doyl, brinkley, arkansas age: will be feb. , "i was born in hardeman county near bolivar, tennessee. my mother's moster was bryant cox and his wife was miss neely cox. my mother was dilly cox. two things i remembers tinctly that took place in my childhood: that was when my mother married george doyl. i was raised by a stepfather. miss neely told my mother she was going to sell me and put me in her pocket. she told her that more'n one time. i recollect that. "my oldest brother, one older en me, burned to death. my mother was a field hand. she was at work in the field. when she come to the house, the cabin burned up and the baby burned up too. that grieved her mighty bad and when miss neely tell her soon as i got big nough she was goner sell me mighty near break her heart. "the first year after the surrender my father, buck rogers, left my mother in her bad condition. she said she followed him crying and begging him not to leave her to montgomery bridge, in alabama. the last she seen him he was on montgomery bridge. "they just expected freedom. my mother left her mistress and moved to the doyl place. she didn't get nothing but her few clothes. i was born at the doyl place. she worked for moster bob doyl, a young man. they share cropped. we had a plenty i reckon of what we raised and a little money. "i worked on colonel nuckles place when i got up grown. i worked on the lunatic asylum at bolivar and loaded tires and ditched for the i.c. railroad a long time. "i don't recollect that the ku klux ever bothered us. "my stepfather voted republican ticket. i haven't voted for a good many years--not since garfield or mckinley was our president. "i come to arkansas in . i married in arkansas. i heard that arkansas was a rich country. my mother was dead. my stepfather had been out here. i come on the train, paid my own way. come to palestine the first night then on to brinkley. i been close to brinkley ever since. "the old man died what learned me how to walk rice levies. i still work on the place. everybody don't know how to walk levies. it will kill an old man. your feet stay wet and cold all time. i do wear hip boots but my feet stay cold and damp. i got down with the rheumatism and jes' now got so i can walk. "i got a wife and three living children. they all married and gone. "times is hard for old folks and changed so much. children used to get jobs and take care of the granny folks and the old parents. they can't take care of themselves no more it look like. i don't know how to take the young generation. they are drifting along with the fast times. "i applied but don't get no pension." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: willie doyld (male), brinkley, arkansas age: [-- -- ] "i was born in grenada, mississippi. my parents belong to the same family of white folks. my moster was jim doyld. his wife was mistress karoline doyld. well as i recollect they had four childen. my parent's name was hannah and william doyld. i'm named for em. they was three of us childen. they belong to same family of white folks for a fact. i heard em say moster jim bought em offen the block at the same time. he got em at galveston, texas. he kept five families of slaves on his place well as i recollect. "my pa was moster jim's ox driver. he drove five or six yokes at a time. he walk long side of em, wagons loaded up. he toted a long cowhide whoop. he toted it over his shoulder. when he'd crack it you could hear his whoop half a mile. knowed he was comin' on up to the house. them oxen would step long, peartin up when he crack his whoop over em. he'd be haulin' logs, wood, cotton, corn, taters, sorghum cane and stuff. he nearly always walked long side of em; sometimes he'd crawl upon the front wagon an' ride a piece. "he was a very good moster i recken far as i knows. they go up there, get sompin' to eat. he give em a midlin' meat. he give us clothes. folks wore heep of clothes then. they got whoopin's if they not do lack they tole em to do--plenty whoopin's! he kept ten dogs, they call bear dogs. they hunt fox, wolves, deer, bear, birds. them dogs died wid black tongue. every one of em died. "we et at home mostly. we was lounced wid the rations but had a big plenty. we got the rations every saturday mornin'. one fellow cut and weighed out the meat, sacked out the meal in pans what they take to git it in. sometimes we et up at the house. mama bring a big bucket milk and set it down, give us a tin cup. we eat it up lack pigs lappin' up slop. mama cooked for old mistress. she bring us 'nough cooked up grub to last us two or three days at er time. papa could cook when he be round the house too. i recollect all four my grandmas and grandpas. they come from georgia. moster jim muster bought them too but i don't know if he got em all at the same time down at galveston, texas. "moster jim show did drink liquor--whiskey. i recken he would. when he got drunk old missus have him on the bed an' she set by him till he sober up. miss karoline good as ever drawed a breath to colored and white. "my grandma, mother's ma, was a light sorter woman. the balance of my kin was pure nigger. "i kin for a fact recollect a right smart about the war. papa went off to war wid jack hoskins. he was goin' to be his waitin' man. he stayed a good while fore he got home. jack hoskins got kilt fore he et breakfast one mornin'. that all i heard him say. i recken he helped bury him but i never heard em say. "the plainest thing i recollect was a big drove of the yankee soldiers--some ridin', some walkin'--come up to the moster's house. he was sorter old man. he was settin' in the gallery. he lived in a big log house. he was readin' the paper. he throwed back his head and was dead. jes' scared to death. they said that was what the matter. in spite of that they come down there and ordered us up to the house. all the niggers scared to death not to go. there lay old moster jim stretched dead in his chair. they was backed up to the smoke house door and the horses makin' splinters of the door. it was three planks thick, crossed one another and bradded together wid iron nails. they throwed the stuff out an' say, 'come an' git it. take it to your houses.' they took it. it was ours and we didn't want it wasted. soon as they gone they got mighty busy bringing it back. they built nother door an' put it up. old miss karoline bout somewheres, scared purty near to death. they buried moster jim at water valley, mississippi. miss karoline broke up and went back to virginia. my grandma got her feather bed and died on it. bout two years after that the yankees sot fire to the house and burned it down. we all had good log houses down close together. they didn't bother us. "i don't recollect the ku klux. "our folks never knowed when freedom come on. some didn't believe they was free at all. they went on farmin' wid what left. what they made they got it. my folks purty nigh all died right there. "i lives alone. i got two childern in lulu, mississippi. i had three childern. my wife come here wid me. she dead. "i had forty acres land, two mules, wagon. it went for debts. white folks got it. i ain't made nuthin' since. "i ain't no hand at votin' much. i railly never understood nuthin' bout the run of politics. "i hates to say it but the young generation won't work if they can get by widout it. they take it, if they can, outen the old folks. i used to didn't ask folks no diffrunce. i worked right long. "i gets commodities wid this old woman. i come here to build her fires and see after er. i don't git no check." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: wade dudley, moro, ark. age: "bill kidd and miss nancy kidd owned my parents. i was born close to okalona, chickasha county, mississippi, about the last year of the civil war. mr. bill was miss nancy's boy. he was a nigger trader. they said the overseers treated em pretty rough. they made em work in nearly a run. when miss nancy was living they was rich but after she died he got down pretty low. he married. course i knowd em. i been through his house. he had a fine house. my mother said she was born in virginia. she belong to addison and duley. her mother come wid her. they sold them but didn't sell her father so she never seed him no more. she walked or come in a ox wagon part of the way. she was with a _drove_. my father come from north carolina. his father was free. my father weighed out rations. he was bright color. he worked round the house and then durin' the war he run a refugee wagon. the yankees got men, mules, meat from mr. bill kidd. my father he was hiding em and hiding the provisions from one place to another to keep the yankees from starving em all to death. my mother had nine boys. they all belong to mr. miller. he died, his widow married mr. owen then mr. owen sold them to mrs. kidd. that was where they was freed. my parents stayed about mrs. kidd's till she died. they worked for a third some of the time, i don't know how long. when i was a boy size of that yonder biggest boy my folks was still thinking the government was going to give em something. i was ten years old when they left mrs. kidd's. they thought the government was going to give em acres and a mule or some kind of a start. i don't know where they got the notion. my father voted down in mississippi. i vote. i was working in the car shops in st. louis in . me and my wife both voted then. i worked there two years. i come back to arkansas where i could farm. the land was better here than in mississippi. i walked part of the way and rode part of the way when i come here from mississippi. i vote a republican ticket. bout all i owns is two little pigs and a few chickens. i did have a spring garden. we work in the field and make a little to eat and wear. "i find the present times is hard for old folks. some young folks is doing well i guess. they look like it. i made application twice for help but i ain't never got on. i don't know what to think bout the young folks. if they can get a living they have a good time. they don't worry bout the future. a little money don't buy nothin' much now. it seem like everything is to buy. money is hard to get." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: isabella duke little rock, arkansas (towards benton) visiting in hazen age: [hw: father wore a bonnet] "my own dear mother was born at faithville, alabama. she belong to sam norse. his wife was mistress mai jane. they moved to little rock years after my mother had come there. after seberal months they got trace of one another. i seed two of the norse girls and a boy. master norse was a farmer in alabama. mother said he had plenty hands in slavery. she was a field hand. she had a tough time during slavery. "pa said he had a good time. 'bout all he ever done was put on old mistress' shoes and pull her chair about for her to sit in. he built and chunked up the fires. old mistress raised him and he had to wear a bonnet. he was real light. he said the worse whoopings he ever got was when he would be out riding stick horses with his bonnet on. the hands on the place would catch him and whoop him and say, 'old mis' thinks he's white sure as de worl'.' the hands on the place sent him to the big house squalling many a time. "after he got grown he could be took for a white man easy. he was part french. he talked frenchy and acted frenchy. every one who knowd him in little rock called him pa frazier and called my mother ma frazier, but she was dark. pa said he et out his mistress' plate more times than he didn't. she raised him about like her own boy. "mother had a hard time. alex norse bought my mother and a small brother from some people leaving her own dear mother when she was fifteen years old. her mother kept the baby and the little boy took sick and died. but there had been an older boy sold to some folks near norse's place before she was sold. the brother that was two years old died. there were other older children sold. my mother never saw her mother after she was sold. she heard from her mother in . she was then one hundred and one years old and could thread her needles to piece quilts. her baby boy six months old when mother was sold come to visit us. mother wanted to go back to see her but never was able to get the money ready. mother had good sight when she died in . she was eighty-seven years old and didn't have to wear glasses to see. mother's father was on another place. he was said to be part or all indian. "mother said once a cloth peddler come through the country. her older brother john lived on a place close to the norse place. john told the peddler that ma took the piece of goods he missed. but john was the one got the goods mind out. the peddler reported it to master norse. he give my mother a terrible beating. after that it come out on john. he had stole the piece of cloth. john then took sick, lay sick a long time. master norse wouldn't let her go nigh john. she knowd when he died and the day he was to be buried. master norse wouldn't let her go nigh there, not even look like she wanted to cry. "mother married before freedom, jumped the broom she said. then after freedom she married my father. my parents named clara and george frazier. she had twelve children. pa was a cripple man. he was a soldier. he said he never was shot and never shot no one. he was on a horse and going this way (reeling from side to side dodging the shooting) all time. a horse throwed him and hurt his hip in the army. after that he limped. he drew a pension. i limps but i'm better as i got grown. i'm marked after him. one of my children i named after him what died was cripple like him. my little george died when he was ten. he was marked at birth after his grandpa. i had ten, jus' got five living children. "my husband's father's father was in the civil war. he didn't want to go out on battle-field, so in the camps he cut his eyeball with his fingernail so he could get to go to the horsepital. his eye went out. he hurt it too near the sight. he said he was sorry the rest of his life he done that. he got a pension too. he was blind and always was sorry for his disobedience. he said he was scared so bad he 'bout leave die then as go into the battlefield. "in some ways times is better. people are no better. children jus' growing up wild. their education is of the head and not their heart and hands. "i was raised around little rock is about right. i gets a pension. i'm sixty-two years old but i was down sick with nerve trouble several years. i'm better now. i've been gradually coming on up for over a year now. "mr. ernest harper of little rock takes out truckloads of black folks to work on his place in the country every day. they can get work that way if they can work." interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: "wash" dukes e. barraque pine bluff, ark. age: "yes'm, wash dukes is my name. my mother liked washington so well, she named me general washington dukes, but i said my name was wash dukes. i'm the oldest one and i'm still here. me? i was born in the state of georgia, howson county. perry, georgia was my closest place. i was born and raised on the riggins place. i was born in , you understand. the first day of march is my birthday. we had it on the bible, four boys and four girls, and i was the oldest. house caught fire and burned up the bible, but i always say i'm as old as a hoss. "i can't see as good as i used to--gettin' too old, i reckon. "old master and mistis was good to us. "my mother plowed just like a man. had a little black mule named mollie and wore these big old leggins come up to her knee. "old master was a long tall man with black hair. "you know i was here cause i remember when lincoln was elected president. he run against george washington. "i seen the yankees but i never talked to em. i was scared of em. had them muskets with a spear on the end. they give my uncle a hoss. when it thundered and lightninged that old hoss started to dance--thought twas a battle. and when he come to a fence, just jump right over with me on him. i say, 'where you get that hoss?' and uncle say, 'yankees give him to me.' "i know one time they was a fellow come by there walkin'. i guess they shot his hoss. he had plenty money. i tried to get him to give me some but he wouldn't give me a bit. "at oglethorpe they had a place where they kep the prisoners. they was a little stream run through it and the rebels pizened it and killed a lot of em. "i was so crazy when i was young. i know one time mama sent me to town to get a dress pattern--ten yards. she say, 'now, wash, when you go across that bottom, you'll hear somethin' sounds like somebody dyin', but you just go on, it won't hurt you.' but i say, 'i won't hear it.' i went through there so fast and come back, mama say, 'you done been to town already?' i said, 'yes, here's your dress pattern.' i went through there ninety to nothin'. i went so fast my heart hurt me. "in slave times i remember if you wanted to go to another plantation you had to have a pass. paddyrollers nearly got me one night. i was on a hoss. they was shootin' at me. i know the hoss was just stretched out and i was layin' right down on his neck. "i stayed in georgia till ' . i heared em say the cotton grow so big here in arkansas you could sit on a limb and eat dinner. i know when i got here they was havin' that brooks-baxter war in little rock. i say, 'press me into the war.' man say, 'i ain't goin' press no boys.' i say, 'give me a gun, i can kill em.' i wanted to fight. "i tell you where i voted--colored folks don't vote now--it was when i was on the davis place. i voted once or twice since i been up here. i called myself votin' republican. i member since i been up here you know they had a colored man in the courthouse. when they had a grand jury they had em mixed, some colored and some white. i say now they ain't got no privilege. if they don't want em to vote ought not make em pay taxes. "up north they all sits together in the deppo but here in the south they got a 'tition between em. "when i first went to farmin' i rented the land and the cotton was all mine, but now you work on the shares and don't have nothin'. "if i keep a livin', i'm goin' away from here. i'm goin' up north. i won't go fore it gets warm though. i seen the snow knee deep in cleveland, ohio. "i was workin' up north once. i had a pretty good job in detroit doin' piece work, and doin' well, but i come back here cause my wife's mother was too old to move. if i had stayed i might have done well. "i own this property but i'm bout to lose it on account o' taxes. "i got grown boys and they ain't no more help to me than the spit out o' my mouth. none of em has ever give me a dime in their life. this younger generation is goin' to nothin'. they got a good education. i got a boy can write six different kinds a hands. write enough to get in the pen. i got him pardoned and he's in philadelphia now. never sends me a dime. "i never went to any school but night school a little. i was the oldest and it kep me knockin' around to help take care of the little ones. "i preach sometimes. i'm not ordained--i'm a floor preacher, just stands in front of the altar." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lizzie dunn, clarendon, arkansas age: "i was born close to hernando, mississippi. my parents was cassie gillahm and ely gillahm. my master was john gillahm. i fell to john gillahm and tim bought me from him so i could be with my mother. i was a young baby. bill gillahm was our old master. he might had a big farm but i was raised on a small farm. white folks raised me. they put me to sewing young. i sewed with my fingers. i could sew mighty nice. my mistress had a machine she screwed on a table. "all the gillahms went to louisiana in war time and left the women with youngest white master. they was trying to keep their slaves from scattering. they were so sure that the war would be lost. "the yankees camped close to us but didn't bother my white folks to hurt them. they et them out time and ag'in. i seen the yankees every day. i seen the cannons and cavalry a mile long. the sound was like eternity had turned loose. everything shook like earthquakes day and night. the light was bright and red and smoke terrible. "mother cooked and we et from our master's table. "we was all scared when the war was on and glad it was over. mama died at the close. me and my sister sharecropped and made seven bales of cotton in one year. "when freedom come on, our master and mistress told us. we all cried. miss mollie was next to our own mother. she raised us. we kept on their place. "i cooked for joe campbell at forrest city. he had one boy i help to raise. they think well of me." interviewer's comment very light mulatto. bed fast and had two rolls and a cup of coffee. had been alone all day except when home aid girls bathed and cleaned her bed. she is paralyzed. she said she was hungry. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: nellie dunne w. sixth avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes ma'am, i was slavery born but free raised. i was half as big as i is now. (she is not much over four feet tall--ed.) born in silver creek, mississippi. yes ma'am. they give ever'body on the place their ages but mama said it wasn't no 'count and tore it up, so i don't know what year i was born. "cy magby--mama was under his control. he would carry us over to the white folks' house every morning to see miss becky. when old master come after us, he'd say, 'what you gwine say?' and we'd say, 'one-two-three.' then we'd go over to old mis' and courtesy and say, 'good morning, miss becky; good morning, mars albert; good morning, mars wardly.' they was just little old kids but we had to call 'em mars. "what i know i'm gwine tell you, but you ain't gwine ketch me in no tale. "i 'member they was gwine put us to carryin' water for the hands next year, and that year we got free. my mother shouted, 'now i ain't lyin' 'bout dat.' i sure 'member when they sot the people free. they was just ready to blow the folks out to the field. i 'member old mose would blow the bugle and he could _blow_ that bugle. if you wasn't in, you better get in. yes ma'am! the day freedom come, i know mose was just ready to blow the bugle when the yankees begun to beat the drum down the road. they knowed it was all over then. that ain't no joke. "i was a full grown woman then i come to arkansas; i wasn't no baby. "i went to school one month in my life. that was in mississippi. "my joe" (her husband) "just lack one year bein' a graduate. he went up here to that branch normal. that boy had good learnin'. he could a learnt me but he was too high tempered. if i missed a word he would be so crabb'y. so one night i throwed the book across the room and said, 'you don't need try to learn me no more.'" interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: william l. dunwoody w. th street, little rock, arkansas age: about [hw: remembers jeff davis] "i was born in charleston, south carolina, in the year . "my father was killed in the civil war when they taken south carolina. his name was charles dunwoody. my mother's name was mary dunwoody. my father was a free man and my mother was a slave. when he courted and married her he took the name of dunwoody. houses "ain't you seen a house built in the country when they were clearing up and wanted to put up somethin' for the men to live in while they were working? they'd cut down a tree. then they'd line it--fasten a piece of twine to each end and whiten it and pull it up and let it fly down and mark the log. then they'd score it with axes. then the hewers would come along and hew the log. sometimes they could hew it so straight you couldn't put a line on it and find any difference. where they didn't take time with the logs, it would be where they were just putting up a little shack for the men to sleep in. "just like you box timber in the sawmill, the men would straighten out a log. "to make the log house, you would saw your blocks, set em up, then you put the sills on the blocks, then you put the sleepers. when you get them in, lay the planks to walk on. then they put on the first log. you notch it. to make the roof, you would keep on cutting the logs in half first one way and then the other until you got the blocks small enough for shingles. then you would saw the shingles off. they had plenty of time. food "the slaves ate just what the master ate. they ate the same on my master's place. all people didn't farm alike. some just raised cotton and corn. some raised peas, oats, rye, and a lot of different things. my old master raised corn, potatoes--irish and sweet--, goober peas (peanuts), rye, and wheat, and i can't remember what else. that's in the eating line. he had hogs, goats, sheep, cows, chickens, turkeys, geese, ducks. that is all i can remember in the eating line. my old master's slaves et anything he raised. "he would send three or four wagons down to the mill at a time. one of them would carry sacks; all the rest would carry wheat. you know flour seconds, shorts and brand come from the wheat. you get all that from the wheat. buckwheat flour comes from a large grained wheat. the wagons came back loaded with flour, seconds, shorts and brand. the old man had six wheat barns to keep the wheat in. "all the slaves ate together. they had a cook special for them. this cook would cook in a long house more than thirty feet long. two or three women would work there and a man, just like the cooks would in a hotel now. all the working hands ate there and got whatever the cook gave them. it was one thing one time and another another. the cook gave the hands anything that was raised on the place. there was one woman in there cooking that was called 'mammy' and she seed to all the chilen. feeding the children "after the old folks among the slaves had had their breakfast, the cook would blow a horn. that would be about nine o'clock or eight. all the children that were big enough would come to the cook shack. some of them would bring small children that had been weaned but couldn't look after themselves. the cook would serve them whatever the old folks had for breakfast. they ate out of the same kind of dishes as the old folks. "between ten and eleven o'clock, the cook would blow the horn again and the children would come in from play. there would be a large bowl and a large spoon for each group of larger children. there would be enough children in each group to get around the bowl comfortably. one would take a spoon of what was in the bowl and then pass the spoon to his neighbor. his neighbor would take a spoonful and then pass the spoon on, and so on until everyone would have a spoonful. then they would begin again, and so on until the bowl was empty. if they did not have enough then, the cook would put some more in the bowl. most of the time, bread and milk was in the bowl; sometimes mush and milk. "there was a small spoon and a small bowl for the smaller children in the group that the big children would use for them and pass around just like they passed around the big spoon. "about two or three o'clock, the cook would blow the horn again. time the children all got in there and et, it would be four or five o'clock. the old mammy would cut up greens real fine and cut up meat into little pieces and boil it with corn-meal dumplings. they'd call it pepper pot. then she'd put some of the pepper pot into the bowls and we'd eat it. and it was good. "after the large children had et, they would go back to see after the babies. if they were awake, the large children would put on their clothes and clean them up. then where there was a woman who had two or three small children and didn't have one large enough to do this, they'd give her a large one from some other family to look after her children. if she had any relatives, they would use their children for her. if she didn't then they would use anybody's children. "about eleven o'clock all the women who had little children that had not been weaned would come in to see after them and let them suck. when a woman had nursing children, she would nurse them before she went to work, again at around eleven o'clock and again when she came from work in the evening. she would come in long before sundown. in between times, the old mammy and the other children would look after them. war memories "i saw jeff davis once. he was one-eyed. he had a glass eye. my old mistiss had three girls. they got into the buggy and went to see jeff davis when he come through auburn, alabama. we were living in auburn then. i drove them. jeff davis came through first, and then the confederate army, and then the yankees. they didn't come on the same day but some days apart. "the way i happened to see the yanks was like this. i went to carry some clothes to my young master. he was a doctor, and was out where they were drilling the men. i laid down on the carpet in his tent and i heard music playing 'in dixie land i'll take my stand and live and die in dixie.' i got up and come out and looked up ever which way but i couldn't see nothing. i went back again and laid down again in the tent, and i heard it again. i run out and looked all up and around again, and i still couldn't see nothin'. that time i looked and saw my young master talking to another officer--i can't remember his name. my young master said, 'what you looking for?' "i said, 'i'm looking for them angels i hear playing. don't you hear em playing dixie?' the other officer said, 'celas, you ought to whip that nigger.' i went back into the tent. my young master said, 'whip him for what?' and he said, 'for telling that lie.' my young master said to him like this, 'he don't tell lies. he heard something somewhere.' "then they got through talking and he come on in and i seed him and beckoned to him. he came to me and i said, 'lie down there.' he laid down and i laid down with him, and he heard it. then he said, 'look out there and tell him to come in.' "i called the other officer and he come in. the doctor (that was my young master) said, 'lie down there.' when he laid down by my young master, he heard it too. then the doctor said to him, 'you said william was telling a damn lie.' he said, 'i beg your pardon, doctor.' "my young master got up and said, 'where is my spy glasses? le'me have a look.' he went out and there was a mountain called the blue ridge mountain. he looked but he didn't see nothin'. i went out and looked too. i said, 'look down the line beside those two big trees,' and i handed the glasses back to him. he looked and then he hollered, 'my god, look yonder' and handed the spy glasses to the other officer. he looked too. then the doctor said, 'what are we going to do?' he said, 'i am goin' to put pickets way out.' he told me to get to my mule. i got. he put one of his spurs on my foot and told me to go home and tell 'ma' the yanks were coming. you know what 'ma' he was talking about? that was his wife's mother. we all called her 'mother.' "i carried the note. when i got to mrs. dobbins' house, i yelled, 'the yanks are coming--yankees, yankees, yankees!' she had two boys. they runned out and said, 'what did you say?' "i said, 'yankees, yankees!' "they said, 'hell, what could he see?' "i come on then and got against miss yancy's. she had a son, a man named henry yancy. he had a sore leg. he asked me what i said. i told him that the yanks were coming. he called for henry, a boy that stayed with him, and had him saddle his horse. then he got on it and rode up town. when he got up there, he was questioned bout how did he know it. did he see them. he said he didn't see them, that celas neal saw them and the doctor's mother's boy brought the message. then he taken off. "jeff davis went on. the confederates went on. they all went on. then the yanks passed through. "the first fight they had there, they cleaned up the sixty-ninth alabama troops. my young master had been helping drill them. he went on and overtook the others. right after the war "i am not sure just what we did immediately after freedom. i don't know whether it was a year or whether it was a year and a half. i can just go by my mother. after freedom, we came from auburn, alabama to opelika, alabama, and she went to cooking at a hotel until she got money enough for what she wanted to do. when she got fixed, she moved then to columbus, georgia. she rented a place from ned burns, a policeman. when that place gave out, she went to washing and ironing. sterling love rented a house from the same man. he had four children and they were going to school and they took me too. schooling "i fixed up and went to school with them. i didn't get no learning at all in slavery times. how freedom came "i don't know whether all the whites did it or not; but i know this--when they quit fighting, i know the white children called we little children and all the grown people who worked around the house and said, 'you all is jus' as free as we is. you ain't got no master and no mistiss,' and i don't know what they told them at the plantation. occupation "right after the war, my mother worked--washed--for an old white man. he took an interest in me and taught me. i did little things for him. when he died, i took up the teaching which he had been doing. "at first i taught in columbus, georgia. by and by, a white man came along looking for laborers for this part of the country. he said money grew on bushes out here. he cleaned out the place. all the children and all the grown folks followed him. two of my boys came to me and told me they were coming. we hoboed on freights and walked to chattanooga, tennessee. we stayed there awhile. then a white man came along getting laborers. i never kept the year nor nothin'. he brought us to lonoke county, and i got work on the bood bar plantation. squirrels, wild things, cotton and corn, plenty of it. so you see, the man told the truth when he said money grew on bushes. "i taught and farmed all my life. farming is the greatest occupation. it supports the teacher, the preacher, the lawyer, the doctor. none of them can live without it. "i can't do much now since that lady knocked me down with her automobile and made me a cripple. i'd a been all right if so many of them young doctors hadn't experimented on me. then i can't see good out of one eye. i can't do much now. i don't know why they won't give me a pension." interviewer's comment william dunwoody had some of his dates and occurrences mixed up as would be natural for a man ninety-eight years old. but there was one respect in which he was sharper than anyone else interviewed. at the close of the first day's interview when i arose to go he said to me, "now you got what you want?" i told him yes and that i would be back for more the next day. then he said, "well, if you got what you want, there's one thing i want you to do for me before you go." "certainly, brother dunwoody," i said, "i'll be glad to do anything you want me to do. just what can i do for you?" "well," he said, "i want you to read me what you been writin' there." and i read it. a little grandchild about four years old kept us company while he dictated to me. i furnished pennies for the child's candy and a nickel for the old man's tobacco. the old man got a kick out of the dictation. after the first day, he became very cautious. he would say, "now don't write this," and he wouldn't let me take it down the way he said it. instead, he would make a long statement and then we would work out the gist of it together. he is not highly schooled, and he is not especially prepossessing in appearance; but he is a long way from decrepit--mentally. he walks with a crutch and has a defect in the sight of one eye. he has good hearing and talks in a pleasant voice. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lucius edwards age: interviewer's comment i went to see lucius edwards, age seventy-two, twice. he has colitis. he wouldn't tell me anything. he said he was born in shreveport, louisiana and his father took him away so young he knew no mother; his aunt raised him. the first day he said he remembered all that about his parents' owners. the next day the nurse had him cleaned up and nice meals were sent in and still he wouldn't tell us anything. he told the nurse he had farmed and worked on the railroad all his life. he was up but wouldn't tell us anything. he told me, "i don't think i ever voted." we decided he might be afraid he'd twist his tales and we'd catch him some way. interviewer: mary d. hudgins person interviewed: john elliott age: home: south border (property of brother's estate) as told by: john elliott "no, ma'am. i ain't got no folks. they've all died out. my son, he may be alive. when i last heard from him, he was in pine bluff. but i wrote down lots of times and nobody can't find him. brother said, that was before he died, that i could stay on in the place as long as i lived. his wife come to see me some years back and she said it was that way. the comodity gives me milk, and a little beside. i'm expectin' to hear if i get the pension, tuesday. no ma'am, i ain't worked in three years. yes, ma'am, i was a slave. i was about years old when they mustered 'em out the last time. my daddy went along to take care of his young master. he died, and my daddy brought his horse and all his belongings home. you see it was this way. my mother was a run-away slave. she was from, what's that big state off there--virginia--yes, ma'am, that's it. there was a pretty good flock of them. they came into north carolina--wayne county was where john elliott found them. they was in a pretty bad way. they didn't have no place to go and they didn't have nothing to eat. they didn't have nobody to own 'em. they didn't know what to do. my mother was about . by some means or other they met up with a man named john elliott. he was a teacher. he struck a bargain with them. he pitched in and he bought acres of land. he built a big house for miss polly and bunk and margaret. miss polly was his sister. and he built cabins for the black folks. and he says 'you stay here, and you take care of miss polly and the children. now mind, you raise lots to eat. you take care of the place too. and if anybody bothers you you tell miss polly.' my uncle mose, he was the oldest. he was a blacksmith. jacob was the carpenter. 'now look here, mose,' says mister john, 'you raise plenty of hogs. mind you give all the folks plenty of meat. then you take the rest to miss polly and let her lock it in the smokehouse.' miss polly carried the key, but mose was head man and had dominion over the smokehouse. they didn't get money to any extreme. but whatever they wanted, miss polly would go along with them and they would buy it. they went to goldsboro. that was the biggest town near us. the patrollers never bothered any of us. once or twice they tried it. but miss polly wrote to mr. john. he'd write it all down like it ought to be. then they didn't bother us any more. there was no speculation wid 'em like there was with other negro people. they never had to go to the hiring ground. mr. john built a church for my mother and the other women who was running mates with her. and he built a school for the children. some other colored children tried to come to the school too. they was welcome. but sometimes the white folks would tear up the books of the colored children from outside that tried to come. our folks stayed on and on. mr. john was off teaching school most of the time. we stayed on and on. pretty soon there was about - , of us. some of them was carpenters and some of them was this and some was that. mr. john even put in a mill. a groundhog saw mill, it was. some white men put it in. but it was the colored folks who run it. they all stayed right on on the farm. there wasn't any white folks about at all, except miss polly and bunk and margaret. no, ma'am, after the war it didn't make much difference. we all stayed on. we worked the place. and when we got a chance, mr. john let us hire out and keep the money. and if the folks wouldn't pay us, mr. john would write the federal and the federal would see that we got our money for what we had worked. mr. john was a mighty good man to us. no ma'am. nobody got discontented for a long time. then some men come in and messed them up. told us that we could make more money other places. and it was true too--if they had let us get the money. by that time mr. john, had died. bunk had died too, miss margaret had grown up and married. her husband was managing the farm. he was good, but he wasn't like mr. john. so lots of us moved away. but about not making money. take me. i raised - bales of cotton. the man who owned the land, i worked on halvers, sold it on the liverpool market. but he wouldn't pay me but about / of what he collected on my half. and i says to him, 'you gets full price for your half, why can't i get full price for mine?' and he says, 'it's against the rules.' and i says, 'it ain't fair! and he says, 'it's the rules.' so after about six years i quit farming. you can't make no money that way. yes--you make it, but you can't get it. i went to town at pine bluff. there i got to mixing concrete. i made pretty good at it, too. i stayed on for some years. then i came to hot springs. my brother was along with me. we both worked and after work we built a house. it took us four years. but it was a good house. it has six rooms in it. it makes a good home. my brother had the deed. but his widow says i can stay on. the folks what lives in the rest of the house are good to me. when i got to hot springs i worked mixing concrete. there was lots of sidewalks being made along about that time. then i scatter dirt all around where the court house is now. then i worked at both of the very biggest hotels. i washed. i washed cream pitchers--the little ones with corners that were hard to clean. no, i ain't worked in three years. it hard to try to get along. some states, they pays good pensions. i can't be here long--don't look like i can be here long. seems as if they could take care of me for the few days i'm going to be on this earth. seems like they could. interviewer: mrs. carol graham person interviewed: millie evans age: [illustration: millie evans] yo' say yo' is in'rested in the lives of the slaves? well, miss, i is one of 'em. was born in but i don' know jus' when. my birthday comes in fodder pullin' time cause my ma said she was pullin up till bout a hour 'fore i was born. was born in north carolina and was a young lady at the time of surrender. i don' 'member ol' master's name; all i 'member is that we call 'em ol' master an ol' mistress. they had bout a hundred niggers and they was rich. master always tended the men and mistress tended to us. ev'y mornin' bout fo' 'clock ol' master would ring de bell for us to git up by an yo could hear dat bell ringin all over de plantation. i can hear hit now. hit would go ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling and i can see 'em now stirrin in carolina. i git so lonesome when i thinks bout times we used to have. twas better livin back yonder than now. i stayed with my ma every night but my mistress raised me. my ma had to work hard so ev'y time ol' mistress thought we little black chilluns was hungry 'tween meals she would call us up to the house to eat. sometime she would give us johnny cake an plenty of buttermilk to drink wid it. they had a long trough fo' us dat day would keep so clean. they would fill dis trough wid buttermilk and all us chillun would git roun' th' trough an drink wid our mouths an hol' our johnny cake wid our han's. i can jus' see myself drinkin' now. hit was so good. there was so many black fo'ks to cook fuh that the cookin was done outdoors. greens was cooked in a big black washpot jus' like yo' boils clothes in now. an' sometime they would crumble bread in the potlicker an give us spoons an we would stan' roun' the pot an' eat. when we et our regular meals the table was set under a chinaberry tree wid a oil cloth table cloth on when dey called us to th' table they would ring the bell. but we didn' eat out'n plates. we et out of gourds an had ho'made wood spoons. an' we had plenty t'eat. whooo-eee! jus' plenty t'eat. ol' master's folks raised plenty o' meat an dey raise dey sugar, rice, peas, chickens, eggs, cows an' jus' ev'ything good t'eat. ev'y ev'nin' at three 'clock ol' mistress would call all us litsy bitsy chillun in an we would lay down on pallets an have to go to sleep. i can hear her now singin' to us piccaninnies: "hush-a-bye, bye-yo'-bye, mammy's piccaninnies way beneath the silver shining moon hush-a-bye, bye-yo'-bye, mammy's piccaninnies daddy's little carolina coons now go to sleep yo' little piccaninnies." when i got big 'nough i nursed my mistress's baby. when de baby go to sleep in de evenin' i woul' put hit in de cradle an' lay down by de cradle an go to sleep. i played a heap when i was little. we played susannah gal, jump rope, callin' cows, runnin', jumpin', skippin', an jus' ev'ythin' we could think of. when i got big 'nough to cook, i cooked den. the kitchen of the big house was built way off f'om the house and we cooked on a great big ol' fi' place. we had swing pots an would swing 'em over the fire an cook an had a big ol' skillet wi' legs on hit. we call hit a ubben an cooked bread an cakes in it. we had the bes' mistress an master in the worl' and they was christian fo'ks an they taught us to be christianlike too. ev'y sunday mornin' ol' master would have all us niggers to the house while he would sing an pray an read de bible to us all. ol' master taught us not to be bad; he taught us to be good; he tol' us to never steal nor to tell false tales an not to do anythin' that was bad. he said: yo' will reap what yo' sow, that you sow it single an' reap double. i learnt that when i was a little chile an i ain't fo'got it yet. when i got grown i went de baptist way. god called my pa to preach an ol' master let him preach in de kitchen an in the back yard under th' trees. on preachin' day ol' master took his whole family an all th' slaves to church wid him. we had log school houses in them days an fo'ks learnt more than they does in the bricks t'day. down in the quarters ev'y black family had a one or two room log cabin. we didn' have no floors in them cabins. nice dirt floors was de style then an we used sage brooms. took a string an tied the sage together an had a nice broom out'n that. we would gather broom sage fo' our winter brooms jus' like we gathered our other winter stuff. we kep' our dirt floors swep' as clean an' white. an our bed was big an tall an had little beds to push under there. they was all little er nough to go under de other an in th' daytime we would push 'em all under the big one an make heaps of room. our beds was stuffed wid hay an straw an shucks an b'lieve me chile they sho' slep' good. when the boys would start to the quarters from th' fiel' they would get a turn of lider knots. i specks yo' knows 'em as pine knots. that was what we use' fo' light. when our fire went out we had no fire. didn' know nothin' bout no matches. to start a fire we would take a skillet lid an a piece of cotton an a flint rock. lay de cotton on th' skillet lid an' take a piece of iron an beat the flint rock till the fire would come. sometime we would beat fo' thirty minutes before the fire would come an start the cotton then we woul' light our pine. up at th' big house we didn' use lider knots but used tallow candles for lights. we made the candles f'om tallow that we took f'om cows. we had moulds and would put string in there an leave the en' stickin' out to light an melt the tallow an pour it down aroun' th' string in the mould. we use to play at night by moonlight and i can recollec' singin wid the fiddle. oh, lord, dat fiddle could almos' talk an i can hear it ringin now. sometime we would dance in the moonlight too. ol' master raised lots of cotton and the women fo'ks carded an spun an wove cloth, then they dyed hit an made clothes. an we knit all the stockin's we wo'. they made their dye too, f'om diffe'nt kin's of bark an leaves an things. dey would take the bark an boil it an strain it up an let it stan' a day then wet the 'terial in col' water an shake hit out an drop in the boilin' dye an let it set bout twenty minutes then take it out an hang it up an let it dry right out of that dye. then rinse it in col' water an let it dry then it woul' be ready to make. i'll tell yo' how to dye. a little beech bark dyes slate color set with copperas. hickory bark and bay leaves dye yellow set with chamber lye; bamboo dyes turkey red, set color wid copperas. pine straw dyes purple, set color with chamber lye. to dye cloth brown we would take de cloth an put it in the water where leather had been tanned an let it soak then set the color with apple vinegar. an we dyed blue wid indigo an set the color wid alum. we wo' draws made out of termestic that come down longer than our dresses an we wo' seven petticoats in the winter wid sleeves in dem petticoats in the winter an the boys wo' big ol' long shirts. they didn' know nothin bout no britches till they was great big, jus' wen' roun' in dey shirttails. an we all wo' shoes cause my pa made shoes. master taught pa to make shoes an the way he done, they killed a cow an took the hide an tanned it. the way they tanned it was to take red oak bark and put in vats made somethin' like troughs that held water. firs' he would put in a layer of leather an a layer of oak ashes an a layer of leather an a layer of oak ashes till he got it all in an cover with water. after that he let it soak till the hair come off the hide. then he would take the hide out an it was ready for tannin'. then the hide was put to soak in with the red oak bark. it stayed in the water till the hide turned tan then pa took the hide out of the red oak dye an it was a purty tan. it didn' have to soak long. then he would get his pattern an cut an make tan shoes out'n the tanned hides. we called 'em brogans. they planted indigo an it growed jus' like wheat. when it got ripe they gathered it an we would put it in a barrel an let it soak bout a week then we woul' take the indigo stems out an squeeze all the juice out of 'em an put the juice back in the barrel an let it stan' bout nother week, then we jus' stirred an stirred one whole day. we let it set three or four days then drained the water off an left the settlings and the settlings was blueing jus' like we have these days. we cut ours in little blocks an we dyed clothes wid it too. we made vinegar out of apples. took over ripe apples an ground 'em up an put 'em in a sack an let drip. didn' add no water an when it got through drippin we let it sour an strained an let it stan for six months an had some of the bes vinegar ever made. we had homemade tubs and didn' have no wash boa'ds. we had a block an battlin' stick. we put our clo'es in soak then took 'em out of soak an lay them on the block an take the battling stick an battle the dirt out of 'em. we mos'ly used rattan vines for clotheslines an they made the bes clo'es lines they was. ol' master raised big patches of tobaccy an when dey gather it they let it dry an then put it in lasses. after the lasses dripped off then they roll hit up an twisted it an let it dry in the sun or days. it sho' was ready for some and chewin an hit was sweet an stuck together so yo' could chew an spit an 'joy hit. the way we got our perfume we took rose leaves, cape jasmines an sweet bazil an laid dem wid our clo'es an let 'em stay three or fo' days then we had good smellin' clo'es that would las' too. when there was distressful news master would ring the bell. when the niggers in the fiel' would hear the bell everyone would lis'en an wonder what the trouble was. you'd see 'em stirrin' too. they would always ring the bell at twelve 'clock. sometime then they would think it was some thin' serious an they would stan up straight but if they could see they shadow right under 'em they would know it was time for dinner. the reason so many white folks was rich was they made money an didn' have nothin' to do but save it. they made money an raised ev'ything they used, an jus' didn' have no use fo' money. didn' have no banks in them days an master buried his money. the floo's in the big house was so pretty an white. we always kep' them scoured good. we didn' know what it was to use soap. we jus' took oak ashes out of the fi'place and sprinkled them on the floo' and scoured with a corn shuck mop. then we would sweep the ashes off an rinse two times an let it dry. when it dried it was the cleanes' floo' they was. to make it white, clean sand was sprinkled on the floo' an we let it stay a couple of days then the floo' would be too clean to walk on. the way we dried the floo' was with a sack an a rag. we would get down on our knees an dry it so dry. i 'member one night one of ol' master's girls was goin' to get married. that was after i was big 'nough to cook an we was sho' doin' some cookin. some of the niggers on the place jus' natchally would steal so we cook a big cake of co'n-bread an iced it all pretty an put it out to cool an some of 'em stole it. this way old master found out who was doin the stealin cause it was such a joke on 'em they had to tell. all ol' master's niggers was married by the white preacher but he had a neighbor who would marry his niggers hisself. he would say to the man: "do yo' want this woman?" and to the girl, "do yo' want this boy?" then he would call the ol' mistress to fetch the broom an ol' master would hold one end an ol' mistress the other an tell the boy and girl to jump dis broom and he would say: "dat's yo' wife." dey called marryin' like that jumpin the broom. now chile i can't 'member everything i done in them days but we didn' have ter worry bout nothin. ol' mistress was the one to worry. twasn't then like it is now, no twasn't. we had such a good time an ev'ybody cried when the yankees cried out: "free." tother niggers say dey had a hard time 'fo' dey was free but twas then like tis now. if you had a hard time we don it ourselves. ol' master didn' want to part with his niggers an the niggers didn' wan' to part with ol' master so they thought by comin to arkansas they would have a chance to keep 'em. so they got on their way. we loaded up our wagons an put up our wagon sheet an we had plenty to eat an plenty of horse feed. we traveled bout or miles a day an would stop an camp at night. we would cook enough in the morning to las' all day. the cows was drove t'gether. some was gentle an some was not an did dey have a time. i mean, dey _had_ a time. while we was on our way ol' master died an three of the slaves died too. we buried the slaves there but we camped while ol' master was carried back to north carolina. when ol' mistress come back we started on to arkansas an reached here safe but when we got here we foun' freedom here too. ol' mistress begged us to stay wid her an we stayed till she died then they took her back to carolina. there wasn' nobody lef' but miss nancy an she soon married an lef' an i los' track of her an mr. tom. el dorado district folklore subjects name of interviewer: pernella anderson subjects: customs related to slavery time [hw: ex slave story] subject: food--particular foods typical and characteristic of certain localities and certain people (negroes) [nov ] [tr: additional topic moved from subsequent page.] this information given by: millie evans (negroes pronounce it irvins) place of residence: by missouri pacific track near mop shops occupation: none age: [tr: personal information moved from bottom of interview.] i wuz a young lady in the time of surrender. i am a slave chile. i am one of them. i had a gran' time in slavery time. i wuz born wid de white foks. i stayed wid mah muthah at night but mah mistress raised me. i nussed mah mutha's gran'chile. i churned and sot de table. when de baby go to sleep in de evenin' i put hit in de cradle. an' i'd lay down by the cradle and go to sleep. every evenin' i'd go git _lida knots_. i played a lots. i wuz born . we played susanna gals, and we just played jump rope. jes' we gals did. we played calling' cows. dey'd come to us and we run from um. my [tr: 'i' corrected to 'my'] mistess wuz a millionaire. i went to school a while. i can count only lit bit. one uz de girl made fun uz me. she kotch me nodding and we fit dare in de school house. old log school house. dey had two big rooms. ah went to de ole fokes' church. young un too. we'd cry if we didn't git ter go ter church wid ma and pa. our table was sot under a china berry tree and ooo-eee chile i can see hit now. we et on a loal (oil) table cloth. when dey called us to de table dey would ring a bell. we didn' eat out uz plates. we et outn gourds. we all et outn gourds. when i got big nuff ter cook i cooked den. we had plenty to eat. we raised who-eee plenty meat. we raised our sugar, rice, peas, chikens, eggs, cows. who-eee chile we had plenty to eat. our mistess had ovah a hunert ( ) niggers. ole moster nevah did whip none uv us niggers. he tended de men and mistess always tended to us. i wudden (wasn't) quite grown when i wuz married. we cooked out in de yard an' on fireplaces too in dose big ubbens (ovens). we cooked greens in a wash pot jes like you boil clothes, dats de way we cook greens. we cooked ash cakes too an we cooked persimmon braid (bread). an evah thing we had wuz good too. we made our churns in dem days. made dem outn cypress. evahbody cried when dem yankees cried out: "free." we cried too; we hated hit so bad. we had such a good time. i is gittin so ole i can't member so ever' thin' i done. now chile ah cain't member evah' thin' i done but in dem days we didn' have ter worry 'bout nothin'. ole mistress wuz de one ter worry. twasn't den like hit is now. no twasn't. tother niggers say dey had er hard time foe dem yankee cried "free" but it waz den jes like hit is now if you had a hard time we done hit ourselves. [hw: negro food] _persimmon pie_ make a crust like you would any other pie crust and take your persimmons and wash them. let them be good and ripe. get the seed out of them. don't cook them. mash them and put cinnamon and spice in and butter. sugar to taste. then roll your dough and put in custard pan, and then add the filling, then put a top crust on it, sprinkle a little sugar on top and bake. _persimmon cornbread_ sift meal and add your ingredients then your persimmons that have been washed and the seeds taken out and mash them and put in and stir well together. grease pan well and pour in and bake. eat with fresh meat. _persimmon beer_ gather your persimmons, wash and put in a keg, cover well with water and add about two cups of meal to it and let sour about three days. that makes a nice drink. boil persimmons just as you do prunes now day and they will answer for the same purpose. _ash cake_ two cups of meal and one teaspoon of salt and just enough hot water to make it stick together. roll out in pones and wrap in a corn shuck or collard leaves or paper. lay on hot ashes and cover with hot ashes and let cook about ten minutes. _cornbread johnny cake_ two cups of meal, one half cup of flour about a teaspoon of soda, one cup of syrup, one-half teaspoon salt, beat well. add teaspoon of lard. pour in greased pan and bake. [hw: _water_ or _milk_ added?] (old mistress wud give us this corn bread johnny cake about four o'clock in de evening and give us plenty of buttermilk to drink wid it. dey had a long trough. dey kep' hit so clean fur us. ev'ry evening about four dey would fill de trough full uv milk and wus abut of us chilluns. we'd all get round de trough and drink wid our mouth and hold our johnny cake in our han's. i can jes see mahself drinkin now. it wus so good.) _beef dumplins_ take the brough (meaning broth) from boiled beef and season with salt, peper and add you dumplins jus as you would chicken dumplins. pick and wash beet tops just as you would turnip greens and cook with meat to season. season to suit taste. this makes the best vegetable dish. _potato biscuit_ two cups flour. two teaspoons of baking powder, pinch of soda, teaspoon of salt, tablespoon of lard, two cups of cooked, well mashed sweet potatoes and milk to make a nice dough. _irish potato pie_ boil potatoes, set off and let cool, then mash well and add one cup sugar, two eggs, butter size of an egg, milk, spice to suit taste, bake in pie crust. irish potatoes make a better pie than sweet potatoes. interviewer: mary d. hudgins person interviewed: mose evans home: walnut aged: radios from half a dozen houses blared out on the afternoon air. ben[tr:?] winslow was popular but ran a poor second to jazz bands in which moaning trombones predominated. at one or two houses a knock or jangling bell had roused nobody. "they's all off at work," a neighbor usually volunteered. but in this block of comfortable cottages fronting on the paved section of walnut evidently there were a goodly number of stay-at-homes. a mild prosperity seemed to pervade everything. the walnut section is in the "old part of town". some of the houses had evidently been built during the s; but they were well kept up and painted. there was evidence here and there of former dependence on wells for water. one or two had been simply boarded over. one, a front yard affair had been ingeniously converted into a huge flower pot. the well had been filled in, its circular brick walls covered with a thick layer of cement. into this, while still damp, had been pressed crystals. even in january the vessel bore evidence of summer blooming. "_prepare to meet your god_" admonished the electrified box sign attatched to the front porch of one dwelling. its border was of black wood. the sign itself was of white frosted glass. letters of the slogan were in scarlet. next doer was another religious reminder. it was a modest pasteboard window card and announced bible study at : p.m. daily. three blocks up walnut the pavement ends. beyond that sidewalks too, listlessly peter out. a young, but enthusiastically growing ditch is beginning to separate path from street. houses begin to take on a more dilapidated appearance. they lean uncertainly. a colored woman stops to stare at the white one, plants herself directly in the stranger's path and demands, "is you the investigator? no? well who is you looking for? oh, mose, he's at his son's. good thing i stopped you. cause you would have gone too far. he's at his son's. his grandson just done had his tonsils out. he's over there." the interviewer climbed the ladder-like steps leading to "his son's house". no mose wasn't there. he had just left. maybe he'd gone home. the de-tonsiled child proved to be a bright eyed, saddle-colored youngster of three, enormously interested in the stranger. he wore whip-cord jodphurs--protruding widely on either side of his plump thighs--and knee high leather riding boots. plump and smiling, he looked for all the world like a kewpie provided with a kink ey crown and blistered to a rich chocolate by a friendly sun. the child eyed the interviewer's pencil. since, she was carrying a "spare" she offered it to him. he smiled and accepted with alacrity. later when the interviewer had found mose and brought him back to the house to be questioned, the grandson brought forth his long new pencil and showed it with heartfelt pride. on up the street went the interviewer. arrived at she approached the house through a yard strewn, with wood chips and piled with cordwood. nobody answered her knock. two blocks back toward town she was stopped by the same woman who had accosted her before. "did you find him?" "no," replied the interviewer. "well he's somewhere on the street. he's a'carrying a cane. you just stop any man you see with a cane and ask him if he ain't mose evans." the advice was sound/ the first elderly man coming north was carrying a cane. he was mose evans. "so you-all got together?" called the officious neighbor. "mose, you ought of asked her--when you see her coming up the street if she wasn't looking for you." "maybe," said mose, "but then i didn't know, and i don't want to butt into other folks business" "huh," snorted the woman, "spose i hadn't butted in. where'd you be. you wouldn't have found her and she wouldn't have found you!" both mose and the interviewer wore forced to admit that she was right--but from mose's disapproving expression he, like the interviewer, was sorry of it. "no, ma'am. i ain't been here long. just about two weeks. you want to talk to me. let's go on up to my son's house. we'll stop there. i's tired. seems like i get tired awful quick. had to go down to the store to get some coal." (he was carrying a paper sack of about two gallon capacity. "coal" was probably charcoal--much favored among wash women for use in a small bucket-furnace for heating "flat-irons".) my wife has to work awful hard to earn enough, to buy enough coal and wood. did i say i'd been here two weeks? i meant i has been here two years. i's lived all over. came here from woodruff county. yes, ma'am. i can't work no more. my wife she gets - days washing a week. then she gets some bundles to bring home and do. she got sick, same as me and her brothers come on down to bring her up here to look after. they provided for me too. they took good care of us. then one of 'em got sick himself, and the other he lost out in a money way. so she's a washing. can't remember very much about the war. i was just a little thing when it was a'going on. was hardly any size at all. i does remember standing in the door of my mother's house and watching the soldiers go by. men dressed in blue they was. wasn't afraid of them--didn't have sense enough to be, i guess. looked sort of pretty to me, dressed all in blue that way. and they was riding fine horses. made a big noise they did. they was a'riding by in a sort of sweeping gallop. i won't never forgot it. guess confederates passed too. i was too small to know about them. they was all soldiers to me. folks told me they was on their way to vicksburg. i heard tell that there was lots of fighting down around vicksburg. i was born on a place which belonged to a man named thad shackleford. don't remember him very well. they took me away from his place when i was little. but i never did hear my mother say anything against him. awful fine man, she said, awful fine man. i had lots of half sisters-- of 'em and half brothers. there was just one full sister. farm? not until i was . just stayed around the house and nursed the children. nursed lots of children. took care of them and amused them. played with them. but for four, five, maybe six years i helped my mother farm. went out into the fields and worked. then i went to myself. yes, ma'am, i share cropped. share cropped up until about . by that time i had got together a pretty good lot and bought stock and tools. then i rented--rented thirds and fourths. i liked that way lots best. it's best if a body can get himself stocked up. but let me tell you, ma'am. it's a lot easier to get behind than it is to catch up. falling behind is easy. catching up ain't so simple. i sort of lost my health and then i had to sell my stock. after that it was share-crop again. i share cropped right up until . that's when we come here. yes, ma'am we moved around a lot. longest what i worked for any man was years. he was j.w. hill, the best man i ever did see. once i rented from a colored man, but he died. was with him years before another man came into possession. rented from cockerill years and doss years, and doyle years. but now i's like an old shoe. i's worn out. been a good, faithful servant, but i's wore out." interviewer: s.s. taylor person interviewed: rachel fairley brown st. little rock, ark. age: occupation: general housework [jan ] [hw: mother stole to get food] "my mother said she had a hard time getting through. had to steal half the time; had to put her head under the pot and pray for freedom. it was a large pot which she used to cook in on the yard. she would set it aside when she got through and put it down and put her head under it to pray. "my father, when nine years old, was put on the speculator's block and sold at charlottesville, north carolina. my mother was sold on the same day. they sold her to a man named paul barringer, and refugeed her to a place near sardis, mississippi, to the cotton country. before he was sold, my father belonged to the greers in charlottesville. i don't know who owned my mother. i never did hear her say how old she was when she was sold. they was auctioned off just like you would sell goods. one would holler one price and another would holler another, and the highest bid would get the slave. "mother did not go clear to sardis but to a plantation ten miles from sardis. this was before freedom. we stayed there till two years after freedom. "i remember when my mother moved. i had never seen a wagon before. i was so uplifted, i had to walk a while and ride a while. we'd never seen a wagon nor a train neither. mckeever was the place where she moved from when she moved to sardis. "the first year she got free, she started sharecropping on the place. the next year she moved. that was the year she moved to sardis itself. there she made sharecrops. that was the third year after freedom. that is what my father and mother called it, sharecropping. i don't know what their share was. but i guess it was half to them and half to him. "i do general housework. i been doing that for eleven years. i never have any trouble. whenever i want to i get off. "the slaves used to live in one room log huts. they cooked out in the yard. i have seen them huts many a time. they had to cook out in the yard in the summertime. if they didn't, they'd burn up. "my mother seen her master take off a big pot of money to bury. he didn't know he'd been seen. she didn't know where he went, but she seen the direction he took. her master was paul barringer. that was on mckeever creek near sardis. it was near the end of the war. i never heard my mother say what became of the money, but i guess he got it back after everything was over. "they had to work all the time. when they went to church on sunday, they would tell them not to steal their master's things. how could they help but steal when they didn't have nothin'? you didn't eat if you didn't steal. "my mother never would have been sold but the first bunch of slaves barringer bought ran away from him and went back to the places where they come from. lots of the old people wouldn't stay anywheres only at their homes. they would go back if they were sold away. it took a long time because they walked. when my mother and father were sold they had to walk. it took them six weeks,--from charlottesville, north carolina to sardis, mississippi. "in sardis my father was made the coachman, and mother was sent to the field. master was mean and hard. whipped them lots. mother had to pick cotton all day every day and sunday. when i first seen my father to remember him, he had on a big old coat which was given to him for special days. we called it a ham-beater. it had pieces that would make it set on you like a basque. he wore a high beaver hat too. that was his uniform. whenever he drove, he had to dress up in it. "my mother tickled me. she said she went out one day and kill a billygoat, but when she went to get it it was walking around just like the rest of them. my mother couldn't eat hogshead after freedom because they dried them and give them to them in slave time. you had to eat what you could git then. "my mother said you jumped over a broomstick when you married. "my father and mother were not exactly sold to mississippi. my father was but my mother wasn't. when paul barringer lost all of his niggers, what he first had, his sister give him my mother and a whole lot more of them. i don't know how many he had, but he had a great many. my father went alone, but all my mother's people were taken--four sisters, and three brothers. they were all grown when i first seen them. i never seen my mother's father at all. "there was a world of yellow people then. my mother said her sister had two yellow children; they were her master's. i know of plenty of light people who were living at that time. "my mother had two light children that belonged to her sister. they were taken from her after freedom, and were made to cook and work for their sister and brother (white). all the orphans were taken and given back to the people what owned them when freedom came. my mother's sister was refugeed back to charlottesville, north carolina before the end of the war so that she wouldn't get free. after the war they were set free out there and never came back. the children were with my mother and they had to stay with their master until they were twenty years old. then they would be free. they wouldn't give them any schooling at all. they were as white as the white children nearly but their mother was a colored woman. that made the difference. "my mother said that the ku klux used to come through ridin' horses. i don't remember her saying what they wore. "when the yanks came through, they took everything. made the niggers all leave. my mother said they just came in droves, riding horses, killing everything, even the babies. "i was born in sardis, mississippi, panolun (?) county, april , ." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: pauline fakes, brinkley, arkansas age: "my mama come from virginia. her owner was moses crawford. he had a bachelor son prior crawford. my papa's owner was step crawford. they was in arkansas during the civil war i know because i was born close to cotton plant. papa's folks had lived in tennessee but grandma and grandpa was raised in indian nation; they called it alabama afterwards. she was a full blooded creek and he was part cherokee. "mama had twelve sisters and they was all sold. they took them to texas. she never seen one of them again. mama had scrofula and her owners let a woman take her north. she cured her. she wanted to keep her but they didn't let her. they kept her till freedom. "the owners told them they was free. stayed on a while. we never have got very fur off from where i was born. i had thirteen children of my own. three living now. "i know times was mighty hard when i was a child. biscuits was big rarity as cake is now. i don't have much cake. little cornbread and meat, molasses and proud to get that. we didn't have much clothes but we had plenty wood. we had wood to keep up the fire in the fireplace all night. they saw the back sticks in the woods and roll em up. in the coldest part of the winter they throw on a back log of green wood and pull the seats, had benches, didn't have chairs, way back in the middle of the room. it be snow and ice all over the ground. i got wood many a day. yes, i plowed many a day. i done all kinds of field work, cook and wash and iron. mid-wife is my talent. i been big and strong and work was the least of my worries. "i can barely recollect seeing soldiers. they must have just got home from the war. the shiny buttons is about all i can recollect. "i recollect the ku klux. they rode at night, some dressed in dark and some white clothes. they come through our house one time. i got under the cover. i was scared nearly to death. "near cotton plant there was a log cabin (methodist?) church--negro church two and one-half miles northeast direction. they had a negro preacher. when they went to church they whooped and hollowed along the road. white people lived close to the road. the ku klux planned to break it up. they went down there and went in during their preaching, broke up and scattered their seats. one was killed. he may have acted 'smarty' or saucy or he may have been the leader." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mattie fannen, forrest city, arkansas age: "my mother was named silla davis. she had four children. her owners was jep davis and tempy davis. she died and he married her niece, sally davis. he had fifteen children by his first wife and five more by his second wife. wasn't that a plenty children doe? mama was a field hand. she ploughed in slavery right along. my father was named bob lee (lea?). i never knowed much about him. his folks moved and took him off. mother was sold but not on a stand. she belong to bill davis. he was jep's brother. they said bill davis drunk up mother and all her children. he sold aunt serina to a man in elberton, georgia and all he had left then was grandma. he couldn't sell her. she was too old and aunt kizziah and aunt martha lived with her. mother was born in georgia. when a child was sold it nearly grieved the mothers and brothers and sisters to death. it was bad as deaths in the families. jep davis had forty or fifty niggers. he had six boys. they all had to go to war. they was in the confederate army. billy davis was his daddy's young overseer. he had been raised up with some of the nigger boys then come over them. they wouldn't mind his orders. he tried to whoop them. they'd fight him back, choke him, throw him on the ground. then the old man would whoop them. we all wanted 'em all to come home but billy. billy davis got killed at war and never come home. his sisters was afraid some of the nigger boys raised up with him on the place would kill him and wanted jep to make him stay at the house. jep davis was a good master and he was bad enough. "i seen mama whooped. they tied some of them to trees and some they just whooped across their backs. it was 'cordin' to what they had done. some of them would run off to the woods and stay a week or a month. the other niggers would feed them at night to keep them from starving. "jep davis made a will after his first wife died and give out all his young niggers to his first set of children. his young wife cried till he destroyed it. she said, 'you kept the old ones here and me and my children won't have nothing.' i was willed to miss lizzie. they was fixing the wagon for me to go in. i wanted to go to jefferson on the train. i told them so. i wanted to ride on the train. i never did get off. his young wife started crying. miss lizzie lived with her brother. they didn't want this young woman to have their father and he did. they kept a fuss up with her and all left. then he divided the land. "i nursed for his second wife, miss sally. i was five years or little older when i started nursing for his first wife. i nursed for a long time. i don't like children yet on that account. i got so many whoopings on their blame. i'd drap 'em, leave 'em, pinch 'em, quit walking 'em and rocking 'em. i got tired of 'em all the time. "me and zack (white) was raised up together. he was one of the old set of children. the baby in that set. i'd set on the log across a branch and wait till zack would break open a biscuit and sop it in ham gravy and bring it to me after he eat his breakfast. one morning the sun was so bright; he run down there crying, said his mama was dead. he never brought me no biscuit. he had just got up. i was five years old. i said i was glad. emily was the cook and she come down there and kicked me off the log and made my nose bleed. i cried and run home. my mother picked me up in her arms, took me in her lap and asked me about it. i told her i was glad 'cause she kept that little cowhide and whooped me with it. they took me to the grave. she wanted to be buried in a pretty grave at the side of the house off a piece. she was buried there first. there was a big crowd. i kept running up towards the grave and they would pull me back by my dress tail. she was buried in a metal coffin. susan was the oldest girl. she fainted. they took her to a carriage standing close. the whole family was buried there. took back from places they lived to be buried in that graveyard. that was close to nuna, georgia. "when the old man jep davis married again, miss sally must have me sleep in her room on a pallet so i could tend to the baby. the older girls would pick me and i would tell them what they talked about after they went to bed. "when the war come on, the boys and jep davis dug a hole in the henhouse, put the guns in a box and buried them. they was there when the war ended. they had some jewelry. i don't know where they kept it. they sent all of the niggers fifteen miles on the river away from the yankees. not a one of us ever run off. not a one ever went to the war or the yankees. jep davis had been to get his mail on his horse. a yankee come up at the gate walking and took it. he asked for the bridle and saddle but the yankee laughed in his face. we never seen our horse no more. 'babe' we called her. she was a pretty horse and so gentle we could ride her bare back. "jep davis was religious. they had preaching at his church, the baptist church at nuna, for white folks in the morning and a white preacher preach for the niggers at the same church in the evening. he'd go to prayer meeting on wednesday night and thursday night he would come to the boys' house and read the bible to his own niggers. we would sing and pray. he never cared how much we would sing and pray but he never better ketch 'em dancing. he'd whoop every one of 'em. "i learned same of the abc's in playing ball with the white children. we never had a book. i never went to school in my life. the boys not married but up grown lived in a house to their own selves. they got cooked fer up at jep davises house till they got a house built for them and give them a wife. maybe they would see a woman on another plantation and claim her. then the master had to talk that over. freedom "jep davis had been to town. he got a notice to free his niggers. he had the farm bell rung. we all went out up to his house. he said, 'you are free. go. if you can't get along come back and do like you been.' they left. went hog wild. i was the last one to go. he said, 'mattie, come back if you find you can't make it.' i had a hard time for a fact. i had a sister married in atlanta. i went with them in . i married to better my living. we quit. i met a man come to arkansas and sent back for me when he got the money. i was in atlanta thirty years. i was married in arkansas in . been here ever since 'ceptin' visits back in georgia. my husband was a good farmer and a good shoemaker. he left me six good rent houses and this house here when he died." (she has an income of forty dollars per month--rent on houses.) "he was a hard worker. "i'd go to see my white folks after freedom. i loved 'em all. "jep davis died out of the church. him and jack (robertson, robson, robinson?) was deacons together in the baptist church and their farms j'ined. jack had two boys, john and ed. ed was killed by hinton right over his sister mollie. then she married hinton right. the quarrel started at la grange but they had a duel during preaching on the church yard at the baptist church at nuna, georgia. jack was mean. he had a lot of negroes and a big farm. he had two boys and four girls. jennie died. florence and lula, old maids; john and ed and mollie. "jack caused jep davis to be put out of the church 'cause he said after freedom he didn't believe in slavery. he always thought they ought to be free but owned some to be like all the other folks and to have a living easy. he was afraid to own that, fear somebody kill him before freedom. when jack was sick, jep went to see him. he wouldn't let jep come in to see him and he died. "i worked in the field, washed and ironed. i never cooked but a little. in atlanta when my first baby could stand in a cracker box i started cooking for a woman. she was upstairs. had a small baby a few days old. i didn't have time to do the work and nurse and get my baby to sleep. it cried and fretted till i got dinner done. i took it and got it to sleep. she sent word for me to leave my baby at home, she wasn't going to have a nigger baby crying in her kitchen and messing it up. she was a yankee woman. i left and i never cooked out no more. "i never had no dealings with the ku klux. i was in atlanta then. i heard my mother say they killed and beat up a lot of colored people in the country where she was. seem like they was mad 'cause they was free. "times was hard after freedom. times is hard now for some folks. times running away with the white and black races both. they stop thinking. the thing what they call education done ruined this country. the folks quit work and living on education. i learned to work. my husband was a good shoemaker. we laid up all we could. i got seven houses renting around here. i gets about forty or forty-five dollars a month rent. it do very well, i reckon." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: robert farmer battery street, little rock, arkansas age: [hw: tale of a "nigger ruler"] "i was born in north carolina. i can't tell when. our names are in the bible, and it was burnt up. my old master died and my young master was to go to the war, the civil war, in the next draft. i remember that they said, 'if them others had shot right, i wouldn't have had to go.' "he talked like they were standing up on a table or something shooting at the yankees. of course it wasn't that way. but he said that they didn't shoot right and that he would have to do it for them. they all came back, and none of them had shot right. one sick (he died after he got home); the other two come back all right. "when my old master died, the son that drawed me stayed home for a little while. when he left he said about me, 'don't let anybody whip him while i am gone. if they do, i'll bury them when i come back.' he was a good man and a good master. brutal beating "there were some that weren't so good. one of his brothers was a real bad man. they called him a nigger ruler. he used to go from place to place and handle niggers. he carried his cowhide with him when he went. my master said, 'a man is a damn fool to have a valuable slave and butcher him up.' he said, 'if they need a whipping, whip them, but don't beat them so they can't work.' he never whipped his slaves. no man ever hit me a lick but my father. no man. i ain't got no scar on me nowhere. "my young master was named wiley grave sharpe. he drawed me when my old master, teed sharpe, sr., died. he's been dead a long time. teed sharpe, jr., gibb sharpe, and sam sharpe were brothers to wiley grave sharpe. teed sharpe, jr. was the brutal one. he was the nigger ruler that did the beating up and the killing of negroes. "he beat my brother peter once till peter dropped dead. wiley graves who drawed me said, 'my brother shouldn't have done that.' but my brother didn't belong to wiley and he couldn't do nothing about it. that was teed, jr.'s name. he got big money and was called a nigger ruler. teed had said he was going to make peter do as much work as my sister did. she was a young girl--but grown and stout and strong. in the olden time, you could see women stout and strong like that. they don't grow that way now. peter couldn't keep up with her. he wasn't old enough nor strong enough then. he would be later, but he hadn't reached his growth and my sister had. every time that peter would fall behind my sister, teed would take him out and buckle him down to a log with a leather strap and stand 'way back and then he would lay that long cowhide down, up and down his back. he would split it open with every stroke and the blood would run down. the last time he turned peter loose, peter went to my sister and asked her for a rag. she thought he just wanted to wipe the blood out of his face and eyes, but when she gave it to him, he fell down dead across the potato ridges. family "mary farmer was my mother. william farmer was my father. i never knowed any of my father's 'lations except one sister. she would come to see us sometimes. "my father's master was isaac farmer. my mother didn't 'long to him. she 'longed to the sharpes. just what her master's name was i don't recollect. she lived five miles from my father. he went to see her every thursday night. that was his regular night to go. he would go saturday night; if he went any other time and the pateroles could catch him, they would whip him just the same as though he belonged to them. but they never did whip my father because they never could catch him. he was one of those who ran. "my father and mother had ten children. i don't know whether any of them is living now or not besides myself. how freedom came "freedom was a singsong every which way when i knowed anything. my father's master, isaac farmer, had a big farm and a whole world of land. he told the slaves all of them were free. he told his brother's slaves, 'after you have made this crop, bring your wives and children here because i am able to take care of them.' he had a smokehouse full of meat and other things. he told my father that after this crop is gathered, to fetch his wife and children to him (isaac farmer), because sharpe might not be able to feed and shelter and take care of them all. so my father brought us to isaac farmer's farm. "i never did anything but devilment the whole second year of freedom. i was large enough to take water in the field but i didn't have to do that. there were so many of them there that one could do what he pleased. the next year i worked because they had thinned out. the first year come during the surrender. they cared for sharpe's crop. the next year they took isaac farmer's invitation and stayed with him. the third year many of them went other places, but my father and my mother and brothers and sisters stayed with isaac farmer for awhile. "as time went on, i farmed with success myself. "i stayed in north carolina a long time. i had a wife and children in north carolina. later on, i went to louisiana and stayed there one year and made one crop. then i came here with my wife and children. i don't know how long i been here. we came up here when the high water was. that was the biggest high water they had. i worked on the levee and farmed. the first year we came here, we farmed. i lived out in the country then. occupation "while i was able to work, i stayed on the farm. i had forty acres. but after my children left me and my wife died, i thought it would be better to sell out and pay my debts. pay your honest debts and everything will be lovely. now i manages to pay my rent by taking care of this yard and i get help from the government. i can't read and i can't write. "i went down yonder to get help from the county. at last they taken me on and i got groceries three times. after that i couldn't get nothin' no more. they said my papers were made out incorrectly. i asked the worker to make it out correctly because i couldn't read and write. she said she wasn't supposed to do that but she would do it. she made it out for me. a short time later, the postman brought me a letter. i handed it to a lady to read for me, and she said, 'this is your old age check.' you don't know how much help that thing's been to me. ku klux "the ku klux never bothered me and they never bothered any of my people. opinions "the young people pass by me and i don't know nothing about 'em. i know they are quite indifferent from what i was. when i come old enough to want a wife, i knowed what sort of wife i wanted. god blessed me and i happened to run up on the kind of woman i wanted. i made an engagement with her, and i didn't have a dollar. i was engaged to marry for three years before i married. i knowed it wouldn't do for me to marry her the way she was raised and i didn't have nothing. it looked curious for me to want that woman. i wanted her, and i had sense. i had sense enough to know how i must carry myself to get her. now it looks like a young man wants all the women and ain't satisfied with nary one. "my youngest son had a fine wife and was satisfied. he took up with what i call a whiskey head. he's been swapping horses ever since. that is the baby boy of mine. you know good and well a man couldn't get along that way. "these young men will keep this one over here for a few days, and then that one over there for a few days. it shows like he wants them all. voting "i have voted. i don't now. since i lost out, i ain't voted. slave houses "you might say slave houses was nothing. log houses, made out of logs and chinked up with sticks and mud in the cracks. chimneys made with sticks and mud. two rooms in our house. no windows, just cracks. all furniture was homemade. take a two by four and bore a hole in it and put a cross piece in it and you had a bed. "they made stools for chairs and made tables too. food was kept in the smokehouse. for rations, they would give so much meat, so much molasses, and so much meal. no sugar and no coffee. they used to make tea out of sage, and out of sassafras, and that was the coffee. marriages "i been married twice. the first time was out in north carolina. the last time was in this city. i didn't stay with that last woman but four days. it took me just that long to find out who and who. she didn't want me; she wanted my money, and she thought i had more of it than i did. she got all i had though. i had just fifty dollars and she got that. i am going to get me a good woman, though, as soon as i can get divorced. memories of work on plantation "my mother used to milk and i used to rope the calves and hold them so that they couldn't get to the cow. i had to keep the horses in the canebrake so they could eat. that was to keep the soldiers from getting a fine black horse the master had. soldiers "but they got him just the same. the yankees used to come in blue uniforms and come right on in without asking anything. they would take your horse and ask nothing. they would go into the smokehouse and take out shoulders, hams, and side meat, and they would take all the wine and brandy that was there. dances after freedom "two sisters stayed in north carolina in a two-room house in wilson county. there was a big drove of us and we all went to town in the evening to get whiskey. there was one man who had a wife with us, but all the rest were single. we cut the pigeon wing, waltzed, and quadrilled. we danced all night until we burned up all the wood. then we went down into the swamp and brought back each one as long a log as he could carry. we chopped this up and piled it in the room. then we went on 'cross the swamp to another plantation and danced there. "when we got through dancing, i looked at my feet and the bottom of them was plumb naked. i had just bought new boots, and had danced the bottoms clean out of them. "i belong to the primitive baptist church. i stay with dr. cope and clean up the back yard for my rent." interviewer: mary d. hudgins. person interviewed: mrs. lou fergusson aged: home: with daughter mrs. peach sinclair, wade street. [jan ] zig-zaging across better than a mile of increasingly less thickly settled territory went the interviewer. the terrain was rolling--to put it mildly. during most of the walk her feet met the soft resistance of winter-packed earth. sidewalks were the exception rather than the rule. wade street, she had been told was "somewhere over in the boulevard". holding to a general direction she kept her course. "the boulevard", known on the tax books of hot springs as boulevard addition, sprawls over a wide area. houses vary in size and construction with startling frequency. few of them are pretentious. many appear well planned, are in excellent state of repair and front on yards, scrupulously neat, sometimes patterned with flower beds. occasionally a building leans with age, roof caving and windows and doors yawning voids--long since abandoned by owners to wind and weather. up one hill, down another went the interviewer. given a proper steer here and there by colored men and women--even children along the way, she finally found hereself in front of "that green house" belonging to peach sinclair. two colored women, middle aged, sat basking in the mild january sunlight on a back porch. "i beg your pardon," said the interviewer, approaching the step, "is this the home of peach sinclair, and will i find mrs. lou fergusson here?" "it sure is," the voice was cheerful. "my mother is in the house. come around to the front," (the interviewer couldn't have reached the back steps, even if she had wanted to--the back yard was fenced from the front) "she's in the parlor." mrs. lou turned out to be an incredibly black, unbelievably plump-cheeked, wide smiling "motherly" person. she seemed an aunt jemimah grown suddenly old, and even more mellow. "mamma, this young lady's come to see you. she wants to talk to you and ask you some questions, about when--about before the war." (the situation is always delicate when an ex-slave is asked for details. somehow both interviewer and interviewee avoid the ugly word whenever possible. the skillful interviewer can generally manage to pass it by completely, as well as any variant of the word negro. the informant is usually less squeamish. "black folks," "colored folks", "black people", "master's people", "us" are all encountered frequently.) five minutes of pleasant chatter preceeded the formal interview. both mrs. sinclair and her guest (unintroduced) sat in on the conference and made comments frequently. "law, child, we bought this place from your father. he was a mighty fine man." mrs. sinclair was delighted to find her guest to be "jack hudgins daughter." and later in the chat, "you done lost everything? even your home--that's going? too bad. but then i guess at that you're better off than we are. i've been trying for nearly a year to get my mother on the old age pension. they say she has passed. that was way along last march. here it is january and she hasn't got a penny. no, i know you can't help. yes, i see what you're doing. but if ever you does get on the pensions work--i'm going to 'hant'[a] you." (a wide grin) [footnote a: "hant" was an intentional barbarism.] the old woman rocked and smiled. "yes, ma'am. i'm her oldest, alive. she had and of them lived to grow up. but i'm about as old as she is, looks like. she never did have glasses--and today she can thread the finest needle. she can make as pretty a quilt as you'd hope to see. makes fine stitches too. seems like they made them stronger in her day." a nod of delighted approval from mrs. fergusson. "i was born in hempstead county, right here in this state. the town we were nearest was columbus. i lived around there all of my life until i come here to be with my daughter. that was years ago. yes, i was born on a farm. from what i know, i'm over ninety. i was around when the war ceaseted. the man what owned us was named ed johnson. yes, ma'am he had lots of folks. was he good to us? well, he was and he wasn't. he was good himself, wouldn't never have whipped us--but he had a mean wife. she'd dog him, and dog him until he'd tie us down and whip us for the least little thing. then they put overseers over us. they was most generally mean. they'd run us out way fore day--even in the sleet--run us out to the field. was the life hard--well it was and it wasn't. no, ma'am, i didn't get much learning. some folks wouldn't let their black folks learn at all. then there was some which would let their children teach the colored children what they learned at school. we never learned very much. you see, master didn't live on the place. he lived bout as far as from here to town" (fully two miles) "the overseer looked after us mostly. no, ma'am i don't remember much about the war. you see, they was afraid that the fighting was going to get down there so they run us off to texas. we settled down and made a crop there. how'd we get the land? master rented it. we made a crop down there and later we come back. no, ma'am we didn't stay with mr. johnson more than a month after there was peace. we come on in to washington. no, ma'am, i never heard tell that washington had been the capitol of arkansas for a while during the war. no, i never did hear that. guess it was when we was in texas. then we folks didn't hear so much anyway. we stayed in washington most a year. was i with my mother? no, ma'am i was married--married before the war was thru. married--does you know how we folks married in them days? well the man asked your mother. then you both asked your master. he built you a house. you moved in and there you was. you was married. i did some washing and cooking when i was in washington. then we moved onto a farm. i sort of liked washington, but i was born on a farm and i sort of liked farm life. we didn't move around very much--just two or three places. we raised cotton, corn, vegetables, peas, watermelons and lots of those sort of things. no ma'am, didn't nobody think of raising watermelons to ship way off like they does in hempstead county now. cotton was our cash crop. we rented thirds and fourths. didn't move but three times. one place i stayed years. i been a widow years. yes, ma'am. i farmed myself, and my children helped me. me and the owners got along well. made good crops, me and the children. i managed to take good care of them. made out to raise out of the to be grown. there's only of them alive now. hard on a woman to run a farm by herself. well now, i don't know. i made out. i raised my children and raised them healthy. i got along well with the farm owner. you might know when i was let to stay on one place for years. you know i must have treated the land right and worked it fair. yes ma'am i remembers lots. seems like women folks remembers better than men. i've got a good daughter. i'm still strong and can get about good. guess the lord has been good to me." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: jennie ferrell, west memphis, arkansas age: "i was born in yellowbush county, mississippi close to grenada. grandmother come from north carolina. they wouldn't sell grandpa. he was owned by laston. they never met again. she brought two boys with her. she was a pernell. her master brought her away and would have brought her husband but they wouldn't sell. she said durin' her forty years in slavery she never got a whoopin'. she was a field hand. after she come to mississippi they was so good to her they called her free. she was a midwife. she doctored the rich white and colored. she rode horseback, she said, far and near. in grenada after freedom she walked. they called her free her master was so good to her. i don't know how she learned to be a midwife. her master was henry pernell. he owned a small place twelve miles from grenada and another place in the mississippi bottoms. my folks become renters after freedom. i don't know if they rented from him but i guess they did. "the ku klux never bothered them that i ever heard them mention." interviewer: pernella anderson person interviewed: frank fikes, el dorado, arkansas age: about "my name is frank fikes. i live between el dorado and strong and i am years old if i make no mistake. i know my mama told me years ago that i was born in watermelon time. she said she ate the first watermelon that got ripe on the place that year and it made her sick. she thought she had the colic. said she went and ate a piece of calamus root for the pain and after eating the root for the pain behold i was born. so if i live and nothing happens to me in watermelon time i will be eighty this year. i was a boy at surrender about the age of fourteen or fifteen. "my work was very easy when i was a little slave. something got wrong with my foot when i first started to walking and i was crippled. i could not get around like the other children, so my work was to nurse all of the time. sometimes, as fast as i got one baby to sleep i would have to nurse another one to sleep. we belonged to mars colonel williams and he had i guess a hundred families on his place and nearly every family had a baby, so i had a big job after all. the rest of the children carried water, pine, drove up cows and held the calves off and made fires at old mar's house. "i had to keep a heap fire so the boys wouldn't have to beat fire out of rocks and iron. old miss did the cooking while all of the slaves worked. the slaves stood around the long back porch and ate. they ate out of wooden bowls and wooden spoons. they ate greens and peas and bread. and old miss fed all of us children in a large trough. she fed us on what we called the licker from the greens and peas with bread mashed in it. we children did not use spoons. we picked the bread out with our fingers and got down on our all fours and sipped the licker with our mouth. we all had a very easy time we thought because we did not know any better then. "i never went to church until after surrender. neither did we go to school but the white children taught me to read and count. "i recollect as well today as if it had been yesterday the soldiers passing our house going to vicksburg to fight. the reason i recollect it so well they all was dressed in blue suits with pretty gold buttons down the front. they passed a whole day and we watched them all day. "old miss and mars was not mean to us at all until after surrender and we were freed. we did not have a hard time until after we were freed. they got mad at us because we was free and they let us go without a crumb of anything and without a penny and nothing but what we had on our backs. we wandered around and around for a long time. then they hired us to work on halves and man, we had a hard time then and i've been having a hard time ever since. "before the war we lived in log cabins. there was a row of log cabins a quarter of a mile long. no windows and no floor. we had grass to sit on. our beds was made of pine poles nailed to the wall and we slept on hay beds. my mama and other slaves pulled grass and let it dry to make the beds with. our cover was made from our old worn out clothes. "on sunday evenings we played. we put on clean clothes once a week. in summer we bathed in the branch. we did not bathe at all in winter. i went in my shirt tail until i was eleven or twelve years old. back in slavery time boys did not wear britches. they wore shirts and our hair was long. the slaves say if you cut a child's hair before he or she was ten or twelve years old they won't talk plain until they are that old." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: j.e. filer, marianna, arkansas age: "i was born in washington, georgia. i come here in . there was three stores in marianna. my parents name betsy and bob filer. my mother belong to collins in georgia. she come to this state with colonel woods. she worked in the field in georgia and here too. mama said they always had some work on hand. work never played out. when it was cold and raining they would shuck corn to send to mill. the men would be under a shelter making boards or down at the blacksmith shop sharpening up the tools so they could work. "since we come to this state i've seen them make oak boards and pile them up in pens to dry out straight. i don't recollect that in georgia. i was so little when we come here. i can recollect that but not much else. my brother was older. he might tell all about it." [tr: next section crossed out] interviewer's comment i didn't get to see his brother. i went twice more but he was at work on a farm somewhere. interviewer: samuel s. taylor subject: ex-slavery [may ] person interviewed: orleans finger [tr: in text of interview, orleana] negro (apparently octoroon or quadroon) address: west fifteenth street, little rock, arkansas. occupation: formerly field hand and housekeeper age: [tr: personal information moved from bottom of first page.] birth, family, and master "i was born in mississippi in tippa county not far from the edge of tennessee. i wasn't raised in arkansas, but all my children was raised here. i really don't know just where in tippa county i was born. my mother's name was ann toler. toler was my step father. my real father, i don't know. my mother never told me nothin' bout him and i don't know that; i can't tell what i don't know. "my grandfather on my mother's side was captain ellis. that is the one come after me when i was small to carry me back to my folks. i didn't know him, and i said 'i don't want to go 'way with them strange niggers'. he's dead now. they're all dead long ago. i have got children over fifty years old myself. i am the mother of nine children--three of them living. one of the living ones is arthur finger. he lives in st. louis. i expected to hear from him today, but didn't. cornelius finger. (he is a brownskin boy, spare made), lives in palestine, arkansas, near forrest city. arthur is my baby boy. elmira was my baby girl. she's the one you met. she's married and has children of her own. "captain ellis' wife was named minerva. she was my mother's mother. she's been dead years. i got children older than she was when she died. she died in mississippi. i got a cousin named molly spight. she's dead. my mother's sister was named emmaline; she is dead now too. "my mother was colored. i don't know nothin' about my father, and my mother never taught me nothin' 'bout him. "my step father and mother were both field hands. they worked in the field. "i don't know just when i was born, but i am just sure that it was before the war. i remember hearing people talk about things in the war. "my mother's master was named whitely, i think, because she was named whitley before she married. "i have been married three times. the first man i married was 'lijah gibbs. the second time i married, i married joe finger. the third time i married will reese. he warn't no husband at all. they're all dead. folks always called me finger after my second husband died, because i didn't live with my third husband long. house "they had log houses. you would never see no brick chimney nor nothing of that kind. the logs were notched down and kinda kivered flat--no roof like now. they might have rafters on them, but the top was almost flat. wouldn't be any steep like they is now. in them times they wouldn't have many rooms. sometimes they would have two. they wouldn't have so many windows. just old dirt chimneys. they'd take and dig a hole and stick sticks up in it. then they'd make up the dirt and put water in it and pull grass and mix it in the dirt. they'd build a frame on the sticks and then put the mud on. the chimney couldn't catch fire till the house got old and the mud would fall off. when it got old and the mud got to fallin off, then they would be a fire. i've seen that since i been in arkansas. "sometimes they would get big rocks and put them inside the fireplace to take the place of bricks. you could get rocks in the forest. furniture "used to have ropes and they would cord the bed stead. the cords would act in place of springs. when you move you would have a heap of trouble because all that would have to be undone and done up again. you have to take the cords out and them put it together again. the cords would be run through the sides of the bed and stuck in with pegs. "they used to have spinning wheels and looms. they made clothes and they made the cloth for the clothes and they spun the thread they made the cloth our of. they'd card and spin the thread. there's lots of other things i can't remember. war memories "the yankess used to come in and have the people cook for them. they'd kill chickens and geese and things. the old people used to take their horses out and tie them out in the woods--hiding them out to keep the yankees from getting them. the yankees would ride up, take a good horse and leave the old worn-out one. "there never was any fighting round where i lived. none of my folks was soldiers in the war. right after the war "i don't remember just what my folks did right after the war. they were field hands and i guess they did that. my mother worked in the field that's all i know. life since the war "i have been in arkansas a long time. i have been here ever since i left mississippi. my first marriage was in mississippi. the second and last ones was in arkansas--forrest city. my second husband had been dead since . i don't know that i count reese. we married in june and separated in september. he's dead now, and i don't hold nothin' against him. "i am not able to work now. i do a little 'round the house and dig a little in the garden. i haven't worked in the field since way before . i don't get no help at all from the welfare. my daughter does what she can for me. i always have lived before i ever heard about the old age pension and i suppose god will take care of me yet somehow. cured by prayer "i'm puny and no'count. aint able to do much. but i was crippled. i had a hurting in my leg and i couldn't walk without a stick. finally, one day i went to go out and pick some turnips. i was visiting my son in palestine. my leg hurt so bad that i talked to the lord about it. and it seemed to me, he said 'put down your stick.' i put it down and i aint used it since. i put it down right thar and i aint used it since. god is a momentary god. god knowed what i wanted and he said, 'put down that sick,' and i aint been crippled since. it done me so much good. looks like to me when i get to talking about the lord, aint nobody a stranger to me. "i know i been converted but that made me stronger. my son is a siner. he knowed about how i was crippled. he said you ought use your stick. he didn't know what to think about it. young folks don't believe because they aint had no experience with prayer and they don't know what can happen. "i done told you all i know. i don't want to tell you anything i don't know. if you don't know nothing, it is best to say you don't." everything which orleana finger states has the earmarks of being true. there are a great many things which she does not state which i believe that she could state if she wished. she evidently has a long list of things which she things should be unmentioned. she has two magic phrases with which she dismisses all subjects which she does not wich to discuss: "i don't remember that." "i better quit talking now before i start lying." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: molly finley, honey creek - / miles from mesa, arkansas age: born "my master was captain baker jones and his pa was john jones. miss mariah was baker jones' wife. i believe the old man's wife was dead. "my parents' name was henry ("clay") harris and harriett harris. they had nine children. we lived close to the post (arkansas post). our nearest trading post was pine bluff. and the old man made trips to memphis and had barrels sent out by ship. we lived around hanniberry creek. it was a pretty lake of water. some folks called it hanniberry lake. we fished and waded and washed. we got our water out of two springs further up. i used to tote one bucket on my head and one in each hand. you never see that no more. mama was a nurse and house woman and field woman if she was needed. i made fires around the pots and 'tended to mama's children. "we lived on the jones place years after freedom. i was born after freedom. we finally left. i cried and cried to let's go back. only place ever seem like home to me yet. we went to the cummings farm. they worked free labor then. then we went to the hills. then we seen hard times. we knowed we was free niggers pretty soon back in them poor hills. "i was more educated than some white folks up in them hills. i went to school on the river. my teacher was a white man named mr. van sang. "mama belong to the garretts in mississippi. she was sold when she was about four years old she tole me. there had been a death and old mistress bought her in. master garrett died. then she give her to her daughter. she was her young mistress then. old mistress didn't want her to bring her but she said she might well have her as any rest of the children. mama never set eyes on none of her folks no more. her father, she said, was light and part enjun (indian). "john prior owned papa in kentucky. he sold him, brother and his mother to a nigger trader's gang. captain jones bought all three in tennessee. he come brought them on to arkansas. he was a field hand. he said they worked from daylight till after dark. "they took their slaves to close to houston, texas to save them. captain jones said he didn't want the yankees to scatter them and make soldiers of them. he brought them back on his place like he expected to do. mama said they was out there three years. she had a baby three months old and the trip was hard on her and the baby but they stood it. i was her next baby after that. freedom done been declared. mama said they went in wagons and camped along the roadside at night. "before they left, the yankees come. old master jones treated them so nice, give them a big dinner, and opened up everything and offered some for them to take along that they didn't bother his stock nor meat. then he had them (the slaves) set out with stock and supplies to texas. "mama and papa said the jones treated them pretty well. they wouldn't allow the overseers to beat up his slaves. "the two jones men put two barrels of money in a big iron chest. they said it weighed two hundred pounds. four men took it out there in barrels and eight men lowered it. they took it to the family graveyard down past the orchard. they leveled it up like it was a grave. yankees didn't get jones money! then he sent the slaves to texas. "captain jones had a home in tennessee and one in arkansas. papa said he cleared out land along the river where there was panther, bears, and wild cats. they worked in huddles and the overseers had guns to shoot varmints. he said their breakfast and dinner was sent to the field, them that had wives had supper with their families once a day, on sundays three times. the women left the fields to go fix supper and see after their cabins and children. they hauled their water in barrels and put it under the trees. they cooked washpots full of chicken and give them a big picnic dinner after they lay by crops and at christmas. they had gourd banjos. mama said they had good times. "they had preaching one sunday for white folks and one sunday for black folks. they used the same preacher there but some colored preachers would come on the place at times and preach under the trees down at the quarters. they said the white preacher would say, 'you may get to the kitchen of heaven if you obey your master, if you don't steal, if you tell no stories, etc.' "captain jones was a good doctor. if a doctor was had you know somebody was right low. they seldom had a doctor. mama said her coat tail froze and her working. but they wore warm clothes next to their bodies. "captain jones said, 'you all can go back on my place that want to go back and stay. you will have to learn to look after your own selves now but i will advise you and help you best i can. you will have to work hard as us have done b'fore. but i will pay you.' my folks was ready to 'board the wagons back to jones' farm then. that is the way mama tole me it was at freedom! it was a long time i kept wondering what is freedom? i took to noticing what they said it was in slavery times and i caught on. i found out times had changed just b'fore i got into this world. "some things seem all right and some don't. times seem good now but wait till dis winter. folks will go cold and hungry again. some folks good and some worse than in times b'fore." interviewer's comment gets a pension check. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: fanny finney, brinkley, arkansas age: plus "i was born in marshall county, mississippi. born during slavery. i b'long to master john rook. he died during the civil war. miss patsy rook raised me. i put on her shoes, made up her bed, fetched her water and kindling wood. "my parents named catherine and humphrey rook. they had three children. "when master john rook died they divided us. they give me to rodie briggs. john and lizzie was master john's other two children. he had three children too same as ma. my young master was a ball player. i'd hear them talk. ma was a good house girl. they thought we'd all be like 'er. when i was three years old, i was the baby. they took ma and pa off keep the yankees from stealing then. miss patsy took keer me. when ma and pa come home i didn't know them a tall. they say when they come back they went to louziana, then 'bout close to monticello in dis state, then last year they run 'em to texas. "pa was jus' a farmer. gran'ma lived down in the quarters and kept my sisters. i'd start to see 'em. old gander run me. sometimes the geese get me down and flog me wid their wings. one day i climbed up and peeped through a crack. i seen a lot of folks chopping cotton. it looked so easy. they was singing. "betsy done the milking. i'd sit or stand 'round till the butter come. she ax me which i wanted, milk or butter. i'd tell her. she put a little sugar on my buttered bread. it was so good i thought sometimes she'd fill my cup up with fresh churned milk. "i et in the kitchen; the white folks et in the dining-room. i slep' in granny's house, in granny's bed, in the back yard. granny's name was 'aunt' hannah. she was real old and the boss cook on our place. she learnt all the girls on our place how to cook. kept one or two helping her all the time. it was her part to make them wash their faces every morning soon as they started a fire and keep their hands clean all the time er cooking. granny wore her white apron around her waist all time. betty would make them help her milk. they had to wash the cows udder before they ever milked a drop. miss patsy learnt her black folks to be clean. every one of them neat as a pin sure as you born. "i was so little i couldn't think they got whoopings. i never heard of a woman on the place being whooped. they all had their work to do. grandma cut out and made pants for all the men on the whole farm. "old man rook raised near 'bout all his niggers. he bought whiskey by the barrel. on cold mornings they come by our shop to get their sacks. i heard them say they all got a drink of whiskey. his hands got to the field whooping and singing. the overseers handed it out to them. the women didn't get none as i knowed of. "the paddyrollers run 'em in a heap but master john rook never let them whoop his colored folks. "we lived six miles from holly springs on the big road to memphis. seem like every regiment of yankee and rebel soldiers stopped at our house. they made a rake-off every time. they cleaned us out of something to eat. they took the watches and silverware. the yankees rode up on our porch and one time one rode in the hall and in a room. miss patsy done run an' hid. i stood about. i had no sense. they done a lot every time they come. i watched see what all they would do. they burnt a lot of houses. "a little white boy said, 'i tell you something if you give me a watermelon.' the black man give the boy a big watermelon. he had a big patch. the boy said, 'my papa coming take all your money away from you some night.' he fixed and sure 'nough he come dressed like a ku klux. he had some money but they didn't find it. one of the ku kluxes run off and left his spurs. the colored folks killed some and they run off and leave their horses. they come around and say they could drink three hundred fifteen buckets of water. they throw turpentine balls in the houses to make a light. they took a ball of cotton and dip it in turpentine, light it, throw it in a house to make a light so they could see who in there. a lot of black folks was killed and whooped. their money was took from them. "the third year after the war ma and pa come and got me. they made a crop for a third. that was our first year off of rook's place. i love them rook's girls so good right now. wish i could see them or knowd where to write. i had to learn my folks. i played with my sisters all my life but i never had lived with them. when pa come for me they had my basket full of dresses and warm underclothes, clean and ironed. they sent ma some sweet potatoes and two big cakes. one of them was mine. miss patsy said, 'let fannie come back to see my girls.' i went back and visited. granny lived in her house and cooked till she died. i had a place with granny at her house. we went back often and we helped them after freedom. they was good white folks as ever breathed. there was good folks and bad folks then and still is. "times is hard. i was raised in the field. i made seven crops here--near brinkley--with my son. i had two girls. one teaches in brinkley, fourth or fifth grade; one girl works for a family in new york. my son fell off a tall building he was working on and bursted his head. he was in detroit. times is hard now. the young folks is going at too fast a gait. they are faster than the old generation. no time to sit and talk. on the go all the time. hurrying and worrying through time. hard to make a living." interviewer: zillah cross peel information given by: "gate-eye" fisher residence: washington county, arkansas "i was jes' a baby crawlin' 'round on the floor when war come" said "gate-eye" fisher, who lives in a log house covered with scraps of old tin, on what is known as the old bullington farm near lincoln. his one room log cabin is "down in the bresh" back of the barn and when new renters come on the place, they just take it for granted that "gate-eye" just belongs. he bothers no one. no floors, no windows just a door, a bed, stove and a table. yes and a lantern and a chair. "yes mam, my mother, caroline, belonged to the mister dave moore family. his wife, miss pleanie, was a reagan. yes mam, they was good folks. when the war come, my pa, harrison fisher and my ma stayed on the place, mister moore had lots of land and stock--and he and his folks went to texas, nearly everybody did 'round here, and he took some of his fine stock with him but he called my pa and ma in and told them he wanted them to stay on the place and take care of all the things. pa was boss over all the slaves. i guess mos' all my white folks is dead. mos' of them all buried down yan way to ft. smith. one of mister moore's daughters, miss mary, married dr. davenport and miss sinth (cynthia) went to live with her." (the moores came from kentucky and tennessee and settled at cane hill, washington county, about . the reagans came about the same time. the first schools in the county were at cane hill). "yes mam, i guess all the colored folks that belonged to mister moore, but me, is dead. i guess. my mother, caroline, stayed in the house nearly all the time and took care of missy's children, and when they come home from school she'd hear them learn their abc's. that's how come i can read and write. my ma taught me, out of an old blue back speller. yes mam, i learned to read and can't write much, jes my own name. yes mam, i kinda believe in signs that's how come i wear this leather strap 'round my wrist it keeps me from havin' rheumatism, neuralgia. yes mam, it helps. i used to believe in signs a lot and i used to believe in wishes. i used to wish a lot of bad wishes on folks till one day i read a piece from new york and it said the bad wishes that you made would come back to you wosser than you wished, so i don't wish no more. i got scared and don't wish nothin' to no body." "after the war ole mister and ole missey called in my ma and pa and asked them if they wanted to still stay on the place or go somewhere. 'bout ten of us stayed. then a while after mister moore asked my pa if he wanted to go up on the tilley place-- acres and farm it for what he could make. we, my pa and my ma and my sister mandy, stayed there a long time. then mister moore sold off a little here and a little there and we moved up on the mountain with my sister and her husband, peter doss, where my ma died. then i went down to mister oscar moore's place--he was my missey' boy." "yes mam, i did have a wife. i had a mos' worrysome time. it is a worrysome time when a man comes to takes your wife right away from you. no'm, i don't ever want her to come back." "yes'm, i do my own cooking, and i've put up some fruit. i have a little mite of meat, a little mite of taters, a little mite of beans and peas. i get a little pension too." "these darkies today nearly all get wild. you can't tell what they are going to do tomorrow. they's jes like everybody--some awful good and some awful bad." and in the tiny one room shack, of logs and tin, no window, a swing door held by a leather strap, "gate-eye" does his cooking on a small wood stove. a long bench holds a lantern with a shingly clean globe, a lot of canned fruit, dried beans and peas. the bed is a series of old bed springs. but "gate-eye" just belongs to the neighborhood, and every one feels kindly toward him. he says he is seventy-one years, past. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: ellen fitzgerald brinkley, ark. age: "mama was named anna noles. papa named milias noles. she belong to the whitakers and he belong to gibbs. noles bought them both. they was both sold. mother was born in athens, papa somewhere in kentucky. their owners, the noles, come to aberdeen, mississippi. "grandma, papa's mama, was killed with a battling stick. she was a slender woman, very tall and pretty, papa told me. she was at the spring, washing. they cut a tree off and make a smooth stump. they used a big tree stump for battling. they had paddles, wide as this (two hands wide--eight or ten inches) with rounded-off handle, smoothed so slick. they wet and soap the clothes, put em on that block-tree stump and beat em. rub boards was not heard of in them days. they soaked the clothes, boiled and rinsed a heap. they done good washing. i heard em say the clothes come white as snow from the lye soap they used. they made the soap. they had hard soap and soft soap, made from ashes dripped and meat skins. they used tallow and mutton suet too. i don't know what was said, but i recken she didn't please her mistress--mrs. callie gibbs. she struck her in the small part of her back and broke it. she left her at the spring. somebody went to get water and seen her there. they took her to the house but she finally died. grandpa was dead then. i recken they got scared to keep papa round then and sold him. "i was born first year of the surrender. moster noles told them they was free. they didn't give them a thing. they was glad they was free. they didn't want to be in slavery; it was too tied down to suit em. they lived about places, do little work where they found it. "we dodged the ku klux. one night they was huntin' a man and come to the wrong house. they nearly broke mama's arm pullin' her outen our house. they give us some trouble coming round. we was scared of em. we dodged em all the time. "i was married and had a child eight years old fore i come to arkansas. i come to brinkley first. i was writing to friends. they had immigrated, so we immigrated here and been here ever since. when i come here there was two big stores and a little one. a big sawmill--nothing but woods and wild animals. it wasn't no hard times then. we had a plenty to live on. "my husband was a saw mill hand and a railroad builder. he worked on the section. i nursed, washed, ironed, cooked, cleaned folks houses. we done about right smart. i could do right smart now if white folks hire me. "the night my husband died somebody stole nearly every chicken i had. he died last week. we found out it was two colored men. i ain't needed no support till now. my husband made us a good living long as he was able to go. we raised a family. he was a tolerably dark sort of man. my girls bout his color." the two grown girls were "scouring" the floor. both of them said they were married and lived somewhere else. interviewer: mary d. hudgins person interviewed: henry fitzhugh aged: home: rooms at walnut street several "colored" districts are scattered throughout hot springs. on whittington, within a block of the first presbyterian church and st. joseph's infirmary stand the roanok baptist and the haven methodist (both for colored). architecturally they compare favorably with similar edifices for whites. their choirs have become nationally famous. sunday afternoon concerts are frequent. mid-week ones are not uncommon. at such times special sections are reserved for whites, and are usually filled. visitors to the resort enjoy them immensely. across the street a one-time convent school has been converted into a negro apartment house. a couple of blocks up whittington, walnut veers to the right. it is paved for several blocks. fronting on concrete sidewalks are houses, well painted and boasting yards which indicate pride in possession. some are private homes, some rooming houses and some apartments. porch flower boxes and urns are mostly of concrete studded with crystals. finding henry fitzhugh wasn't easy. the delivery boy at the corner chain store "knows everybody in the neighborhood" according to a passer-by. he offered the address _ _. that number turned out to be an old, but substantial and well cared for two story house. ringing the bell repeatedly brought no response. a couple of women in the yard next door announced that to find fitzhugh one had to "go around back and knock on the last door on the back porch." this procedure too brought no results. another backyard observer offered the suggestion that fitzhugh was probably down at the restaurant eating. school had just been dismissed. two well dressed negro children walked along together, swinging their books. "can you tell me where the restaurant is?" asked the interviewer, stopping them. "do you mean the colored restaurant?" one of the tots asked, not a whit of embarrassment in her manner, no servility, no resentment--just an ordinary question. "it's right over there." the restaurant proved to be large, well lighted, scrupulously clean. tables were well spaced and quite a distance from the counter. sunshine streamed in from two directions. fitzhugh was sitting just outside talking to the boot-black. "yes, ma'am, i's henry fitzhugh. can't work no more since i got hit by an automoble. before that i had a shoe-shine place myself. but i can't work no more. yes 'um i gets the pension. i gets $ a month. it's not much, but i sort of get by. i's got my room up at and i gets my meals down here at the restaurant. yes ma'am, pensions seem to be coming in pretty regular now. been in hot springs a long, long time. come here in . i remembers lots of the old families here. what yo say your name was? your mother was a dengler? sure, i remembers the denglers. mr. dengler had a soda-water shop. i remembers him. when i first come, soon as i was able, i cleaned up for captain mallard. cleaned up all along central in that block he was in. how'd i come to hot springs? i was sick. i had rheumatism. was down with it so bad the doctor had done give me up. he'd stopped giving me medicine. but the lady i was working for, she run a hotel in poplar bluff. they put me on a stretcher and they put me in the baggage car and they brought me clean on in to hot springs. they bathed me at the free bath house. i started getting better right away. 'twasn't long before i was well and able to work. i stayed right on here in hot springs. yes, ma'am i's all arkansas. i was born near little rock. ain't never been out of the state but twice. then i didn't stay long. i worked on a farm that belonged to mr. j.b. henderson. he was an uncle to mr. jerome henderson what was in the bank and mr. jethro henderson what was a judge. no, the war didn't bother us none. we wasn't afraid. we heard the shots, but it seemed just like a whole lot of fire crackers to us. guess we just didn't have sense enough to be afraid. fighting we did [hw: hear was] near pine bluff--the baxter-ware trouble. we seen the soldiers when they come through mt. pleasant, right smart bunch of them. they was confederates. we didn't see none of the yankees. my father was killed during the war. went off to help and never came back. my mother, she died when i was a baby. she was lying down in her cabin before the fire--lying on the hearth, letting me nurse. the door was open and a gust of wind blew her dress in the fire. she dropped me and she screamed and run out into the yard. old miss saw her from the house. she grabbed a quilt and started out. she got to my mother and she wrapped her in the quilt to smother out the fire. but my mother done swallowed fire. she died. that's the story they tell me. i was too little to know. i guess i was about eleven when i went into the fields. what's that, pretty young? i didn't go because they made me. i went because i wanted to be with the men. wasn't nobody around to play with. we was the only family on the farm. it was a pretty good sized farm and they had lots of children. there was miss sally and miss fanny and miss ella and miss myrtle and miss hattie. then there was four boys. stayed on with the folks three years after the surrender. they treated me good and gave me what i wanted. treated me nice--very nice--my white folks. then i went on down to marshall--way down in texas. there i worked for the high sheriff. drove his carriage for him and cleaned up around the yard. i worked for him a whole year then i went back to arkansas and then went up in missouri. wasn't there long before i got sick. i was working for a woman who had a hotel. she was good to me. mighty good she was. yes ma'am. there has been lost chances i has had to do more than i has. but i's sort of satisfied. there's been lots of changes in hot springs since i come. i used to know all the white folks and all the colored folks too. can't do that today. place has got too big. joe golden? yes, i does--i knows joe. he used to have a butcher shop over on malvern. quite a man, joe was. i hasn't seen him in a long time. how is he? pretty good? that's fine. "i remembers mc--mcleod's happy hollow." (hot spring nearest approach to a coney island in the earlier days). "i remembers that they used to have the old stage coach there what the james and younger brothers held up. sort of broken down it was, but it was there. law, law, them was the times. i'll never forget when allen roane brought in the news. allen drove a sort of a hack. he come on into town and he whipped up his horse and he run all over town telling about the hold-up. allen lived just next door to where i does now." down the street passed a colored woman, her head held high. passing the porch where the aged negro man and the young white woman sat talking she paused and gave what was suspiciously like a sniff. fitzhugh grinned. "she's sanctified," he explained. "did you ever hear of tucky-nubby? he was an indian. bob hurley used to bring him to hot springs every year. what medicine shows they used to have here. ain't seen nothing like it lately, everybody knowed tucky-nubby. lots of those medicine shows--free shows, used to come here. but bob hurley and tucky-nubby was the most liked. yes, ma'am, i'm all alone now. my sister married a man a long, long time ago. she didn't live but a couple of years. i's had four children. one of them died when it was born. one died when it was three. one lived until it was seven. one son he lived to be grown. he went to the war. got as far as camp. one day i got a word saying that he was sick. i went but before i could get there he had died. that left me alone. what's that? been married once? i been married _eleven_ times. but it was ten times too many. besides they is all dead, so you might say that i's been married only once. yes, ma'am. thank you ma'am. the quarter will come in powerful handy. when you tries to make out on $ a month a little extra comes in powerful handy. thank you ma'am. i enjoyed talking to you, ma'am." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mary flagg georgia street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm, i was here in civil war days. i was bout twelve years old when lincoln was elected. i remember when he was elected. i was big enough to weave and knit for the soldiers. i remember when the war started. yes ma'm--oh i remember so much. saw all the soldiers and shook hands with em. why i waited on the table when general lee stopped there for dinner on his way from mobile to meet sherman. that was in winchester, mississippi where i was born. i worked in a hotel, yes ma'm. i was raised up in a hotel, called em taverns in those days. i was born right in winchester, mississippi. used to see the soldiers drill every day. if i could remember, i could tell you a heap of things. "my mistress' name was mrs. shaw. she took me away from my mother when i was four years old--taken me for her body servant. she learned me how to do housework and all kinds of sewin'--cuttin' and makin'. i done all the sewin' for her family. "i never went to no school but mrs. shaw tried to teach me and she slapped my jaws many a day bout my book. "i married when i was fifteen just fore the war ended and i forgot everything i ever learned--yes ma'm! i been married four times and they're all dead. i never married when any of em was livin' like a heap of colored folks did. "the yankees come within fifty miles of where we was livin' and then they burned the bridge and turned back. white folks never told us what the war was for but a old german man used to read the paper at the table--every battle they'd fight and when the yankees would whip. oh them was times then. if i could remember i could tell you a heap of things but my mind's gone from me. "old master had about a hundred head of hands and old mistress had a cousin had five hundred. "white folks was good to me. my father was the carriage driver and old mistress used to carry me to church with her every sunday. "i never seen no ku klux but i lived where they was, in mississippi. that was a ku klux state. yes ma'm. "i remember when general lee come to winchester you could hear the horses' feet a mile away, it so cold. "my great grandfather was a full blooded indian. i've lived among the indians in mississippi and bought baskets from em. they lived all around us. yes ma'm, i'm acquainted with em. oh, i been through a little bit. "i started sewin' and weavin' when i was just big enough to reach the treadles. used to sew for mrs. hulburt in bolivar county, mississippi. i remember she started to the mardi gras on a boat called the mary bell. it got burned and she had to turn back. i used to do a heap a sewin'. "everythings changed now. people is so treacherous now. chile, ain't nothin' to this younger generation. now i'm tellin' you the truth. they ain't studyin' nothin' good. sin and corruption all you see now. "last man i married was elder flagg. he was a preacher in the baptist church and as good a preacher as i ever heard. they don't preach the gospel now. "well, i wish i could remember more to tell you, but it's been a long time. i'll be ninety if i live till the th of next may." interviewer: mrs. zillah cross peel person interviewed: doc flowers age: ? home: lincoln, arkansas everybody calls him uncle doc. his name is doc flowers, and he lives in the last house on a street that is just part of a road in the town of lincoln, arkansas. when you stop in front of the house you will find there is no path. one has to watch his step owing to the fact that there is a zigzaggy branch hidden by the tangle of weeds. if old aunt jinney is on the porch she will say, "sorry, honey, but de path done growed up." uncle doc is six feet two and as strong as a lion. whether he is or if he is , he is young-looking for his age. "no'm lady, i'se jes' don' know how old i is. back in dem days didn't keep up with our ages. no record of the born. yes'm i was a pretty good chunk of a boy when de war started." doc belonged to edward choate, who lived on barron forks, near dutch mills in the southwest corner of washington county. barron forks is made up from fly creek and the river jordan creek. about edward choate came from tennessee to arkansas, where he had bought aunt marie [tr: 'a slave' marked out here] and her three sons, doc, abe, and dave. "yes'm, we had a acres or better all along the banks of de river and good valley land where we raised corn, potatoes, wheat, oats, an' 'bacco. master choate had three sons, i recollect, jack, sam, and win. he had a lot of slaves. some of dem was good, some was bad. an' old mister choate had a cat-a-nine-tails. he never did have to whup me, some of dem darkies did get whupped. dar was one who was always dressing up in wimmins clothes and go walking down by de river. "my mother was maria. she worked part time in de kitchen and part time in de field. my mother had three boys and i 'member one of my sisters was sold as a slave. we darkies had cabins all along de river bank. "during de war we all jes' stayed on de place. mister choate and old missy stayed too. after peace was made my mother and all of we went up to prairie grove to live. "yes'm, i voted every chance i got. i voted for harrison for president. no'm, i don't know which harrison. yes'm, i vote republican. "i can't say much for these young darkies these times. "i ben 'roun' some. i went to caldwell, kansas, two times. farming is my occupation. now we jes' live. i get $ a month from the state. yes'm, that there jinney is my wife. her mother celia and she belonged to the ballards of cincinnati. "no'm, i jes' can' tell how old i is. i know i was quite a chunk of a boy when de war started. me and mister win, one of mister choate's boys, was 'bout de same age." (winston choate died in the spring of at the age of years, according to a niece.) the choate place down on barron forks is still owned by one of the choates, a grandson of the first owner, edward choate. a granddaughter of mr. choate lives in fayetteville and said that there are four or five graves on the old place where negro slaves who belonged to her grandfather were buried, and the children on the place would never go near these graves. they thought they were haunted. so when one asks uncle doc how old he is he will say, "i know i was jes' a chunk of a boy when de war started so i mus' be 'bout nex' spring." aunt jinney, his wife, sat on the porch and just rocked back and forth while uncle doc was talking. she didn't speak while doc was speaking. "law, honey, i had good white folks. none of dem never struck their colored folks. no'm. me an' my mother celia belonged to mister ballard at cincinnati. old missey's name was miss liza, an' she kept my ma in de house wid her to wait on her. yes'm all de white folks always kept a little darkey in de house to wait on all of dem. dem was good times 'fo' de war. yes'm good times--plenty to eat. good times. i was jes' a baby crawling on de flo' when de war come." the interviewer didn't ask uncle doc when and why he went to caldwell, kansas the two times. she knew that uncle doc, big and strong, took another negro's wife away from him and ran off with her to kansas and there left her. later he brought her to arkansas. jinney was his wife and took uncle doc back, but gate-eye didn't take his wife back. nor did the interviewer tell uncle doc that she had been to see old gate-eye fisher and had heard the long ago story of uncle doc taking his wife, and what a worrysome time he had. in an old record marked "miscellaneous" in the washington county courthouse at fayetteville, arkansas, one can find this emancipation paper: "for and in consideration of the love and affection of my wife for my little negro girl (a slave) named celia, about two years old, i do by these presents henceforth and forever give to said celia her liberty and freedom, and through fear of some mistake, mishap or accident, i now hereby firmly bind myself, heirs and representatives forever in accordance with this indenture of emancipation. "in testimony whereof witness my hand and seal this th day of january . signed: thomas b. ballard witnesses: charles baylor sumet mussett" jinney, wife of doc flowers, is the daughter of the said celia. "yes'm," said jinney, "miss liza, my old missy, always had my mother right by her side all the time to wait on her. she were always good to all her colored folks. no'm she'd never let anybody be mean to her colored folks." jinney must have learned the art of house keeping from miss liza, for her little three-room home that she and doc rent for $ a month is spotless. maybe the "path is growed up with weeds," but one just can't blame that on jinney. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: frances fluker, edmondson, arkansas age: [may ] "i was born the th day of december in marshall county, mississippi. our owners was dr. george wilson and mistress mary. they had one son i knowed, dr. wilson at coldwater, mississippi. my parents was viney perry and dock bradley. "i never seen my pa. i heard about him since i been grown. he left when the war was going on and never went back. mama had ten children and i am all that's living now. old mistress set my name and age down in her bible. i sent back and my niece just cut it out and sent it to me so i could get my pension. i pasted it in the front of my bible. i was never sold. it was freedom when i first recollect. "ma was the cook for the white folks. grandma perry come from north carolina i heard 'em say. she was a widow woman. when company come they would send us out to play. they never talked to us children, no ma'am, not 'fore us neither. i come a woman 'fore i knowed what it was. my sisters knowed better than tell me. they didn't tell me nothin'. "when it wasn't company at ma's they was at work and singing. at night we was all tired and went to bed 'cause we had to be up by daybreak--children and all. they said it caused children's j'ints to be stiff sleeping up in the day. all old folks could tell you that. "this young set ain't got no strength neither. ma cooked and washed and raised five children up grown. the slaves didn't get nary thing give 'em in the way of land nor stock. they got what clothes they had and some provisions. "ma was ginger cake. they said pa was black. i don't know. grandma was reddish and lighter still than ma. they said she was part cherokee indian. her hair was smooth and pretty. she combed her hair with the fine comb to bring the oil out on it and make it slick. i recollect her combing her hair. it was long about on her shoulders. "i heard about the ku klux but i never seed none of 'em. ma said her owners was good to her. ma never had but one husband. "i come to arkansas . mr. passler in coldwater, mississippi had bought a farm at onida. we had worked for him at lula, mississippi. me and my husband come here. my husband died the first year. i cooked some in my younger days but field work and washing was my work mostly. i like' field work long as i was able to go. "my first husband cleared up eighty acres of land. he and myself done it, we had help. we got in debt and lost it. he bought the place. that was in pinola county close to sardis. i had four children. one daughter living. "what i think it was give me rheumatism was i picked cotton, broke it off frozen two weeks on the sleet. i picked two hundred pounds a day. i got numb and fell and they come by and got a doctor. he said it was from overwork. i got over that but i had rheumatism ever since. "i learned to read. i went to shiloah school--and church too--several terms. mr. will dunlap was my first teacher. he was a white man. he run the school a good while but i don't know how long. my name is frances christiana fluker. i been farming all my life, nothin' but farmin'. never thought 'bout gettin' sick 'cause i knowed i couldn't. "i jus' get $ and that is all. it cost more to send get the commodities than it do to buy them. we don't get much of them. i needs clothes--union suits. 'course i wears 'em all summer. if they would give me yarn and needles i could knit my socks. 'course i can see and ain't doing nothing else. i needs a dress. i ain't got but this one dress." note: the two old beds were filthy with slick dirt. they had two chairs and a short bench around the stove and a trunk in which she kept the little yellow torn to pieces bible tied around the back with a string. the large board door was kept wide open for light i suppose. there were no windows to the room. i heard the reason she gets only $ was because her daughter lives there and keeps two of her son's children and they try to get the young grandson work and help out and support his children and mother at least. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: ida may fluker route , box , pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in slavery times in clark county, alabama. clover hill was the county seat. "elias campbell was old master. i know the first time i ever saw any plums, old master brought 'em. i 'member that same as yesterday. "i 'member the same as if 'twas yesterday when the yankees come. we chillun would hide behind the door. had on blue suits with brass buttons. so you see i'm no baby. "i 'member my mother and the other folks would go up to the big house and help make molasses. didn't 'low us chillun to go but we'd slip up there anyway. "old missis' name miss annis. she was good to us. "i didn't do nothin' but play around in the yard and tote wood. used to tote water from the wood spring. had a spring called wood spring. "my mother was the cook and my grandma was the spinner. i used to weave after freedom. "i know the yankees come in there and got a lot of fodder. they was drivin' a lot of cows. we chillun would be scared of 'em--mama would be at the big house. "mama belonged to the campbells and papa belonged to davis solomon, and i know every christmas they let him come to see mama, and he'd bring me and my sister a red dress buttoned in the back. i 'member it same as if 'twas yesterday 'cause i was crazy 'bout them red dresses. "i used to hear the folks talkin' 'bout patrollers. yes ma'am, i heered that song 'run nigger run paddyrollers will ketch you jes' 'fore day.' i know you've heered that song. "i heered papa talk about how he was sold. he say the overseer so mean he run off in the woods and eat blackberries for a week. "i guess we had plenty to eat. i know mama used to fetch us somethin' to eat from the house. old missis give it to her. i know i was glad to get it. "when the people was freed they was so glad they went from house to house and prayed and give thanks to the lord. "our folks stayed right there and worked on the shares. "i never went to school but about two weeks. my papa was hard workin'. other folks would let their chillun rest but he wouldn't let his chillun rest. he sure did work us hard. "you know in them days people moved 'round so much they didn't have time to keep up no remembrance 'bout their ages. we didn't have no time to see 'bout no ages--had to work. that's the truth." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: wash ford, des arc, arkansas age: or ? "i was born close to des arc and hickory plains, seems like about half way. mama's master was named powell. papa's master was frank ford. my parents was fannie and henry ford. i was the oldest child. there was boys, girls of us. "they didn't get anything after freedom. they kept on farming. they started working on shares. that was all they could do. if they expected anything i never heard it. "i heard my mother say when i was small papa was bouncing me up and down. he was lying on the floor playing like wid me. she looked up the road or 'cross the field one, and said, 'yonder come some soldiers. what they coming here for?' papa put me down and run. he hid. they didn't find him. it was soldiers from de valls bluff i judge. they made the colored men go wait on them and fight too, if they run up on one. that is what i heard. "my father voted. he voted a republican ticket. i do cause he did i reckon. i still vote. if the colored man could vote in the primary it wouldn't be no better. they know better who to put in office, to run the offices right. i think it is right for a woman to vote. "i been farming all my life. i was a section hand much as six months in all my life. i work at the veneer mills but they never run no more. i am having a hard time. i have high blood pressure. i can't pick cotton. i can't even get a mess of turnip greens. the social welfare helps me a little and i am janitor up town in two offices. they hand me a little pocket change. it amount to maybe $ a month. i had that job four years. if i could work i would be on the farm. i could make a living there. i always did. i had plenty on the farm. "young folks don't take on no manners. the young folks take care of themselves. it is the old ones seeing a hard time now." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: wash ford, des arc, ark. age: ? "one thing i remembers hearin' my folks talk bout. they had a leader hoeing cotton. his name was john. he was a fast hand. he hoe one row a piece and reach over and hoe the other. he'd get way ahead of the other hands. if they didn't keep up they get a whoopin. so he rest till they ketch up. once he hoed up to a tree--big shade tree out in the field. he stuck his hoe in the root of the tree and a moccasin bit him bout that time. it bit him right on the toe. they took him up to the house but he died. "i was born close to des arc and hickory plains. my parents was henry and fannie ford. her master was named powell and his master was named frank ford. i was the oldest 'mong six boys and four girls. my folks didn't git nuthing. i don't think they expected freedom much. they heard they goiner be free and knowed they was fightin'. they didn't know what freedom be like. when they was set free at devalls bluff they signed up. they went back and went on farmin' lack nothin' ever happened. that what i heard em say when i was small boy. "i voted--republican ticket, i believe. if i vote that what i vote. i reckon the women ought to vote. i still vote that is if i sees fit to vote. "my father run from the soldiers. he didn't go to the war as i ever knowd of. "i been farmin' all my life till i got so nocount i ain't able to do nothin' no more. i worked on the section bout six months. i worked some off an on at the veneer mill till it shut down. i does a little janitor work now and the welfare help me a little. "the present conditions good if a fellow able to pick cotton but if they run through with it times be hard in the heart of the winter cause they cain't git no credit. times is hard for old folks." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: judia fortenberry arch street, little rock, arkansas age: occupation: field hand [may ] [hw: slaves allowed to visit] "i was born three miles west of hamburg in ashley county, arkansas, in the year , in the month of october. i don't know just what day of the month it was. "my mother was named indiana simms and my father was named burrell simms. my father's mother was named ony simms, and my mother's mother was named maria young. i don't know what the names of their parents was. "my mother's master was named robert tucker. my father's master was named hartwell simms. their plantations were pretty close together, but i don't know how my father and my mother got together. i guess they just happened to meet up with each other. the slaves from the two plantations were allowed to visit one another. after their marriage, the two continued to belong to different masters. every sunday, they would visit one another. my father used to come to visit his wife every sunday and through the week at night. "my mother had ten children. houses "i was born in a log house with one room. it was built with a stick and dirt chimney. it had plank floors. they didn't have nothin' much in the way of furniture--homemade beds, stools, tables. we had common pans and tin plates and tin cans to use for dishes. the cabin had one window and one door. patrollers "i have heard my mother and father tell many a story of the pateroles. but i can't remember them. my father said they used to go into the slave cabins and take folks out and whip them. they'd go at night and get 'em out and whip 'em. how freedom came "i was so little that i don't know much about how freedom came. i just know he took us all and went somewheres and made him a crop. went to another man. didn't stay on the place where he was a slave. he never got anything when he was freed. i never heard of any of the slaves getting anything. schooling "i went to free school after the war. i just went along during the vacation when they weren't doing any farming. that is all the education i got. i can't tell how many seasons i went--four or five, i reckon. i never did go any whole season. i never had much chance to go to school. people didn't send their children to school much in those days. i went to school in monticello, but most of my schooling was in country schools. occupation "when i first went to work, i picked cotton. that is at a place out near hamburg. i picked cotton about ten or fifteen years. then i went to town--monticello. i washed and ironed. about forty-five years ago, i came to little rock, and have been here every since. washing and ironing has been my support. i have sometimes cooked. opinions "i don't know what i think about the young people. seems to me they coming to nothing. lot of them do wrong just because they got a chance to do it. i'm a christian. i belong to the a.m.e.'s. you know how they do. song i belong to the band that good old christian band thank god i belong to the band. chorus steal away home to jesus i ain't got long to stay here. there'll i'll meet my mother, my good old christian mother, mother, how do you do; thank god i belong to the band. i can't remember the music. but that's on old song we used to sing 'way back yonder. i can't remember any more of the verses. you got enough anyhow." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: emma foster n. magnolia, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm, i was born in time of slavery--seven years before surrender. no'm, i wasn't born in arkansas. born in claiborne parish, louisiana. "i remember hearin' the big guns shoot. i was small and i didn't know what it was only by what they told me. "my parents belonged to the harts. my mother run off and left me, a year-old baby. "i remember better when i was young than i do now. "after i got big enough--you know, a little old nasty somethin' runnin' around in the yard--after i got big enough, they took me in the house to rock the cradle, and i stayed there till i was twenty-three. i would a stayed longer but they was so cruel to me. "i didn't know nothin'. i run off and stayed with a colored preacher and his family not far away. you know i was crazy. one day the preacher said some of his members was objectin' to me stayin' there and he was goin' to tell my white folks where i was. and sure enough, he did, and one morning i was out in the field and i saw the son-in-law comin'. so i went back and worked for him and his wife. "me? all i did do was farmin' when i was young. "oh, i been in arkansas 'bout fifty years. my oldest boy was fourteen when i come here and he is sixty-four now. "no, honey, i can't cook now. i'd burn it up. i used to cook. it's a poor dog that won't wag its own tail. "all i know is i had a hard time, i been married three times. my last husband was a preacher and he was so mean i left him. i told him if all preachers was like him, hell was full of 'em. "i went to chicago and lived with my son a while but i didn't like it, so i come back here and i been here right in the yard with mrs. o'neal eight years washin' and ironin'--anything come to hand. "now if there's goin' to be a death in my family, i can see that 'fore it happens. i was out in the potato patch one day and it started to rain and i come in and somethin' just bore down on me and i started to cry. i didn't know why. i thought, 'oh, lord, is somethin' goin' to happen to my son?' but instead it was my grandson. he got killed that evenin'." name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: birthmarks story:--information this information given by: emma foster (c) place of residence: n. magnolia street, pine bluff, arkansas occupation: laundress age: [tr: personal information moved from bottom of first page.] "i know i marked one of my babies with beer. it was 'cause i wanted some beer and couldn't get it. and when it was born it had a place on the back of its neck looked like beer and she just foamed at the mouth. and when she was about a week old i got some beer and give it to her with a teaspoon and she quit foamin'. "and another time there was a boy on the place had a finger that the doctor had done took the bone out. he and i used to love to rassle (wrestle) and one day he said, 'oh, emma, you hurt my finger.' and like a fool, you know i took his hand and just rubbed that finger. and do you know, when my baby was born it had six fingers on each hand." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: ira foster w. eureka street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in slavery because when the people come back from the war i was a pretty good sized yellin' boy when freedom come. "i heerd 'em tellin' 'bout my young master comin' back from the war. "yes ma'am, i was sure born in arkansas; i won't tell no lie 'bout that. "my mother's old master was named foster and after she married she belonged to hezekiah bursey. "she was born in alabama and she said she was pretty badly treated. "she was the cook and then she was the weaver and the spinner. "i never have been to school. never did learn nothin'. my father put me to work soon as i was big enough. "i always done farm work all my life till 'bout twenty years ago as near as i can come at it. i went to saw millin' and i didn't do nothin' but manufacture lumber. i worked for the camden lumber company eighteen years and never caused 'em a minute's trouble. "if i just had enough to live on i wouldn't do a thing but just sit around 'cause i think i done worked my share. why, some of the white folks say, 'foster, you ought to have a pension of thirty or forty dollars a month.' and i say, 'why?' and they say, 'cause you look just like a darky that has worked hard in this world.' "i suffers with the rheumatism in my right leg clear up and down. seems like sometimes i can't hardly get around." folklore subjects name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: songs of pre-war days story:--information this information given by: ira foster place of residence: w. eureka, pine bluff, arkansas occupation: none age: [tr: personal information moved from bottom of first page.] "'you may call me raggedy pat 'cause i wear this raggedy hat, and you may think i'm a workin' but i ain't.' i used to hear my uncle sing that. that's all the words i can remember." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: leonard franklin temporary: ridgeway, little rock, arkansas permanent: warren, arkansas age: [hw: mother whipped overseer] "i don't know exactly the year i was born. but my father told me i was born since the civil war. i am seventy years old. they always tell me when my birthday come 'round it will be in january--the eighteenth of january. "my father's name was abe franklin and my mother's name was lucy franklin. i know my father's mother but i didn't ever know his father. his mother's name was maria franklin. my mother's father was harris pennington. i never did see her mother and never did see her. "i was born in warren, arkansas. my mother and father were born in warren. that is on the outer edge of warren. my mother's slavery farm was on what they called big creek. it is named franklin creek. two or three miles of it ran through franklin's farm. "my father's master was al franklin. and my mother's master's name was hill pennington. one of hill pennington's sons was named fountain pennington. he lives about five miles from warren now on the south highway. "my mother had about three masters before she got free. she was a terrible working woman. her boss went off deer hunting once for a few weeks. while he was gone, the overseer tried to whip her. she knocked him down and tore his face up so that the doctor had to 'tend to him. when pennington came back, he noticed his face all patched up and asked him what was the matter with it. the overseer told him that he went down in the field to whip the hands and that he just thought he would hit lucy a few licks to show the slaves that he was impartial, but she jumped on me and like to tore me up. old pennington said to him, 'well, if that is the best you could do with her, damned if you won't just have to take it.' "then they sold her to another man named jim bernard. bernard did a lot of big talk to her one morning. he said, 'look out there and mind you do what you told around her and step lively. if you don't, you'll get that bull whip.' she said to him, 'yes, and we'll both be gittin' it.' he had heard about her; so he sold her to another man named cleary. he was good to her; so she wasn't sold no more after that. "there wasn't many men could class up with her when it come to working. she could do more work than any two men. there wasn't no use for no one man to try to do nothin' with her. no overseer never downed her. "they didn't kill niggers then--not in slavery times. not 'round where my folks were. a nigger was money. slaves were property. they'd paid money to git 'im and money to keep 'im and they couldn't 'ford to kill 'em up. when they couldn't manage them they sold them and got their money out of them. "the white people started to texas with the colored folks near the end of the war and got as far as el dorado. word come to 'em that freedom had come and they turned back. "a paterole come in one night before freedom and asked for a drink of water. he said he was thirsty. he had a rubber thing on and drank two or three buckets of water. his rubber bag swelled up and made his head or the thing that looked like his head under the hood grow taller. instead of gettin' 'fraid, mother threw a shovelful of hot ashes on him and i'll tell you he lit out from there and never did come back no more. "right after the war my folks went to work on the farm. they hired out by the month. [hw: my father] didn't never say how much he got. when they had a settlement at the end of the year, the boss said his wages didn't amount to nothing because his living took it up. said he had ate it all up. after that, he took my mother's advice and took up part of his wages in a cow and so on, and then he'd always have something to show for his work at the end of the year when it come settling up time. it was ten years before he got a start. it was hard to get ahead then because the niggers had just got free and didn't have nothin' and didn't know nothin'. my father had two brothers that just stayed on with the white folks. they stayed on till they got too old to work, then they had to go. couldn't do no good then. my father was always treated well by his master. "i got my schooling at warren. i went to the tenth grade. could have gone farther but didn't want to. i was looking at something i thought was better than education. when i got of age, i come up here and just run about. i was what you might say pretty fine. i was looking so high i couldn't find nothing to suit me. i went 'round to a number of places and none of them suited me. so i went on back home and been there ever since. "i married once in my life. my wife is still living. my wife is a good woman. no, if i got rid of this one, wouldn't do to take another one. i am the father of ten living children. i made a living by doing anything that come up--housework, gardening, anything. "i don't get no government help. i don't want none yet. god has seen me this far. i think he'll see me to the end. he is good to me; he's given me such a good time i couldn't help but serve him. only been sick once in seventy years. "i belong to the baptist church. god is my boss now. he has brought me this far and he's able to carry me across" interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: eliza frazier saracen street, pine bluff, arkansas age: ? "i don't know when i was born or 'zackly how old i is, but i was born in south carolina and come here before the war. "i belonged to wiley mosley and he brought me and my mother and my sister here to arkansas. i don't 'member it at all 'cause i was a baby, but i know what wiley mosley and my mother told me. "settled in redland township. that's what they called it. he bought a plantation there. there was three brothers come to this country and they didn't live very far from each other. "i 'member hearin' 'em talk 'bout the war and one time i heered the guns a poppin'. they said they was just passin' through. i was just a small girl but i 'member it. i seed the yankees too. i 'member they'd come up in the yard on hosses and jump down and go in the smokehouse and take the meat and go to the dairy house and get the milk. "old master was gone to the war. i 'member when he was gwine and i 'member when he come back. old missis said he was up in missouri. got shot right through the foot once. i know he come home and stayed 'til he was well, then he went back. i don't know how long he stayed but he went back--i know that. and he come back after the war--i 'member that. "i 'member one time when i upset the cradle. miss jane wouldn't 'low me to take the baby up but i rocked the cradle. and one time i reckon i rocked it too hard and it turned over. miss jane heard it time it hit the floor and she come runnin'. i was under the house by that time but she called me out and whipped me and told me to get back in the house. i know i didn't turn it over no more. "the yankees never said nothin' to me--talked to my mother though, and old mis'. "they said they was fightin' to free the niggers. there was a boy on the place and while old master was gone to war, he'd just go and come and get the news. he didn't do that when old master was home. i know he brought the news when peace declared. patrollers got him one night. "i 'member when peace declared ever'body went around shoutin' and hollerin', 'the niggers is free, the niggers is free!' "our folks stayed there on the place right smart while after freedom. i 'member i was gwine out to the field and woodson, he was the baby i upset, he wanted to go along and wanted me to tote him and i know old master said, 'put him down and let him walk.' "they told me i was twenty when i was married--the white folks told me. i know my mother asked how old i was and they said i was 'bout twenty. i 'member it well enough. "i never went to school but i knowed my abc's and could read some in the first reader. i ain't forgot about it. i thinks about it sometimes. "the biggest work i has done is farm work. "i've had nine chillun and raised all of 'em but one." note: eliza lives with her son who is well educated and a retired city mail carrier and he is now sending three children to the a.m.& n. college here. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mary frazier, near biscoe, arkansas age: "my parents was neily and amos hamilton. they lived in marshall county, about forty-eight miles from memphis. they belong to people by that same name. "i heard them all say how they come to be way out in mississippi. the thompsons owned grandma diana and her husband in south carolina. master jefferies went there from mississippi and bought grandma. they let all twelve of her children go in the sale some way but they didn't sell grandpa. he grieved so till the same man come back a long time afterward and bought him. jefferies was good to them. i was born in mississippi. grandma cooked all the time. mama and papa both worked in the field. i heard grandma say every one of her children was born in south carolina. mr. jefferies, one of the younger set, lived in clarendon, arkansas. since i come to this country i seen him. i lived over there pretty close by. "i got no 'pinion worth telling about our young folks. they want to have a big time when they are young. all young folks is swift on foot that way. times is funny. funniest times ever been in my life. is times right now? ain't no credit no more. that one thing making times so hard. money is the whole thing now'days." el dorado district folklore subjects name of interviewer: pernella anderson subject: tales of slavery days story:--information [feb ] this information given by: tyler frazier place of residence: ouachita county occupation: domestic age: [tr: personal information moved from bottom of first page.] ah wus a young nigger bout nine or ten years ole when de slaves wus freed. ah got freed in texas. we went tuh texas on a steamboat an dey wuz a lot uv people on de steamboat. we sho 'joyed dat trip. we went wid our mistress an moster. dey wuz de lides, mistuh john lide's parents. de lides run one uv de bigges' stores in camden now, if yo knows dem dey is de same lides. one uv de boys wuz named blackie lide, one john lide, one named hugh lide. dem wuz granchillun. hannah lide, minnie watts now, dey wuz de granchillun. now let me see, one miss wuz named emma lide. dem sho wuz good fokes. ole miss died when we wuz on ouh way tuh dis country. an ole moster been daid since way back yondah. but when we got tuh dis country we settled bout seven or eight miles fum camden in ouachita county. ole moster wuz named peter lide. we jes went tuh school nough tuh learn our a.b.c.'s cause we had tuh work in de fiel. we carried our meat tuh de fiel an cooked hot ash cake fuh dinnuh. we kep' spare ribs and backbone all de year roun'. we pickled de backbone an dem spareribs. we worked evah day. wednesday night wuz wash night. dat's when de women would do de washin. we'd go tuh de fiel way fo day. back in dem days we had er log church. ah went in mah shirt-tail till ah wuz six. mis lide made mah fust pair uv britches. ah membuhs one time ah went to miss lide's garden an stole watuh mellons. ah put em in a sack an when ah want tuh come outn de garden ah got ovah de fence an got hung an moster caught me. ah'm tellin de truth. ah aint had no desire tuh steal since. moster peter lide's favorite song wus dis: "hit's er long way tuh heaven." ah kin mos heah him singin hit now. he wuz a christian man. he wuz white and owned slaves but he wuz a good christian. we didn' know bout no money. when we got sick dat's when we got biscuit. we didn' know bout thanksgiving day and christmas. we heard de white fokes tawkin bout hit but we didn' know whut hit meant. when anybody would die dey made de coffin. didn' have no funeral, no singin, no nothin' jes put dem in de groun. dat wus all. nebber stop work. we nevah plowed er hoss. we used oxen teams. we made good crops den. we raised all our sumpin tuh eat. when ah wus a lil' bitsy boy mrs. lide use tuh tell us stories at night. she give us our fireside trainin. she tole us when anybody wuz a tawkin not tuh but in. ah'm seventy five yers ole now an ah aint nevah fuhgot dat. we ole fokes aint got long tuh stay heah now. we lives in de days dats past. all we knows tuh tawk bout is what we use tuh do. when mah time is up ah is ready tuh go cause ah is done mah bes' fuh mah god, mah country and mah race. interviewer: beulah sherwood hagg person interviewed: aunt mittie freeman aged: home: elm st., north little rock. in home of granddaughter. [aug ] story by aunt mittie freeman "howdy, honey. come on in and set down. it's awful hot, ain't it? what you come to see me for? you says old uncle boss tell you i'se old slave lady? that's right, that's right. us old war folks never fergits the others. anything you wants to know, honey, jest go on and ax me. i got the bestest remembrance. orange county, mississippi was where i was borned at but i been right here in arkansas before sech thing as war gonna be. in slavery, it was, when my white folks done come to camden. you know where that is?--camden on the ouachita? that's the place where we come. yes ma'am, it was long before the war when the doctor--i means dr. williams what owned my pappy and all us younguns--say he going to arkansas. theys rode in the fine carriages. us slaves rode in ox wagons. lord only knows how long it tuck a-coming. every night we camped. i was jest a little tike then but i has a remembrance of everything. the biggest younguns had to walk till theys so tired theys couldn't hardly drag they feets; them what had been a-riding had to get out the ox wagon and walk a far piece; so it like this we go on. dr. williams always wanted to keep his slaves together. he was sure good man. he didn't work his slaves hard like some. my pappy was a kind of a manager for doctor. doctor tended his business and pappy runned the plantation where we lived at. our good master died before freedom. he willed us slaves to his chilrun. you know--passeled (parcelled) us out, some to this child, some to that. i went to his daughter, miss emma. laws-a-mercy, how i wishes i could see her face onct more afore i dies. i heerd she married rich. unh-unh! i'd shore love to see her onct more. after old master died, poor old pappy got sent to another plantation of the fam'ly. it had a overseer. he was a northerner man and the meanest devil ever put foot on a plantation. my father was a gentleman; yes ma'am, he was jest that. he had been brung up that-a-way. old master teached us to never answer back to no white folks. but one day that overseer had my pappy whipped for sompin he never done, and pappy hit him. so after that, he sent pappy down to new orleans to be sold. he said he would liked to kill pappy, but he didn't dare 'cause he didn't owned him. pappy was old. every auction sale, all the young niggers be sold; everybody pass old pappy by. after a long time--oh, maybe five years--one day they ax pappy--"are you got some white folks back in arkansas?" he telled them the williams white folks in camden on the ouachita. theys white. after while theys send pappy home. miss, i tells you, nobody never seen sech a home coming. old miss and the young white folks gathered round and hugged my old black pappy when he come home; they cry on his shoulder, so glad to git him back. that's what them williams folks thought of their slaves. yes ma'am. old miss was name miss 'liza. she skeered to stay by herself after old master died. i was took to be her companion. every day she wanted me to bresh her long hair and bathe her feet in cool water; she said i was gentle and didn't never hurt her. one day i was a standing by the window and i seen smoke--blue smoke a rising over beyond a woods. i heerd cannons a-booming and axed her what was it. she say: "run, mittie, and hide yourself. it's the yanks. theys coming at last, oh lordy!" i was all incited (excited) and told her i didn't want to hide, i wanted to see 'em. "no" she say, right firm. "ain't i always told you yankees has horns on their heads? they'll get you. go on now, do like i tells you." so i runs out the room and went down by the big gate. a high wall was there and a tree put its branches right over the top. i clim up and hid under the leaves. they was coming, all a marching. the captain opened our big gate and marched them in. a soldier seen me and said "come on down here; i want to see you." i told him i would, if he would take off his hat and show me his horns. the day freedom came, i was fishing with pappy. my remembrance is sure good. all a-suddent cannons commence a-booming, it seem like everywhere. you know what that was, miss? it was the fall of richmond. cannons was to roar every place when richmond fell. pappy jumps up, throws his pole and everything, and grabs my hand, and starts flying towards the house. "it's victory," he keep on saying. "it's freedom. now we'es gwine be free." i didn't know what it all meant. it seem like it tuck a long time fer freedom to come. everything jest kept on like it was. we heard that lots of slaves was getting land and some mules to set up fer theirselves; i never knowed any what got land or mules nor nothing. we all stayed right on the place till the yankees came through. they was looking for slaves what was staying on. now we was free and had to git off the plantation. they packed us in their big amulance ... you say it wasn't a amulance,--what was it? well, then, their big covered army wagons, and tuck us to little rock. did you ever know where the old penitentiary was? well, right there is where the yanks had a great big barracks. all chilluns and growd womens was put there in tents. did you know that the fust real free school in little rock was opened by the govment for colored chullens? yes ma'am, and i went to it, right from the day we got there. they took pappy and put him to work in the big commissary; it was on the corner of second and main street. he got $ . a month and all the grub we could eat. unh, unh! didn't we live good? i sure got a good remembrance, honey. can't you tell? yes, ma'am. they was plenty of other refugees living in them barracks, and the govment taking keer of all of 'em. i was a purty big sized girl by then and had to go to work to help pappy. a man name captain hodge, a northerner, got a plantation down the river. he wanted to raise cotton but didn't know how and had to get colored folks to help him. a lot of us niggers from the barracks was sent to pick. we got $ . a hundred pounds. what did i do with my money? is you asking me that? bless your soul, honey, i never seen that money hardly long enough to git it home. in them days chilluns worked for their folks. i toted mine home to pappy and he got us what we had to have. that's the way it was. we picked cotton all fall and winter, and went to school after picking was over. when i got nearly growd, we moved on this very ground you is a setting on. pappy had a five year lease,--do you know what that was, i don't--but anyhow, they told him he could have all the ground he could clear and work for five years and it wouldn't cost him nothing. he built a log house and put in a orchard. next year he had a big garden and sold vegables. lord, miss, them white ladies wouldn't buy from nobody but pappy. they'd wait till he got there with his fresh beans and roasting ears. when he got more land broke out, he raised cotton and corn and made it right good. his name was harry williams. he was a stern man, and honest. he was named for his old master. when my brothers got growed they learned shoemakers trade and had right good business in little rock. but when pappy died, them boys give up that good business and tuck a farm--the old lawson place--so to make a home for mammy and the little chilluns. i married freeman. onliest husban ever i had. he died last summer. he was a slave too. we used to talk over them days before we met. the k.k.k. never bothered us. they was gathered together to bother niggers and whites what made trouble. if you tended to your own business, they's let you alone. no ma'am, i never voted. my husband did. yes ma'am, i can remember when they was colored men voted into office. justice of peace, county clerks, and, er--er--that fellow that comes running fast when somebody gets killed. what you call him? coroner? sure, that's him. i know that, 'cause i seen them a-setting in their offices. we raised our fam'ly on a plantation. that's the bestest place for colored chilluns. yes ma'am. my five boys stayed with me till they was grown. they heerd about the railroad shops and was bound theys going there to work. ben--that was my man--and me couldn't make it by ourselfs, so we come on back to this little place where we come soon after the war. he was taken with a tumor on his brains last summer and died in two weeks. he didn't know nothing all that time. my onliest boy what stayed here died jest two weeks after his pa. all them others went to iowa after the big railroad strike here. they was out of work for many years; they didn't like no kind of work but railroad, after they been in the shops. how i a-living now? you wants to know, honest? say honey, is you a relief worker--one of them welfare folkses? lor' god, how i needs help! honey, last summer when my husband and son die they wasn't nothin' to put on 'em to bury in. i told the welfare could i get something clean and whole to bury my dead; honey chile, it's the gospel truth, it was two weeks after they was buried when they brought me the close (clothes). theys told me then i would get $ . a month, but in all this time now, i only had $ . one time. i lives with my daughter here in this house, but her man been outen work so long he couldn't keep up the payments and theys 'bout to loose it. lordy, where'll we go? i made big garden in the spring of the year, and sold a heap. hot summer burnt everything up, now. yessum, that $ . the reliefers give me--i bought my garden stuff with it. i got the rheumatiz a-making the garden. it look like i'm done. i knowed a old potion. it made of pokeberry juice and whiskey. good whiskey. not old cheap corn likker. yessum, you takes fine whiskey--'bout half bottle, and fills up with strained pokeberry juice. tablespoon three times a day. look-a-here, miss. look at these old arms go up and down now. i kin do a washing along with the youngish womens. iffen you wants to know what i thinks of the young folks i tells you. look at that grandchile a-setting there. she fourteen and know more right now than i knowed in my whole life. yes ma'am! she can sew on a machine and make a dress in one day. she read in a book how to make sumthin to eat and go hatch it up. theys fast, too. ain't got no time for olds like me. can't find no time to do nothin' for me. people now makes more money than in old days, but the way they makes it ain't honest. no'am, honey, it jest plain ain't. old honest way was to bend the back and bear down on the hoe. did you ask somethin' 'bout old time songs? sure did have purty music them days. it's so long, honey, i jest can't 'member the names, 'excusing one. it was "hark, from the tombs a doleful sound." it was a burying song; wagons a-walking slow like; all that stuff. it was the most onliest song they knowed. they was other music, though. could they play the fiddle in them days, unh, unh! lordy, iffen i could take you back and show you that handsome white lady what put me on the floor and learned me to dance the contillion! i'm a-thinking we're a-living in the last days, honey, what does you think? yes, mam! we sure is living in the seventh seal. the days of tribulations is on us right now. nothing make like it used to. i sure would be proud iffen i knowed i had a living for the balance of my days. i got a clean and a clear heart--a clean and clear heart. be so to your neighbors and god will make it up to you. he sure will, honey." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mattie fritz, clarendon, arkansas age: "i was born at duncan, arkansas. mother died when i was a baby. old slavery black 'mammy' raised me. i called her 'mammy'. my father was born in the state of mississippi. he got loose there at 'mancipation. his master jack oates got killed in battle. they brung him home and buried him in the garden. down close to duncan on the place. i played in the yard wid mr. jack oates, jr. when we was little fellars. father's master in tennessee was bill tyler. my uncle went back to tennessee to them. his name was tyler oates. mr. jack gates, sr. used to pat me and call me his little nigger. we thought the world and all of our white folks. we sure did. some of 'em 'round 'bout helena they say now. mr. jack, jr., he had two boys and he was a widower. "my own dear mother was jane. my father called hisself bill tyler. my stepmother was liddy. the woman what raised me was 'mammy' all i ever knowed. but her name was luckadoo. "mr. tyler got killed. pa had to stay on take care of his mistress. he got sold. then she died. then mother died. jack oates went to my father and brung him to mississippi, then to arkansas. "master jack tyler hid out. the yankees come at night and caught him there and shot him. his wife lived about two more years. she grieved about him. they took everything and searched the house. my pa was hid under the house. they rumbled down in the cellar and pretty nigh seen him once. he was a little bit er black fellar scroughed back in the dark. all what saved him he wore a black sorter coat. they couldn't see him so good. way he said they would took him to wait on them and be in the fights too. them yankees took massa jack tyler off and sont him back in a while. she had him buried in the garden. she didn't know it was him. "'mammy' was a slavery woman. she was sold first time from a neighbor man to a neighbor man. he was an old man. she ploughed and rolled logs. then she was sold to master luckadoo close to holly grove. they named her eloise, and she was a farm woman. she was so good to me. she was a worker and never took time to tell me about old times. she said luckadoo never whooped her. a storm come and blowed a limb down killed her granddaughter and broke my leg. the same storm killed their mule. she raised a orphan boy too. she died from the change of life but she was old, gray headed. since i'm older i think she had a tumor. 'cause she was old when she took me on. "i gets ten dollars from the welfare. i ain't goiner say nothin' for 'em nor nothin' agin 'em. they's betwix' and between no 'count and good. "times too fast. i can't keep up wid them. 'betwix' and between the fat and the lean.' some do very well i reckon." images provided by the library of congress, manuscript division. [tr: ***] = transcriber note [hw: ***] = handwritten note slave narratives a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress washington volume ii arkansas narratives part prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of arkansas informants mcclendon, charlie mccloud, lizzie mcconico, avalena mccoy, ike mcdaniel, richard h. mcintosh, waters mack, cresa mckinney, warren mcmullen, victoria madden, nannie p. madden, perry mann, lewis martin, angeline martin, josie mathis, bess matthews, caroline maxwell, malindy maxwell, nellie may, ann mayes, joe meeks, rev. jesse metcalf, jeff miller, hardy miller, henry kirk miller, matilda miller, nathan miller, sam miller, w.d. minser, mose minton, gip mitchell, a.j. mitchell, gracie mitchell, hettie mitchell, mary mitchell, moses moon, ben moore, emma moore, patsy moorehead, ada mooreman, mary jane (mattie) morgan, evelina morgan, james morgan, olivia morgan, tom morris, charity morris, emma moss, claiborne moss, frozie moss, mose mullins, s.o. murdock, alex myers, bessie myhand, mary myrax, griffin neal, tom wylie nealy (neely), sally nealy, wylie neland, emaline nelson, henry nelson, iran nelson, james henry nelson, john nelson, lettie nelson, mattie newborn, dan newsom, sallie newton, pete norris, charlie oats, emma odom, helen oliver, jane osborne, ivory osbrook, jane page, annie parker, fannie parker, j.m. parker, judy parker, r.f. parks, annie parnell, austin pen parr, ben patterson, frank a. patterson, john patterson, sarah jane pattillo, solomon p. patton, carry allen payne, harriett mcfarlin payne, john payne, larkin perkins, cella perkins, marguerite (maggie) perkins, rachel perry, dinah peters, alfred peters, mary estes peterson, john pettis, louise pettus, henry c. phillips, dolly piggy, tony pittman, ella pittman, sarah poe, mary pollacks, w.l. pope, john (doc) porter, william potter, bob prayer, louise interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: charlie mcclendon e. fourth avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i don't know exactly how old i am. i was six or seven when the war ended. i member dis--my mother said i was born on christmas day. old master was goin' to war and he told her to take good care of that boy--he was goin' to make a fine little man. "did i live up to it? i reckon i was bout as smart a man as you could jump up. the work didn't get too hard for _me_. i farmed and i sawmilled a lot. most of my time was farmin'. "i been in jefferson county all my life. i went to school three or four sessions. "about the war, i member dis--i member they carried us to camden and i saw the guards. i'd say, 'give me a pistol.' they'd say, 'come back tomorrow and we'll give you one.' they had me runnin' back there every day and i never did get one. they was yankee soldiers. "our folks' master was william e. johnson. oh lord, they was just as good to us as could be to be under slavery. "after they got free my people stayed there a year or two and then our master broke up and went back to south carolina and the folks went in different directions. oh lord, my parents sho was well treated. yes ma'm. if he had a overseer, he wouldn't low him to whip the folks. he'd say, 'just leave em till i come home.' then he'd give em a light breshin'. "my father run off and stay in the woods one or two months. old master say, 'now, jordan, why you run off? now i'm goin' to give you a light breshin' and don't you run off again.' but he'd run off again after awhile. "he had one man named miles johnson just stayed in the woods so he put him on the block and sold him. "i seed the ku klux. we colored folks had to make it here to pine bluff to the county band. if the rebels kotch you, you was dead. "oh lord yes, i voted. i voted the publican ticket, they called it. you know they had this australia ballot. you was sposed to go in the caboose and vote. they like to scared me to death one time. i had a description of the man i wanted to vote for in my pocket and i was lookin' at it so i'd be sure to vote for the right man and they caught me. they said, 'what you doin' there? we're goin' to turn you over to the sheriff after election!' they had me scared to death. i hid out for a long time till i seed they wasn't goin' to do nothin'. "my wife's brother was one of the judges of the election. some of the other colored folks was constables and magistrates--some of em are now--down in the country. "i knew a lot about things but i knew i was in the united states and had to bow to the law. there was the compromise they give the colored folks--half of the offices and then they got em out afterwards. john m. clayton was runnin' for the senate and say he goin' to see the colored people had equal rights, but they killed him as he was gwine through the country speakin'. "the white people have treated me very well but they don't pay us enough for our work--just enough to live on and hardly that. i can say with a clear conscience that if it hadn't been for this relief, i don't know what i'd do--i'm not able to work. i'm proud that god almighty put the spirit in the man (roosevelt) to help us." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: lizzie mccloud short th street, pine bluff, arkansas age: ? "i was one of 'em bless your heart. yes ma'm, yes ma'm, i wouldn't tell you a lie 'bout that. if i can't tell you the truth i'm not goin' tell you nothin'! "oh yes, i was a young lady in slavery times--bred and born in tennessee. miss lizzie and marse john williams--i belonged to them--sho did! i was scared to death of the white folks. miss lizzie--she mean as the devil. she wouldn't step her foot on the ground, she so rich. no ma'm wouldn't put her foot on the ground. have her carriage drive up to the door and have that silk carpet put down for her to walk on. yes lord. wouldn't half feed us and they went and named me after her. "i know all about the stars fallin'. i was out in the field and just come in to get our dinner. got so dark and the stars begin to play aroun'. mistress say, 'lizzie, it's the judgment.' she was just a hollerin'. yes ma'm i was a young woman. i been here a long time, yes ma'm, i been here a long time. worked and whipped, too. i run off many a time. run off to see my mammy three or four miles from where i was. "i never was sold but they took we young women and brought us down in the country to another plantation where they raised corn, wheat, and hay. overseer whipped us too. marse john had a brother named marse andrew and he was a good man. he'd say to the overseer, 'now don't whip these girls so much, they can't work.' oh, he was a good man. oh, white folks was the devil in slavery tines. i was scared to death of 'em. they'd have these long cow hide whips. honey, i was treated bad. i seen a time in this world. "oh lord, yes, that was long 'fore the war. i was right down on my master's place when it started. they said it was to free the niggers. oh lord, we was right under it in davidson county where i come from. oh lord, yes, i knowed all about when the war started. i'se a young woman, a young woman. we was treated just like dogs and hogs. we seed a hard time--i know what i'm talkin' about. "oh god, i seed the yankees. i saw it all. we was so scared we run under the house and the yankees called 'come out dinah' (didn't call none of us anything but dinah). they said 'dinah, we're fightin' to free you and get you out from under bondage.' i sure understood that but i didn't have no better sense than to go back to mistress. "oh lord, yes, i seed the ku klux. they didn't bother me cause i didn't stay where they could; i was way under the house. "yankees burned up everything marse john had. i looked up the pike and seed the yankees a coming'. they say 'we's a fightin' for you, dinah!' yankees walked in, chile, just walked right in on us. i tell you i've seed a time. you talkin' 'bout war--you better wish no more war come. i know when the war started. the secessors on this side and the yankees on that side. yes, miss, i seen enough. my brother went and jined the secessors and they killed him time he got in the war. "no, missy, i never went to no school. white folks never learned me nothin'. i believes in tellin' white folks the truth. "white folks didn't 'low us to marry so i never married till i come to arkansas and that was one year after surrender. "first place i landed on was john clayton's place. mr. john clayton was a yankee and he was good to us. we worked in the field and stayed there two years. i been all up and down the river and oh lord, i had a good time after i was free. i been treated right since i was free. my color is good to me and the white folks, too. i ain't goin' to tell only the truth. uncle sam goin' send me 'cross the water if i don't tell the truth. better _not fool_ with dat man!" interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: lizzie mccloud e. short th street, pine bluff, arkansas age: [tr: appears to be same as previous informant despite age discrepancy.] "well, where you been? i been wonderin' 'bout you. yes lawd. you sure is lookin' fine. "yes, honey, i was bred and bawn in davidson county, tennessee. come here one year after surrender. "my daughter there was a baby jus' sittin' alone, now, sittin' alone when i come here to this arkansas. i know what i'm talkin' about. "lizzie williams, my old missis, was rich as cream. yes lawd! i know all about it 'cause i worked for 'em. "i was a young missis when the war started. i was workin' for my owners then. i knowed when they was free--when they said they was free. "the yankees wouldn't call any of the colored women anything but dinah. i didn't know who they was till they told us. said, 'dinah, we's comin' to free you.' "the white folks didn't try to scare us 'bout the yankees 'cause they was too scared theirselves. them yankees wasn't playin'; they was fitin'. yes, jesus! "had to work hard--and whipped too. wasn't played with. mars andrew come in the field a heap a times and say, 'don't whip them women so hard, they can't work.' i thought a heap of mars andrew. "i used to see the yankees ridin' hosses and them breastplates a shining'. yes lawd. i'd run and they'd say, 'dinah, we ain't gwine hurt you.' lawd, them yankees didn't care for nothin'. oh, they was fine. "my husband was a soldier--a yankee. yes ma'am. they sends me thirty dollars every month, before the fourth. postman brings it right to me here at the house. they treats me nice. "when i come here, i landed on john clayton's place. he was a yankee and he was a good white man too. "i'm the onliest one left now in my family." interviewer: mrs. irene robertson person interviewed: avalena mcconico on the [tr: ---- ----] west of brinkley, arkansas age: [tr: ?] [tr: much of this interview smeared and difficult to decipher; illegible words indicated by "----", questionable words followed by "?".] "grandma was a slave woman. her name was emma harper. she was born in chesterville, mississippi. her young master was jim and miss corrie burton. the old man was john burton. i aimed[?] to see them once. i seen both miss corrie and mr. jim. my grandparents was never sold. they left out after freedom. they stayed there a long time but they left. "the first of the war was like dis: our related folks was having a dance. the yankees come in and was dancing. some "fry boys" [---- ----] them. the next day they were all in the field and heard something. they went to the house and told the white folks there was [----] a fire. they heard it. [----] he [----] about. master told them it was war. miss burton was crying. they heard about [----] in [----] at harrisburg where they could hear the shooting. "they put the slaves to digging. they dug two weeks. they buried their meat and money and a whole heap of things. they never found it. a little white,[?] mollita[?], was out where they were digging. she went in the house. she said, mama, is the devil coming? they said he was." master had them come to him. he questioned them. they told him they got so tired [----] of them said he [----] he [---- ----] the [----] yankees come he'd tell them where all this was, but he was just talking. but when the yankees did come they was so scared they never got close to a yankee. they was scared to death. they never found the meat and money. they [----] and cut the turkeys' heads off and the turkey fell off the rail fence, the head drop on one side and the body on the other. they milked a cow and cut both hind quarters off and leave the rest of the cow there and the cow not dead yet. "mr. south[?] strange at chesterville, mississippi had a pony named zane. the yankees hemmed him and four more men in at malone creek and killed the four men. zane rared up on hind legs and went up a steep cliff and ran three miles. mr. strange's coat was cut off from him. it was a gray coat. mr. strange was a white man. "uncle frank jones was forty years old when they gathered him up out of the woods and put him in the battle lines. all the runaway black folks in the woods was hunted out and put in the yankee lines. uncle frank lived in a cave up till about then. his master made him mean. he got better as he got old. his master would sell him and tell him to run away and come back to his cave. he'd feed him. he never worked and he went up for his provisions. he was sold over and over and over. his master learnt him in books and to how to cuss. he learnt him how to trick the dogs and tap trees like a coon. at the end of the trail the dogs would turn on the huntsman. uncle frank was active when he was old. he was hired out to race other boys sometimes. he never wore glasses. he could see well when he was old. he told me he was raised out from england, arkansas. "when freedom was told 'em uncle frank said all them in the camps hollered and danced, and marched and sung. they was so glad the war was done and so glad they been freed. "grandma was sold in south carolina to mississippi and sold again to dr. shelton. now that was my father's father and mother. she said they rode and walked all the way. they came on ox wagons. she said on the way they passed some children. they was playing. a little white boy was up in a persimmon tree settin' on a limb eating persimmons. he was so pretty and clean. grandma says, 'you think you is some pumpkin, don't you, honey child.' he says, 'some pumpkin and some 'simmon too.' grandma was a house girl. she got to keep her baby and brought him. he was my father. uncle was born later. then they was freed. grandma lived to be ninety-five years old. mrs. dolphy wooly and mrs. shelton was her young mistresses. they kept her till she died. they kept her well. "grandma told us about freedom. she was hired out to the browns to make sausage and dry out lard. five girls was in the field burning brush. they was white girls--mrs. brown's girls. they come to the house and said some blue coats come by and said, 'you free.' they told them back, 'that's no news, we was born free.' grandma said that night she melted pewter and made dots on her best dress. it was shiny. she wore it home next day 'cause she was free, and she never left from about her own white folks till she died and left them. "times seem very good on black folks till hard cold winter and spring come, then times is mighty, mighty bad. it is so hard to keep warm fires and enough to eat. times have been good. black folks in the young generation need more heart training and less book learning. times is so fast the young set is too greedy. they is wasteful too. some is hard workers and tries to live right. "i wash and irons and keep a woman's little chile so she can work. i owns my home." interviewer: mrs. irene robertson person interviewed: ike mccoy, biscoe, arkansas age: [tr: illegible words indicated by "----", questionable words followed by "?".] "my parents named harriett and isaac mccoy. far as i knew they was natives of north kaline (carolina). he was a farmer. he raised corn and cabbage, a little corn and wheat. he had tasks at night in winter i heard him say. she muster just done anything. she knit for us here in the last few years. she died several years ago. now my oldest sister was born in slavery. i was next but i came way after slavery. "in war time mccoys hid their horses in the woods. the yankees found them and took all the best ones and left their [----] (nags). old boss man mccoy hid in the closet and locked himself up. the yankees found him, broke in on him and took him out and they nearly killed him beating him so bad. he told all of 'em on the place he was going off. they wore him out. he didn't live long after that. "things got lax. i heard her say one man sold all his slaves. the war broke out. they run away and went back to him. she'd see 'em pass going back home. they been sold and wouldn't stay. folks got to running off to war. they thought it look like a frolic. i heard some of them say they wish they hadn't gone off to war 'fore it was done. niggers didn't know that[tr: ?] war no freedom was 'ceptin' the yankees come tell them something and then they couldn't understand how it all be. black folks was mighty ignant then. they is now for that matter. they look to white folks for right kind of doings[?]. "ma said every now and then see somebody going back to that man tried to get rid of them. they traveled by night and beg along from black folks. in daytime they would stay in the woods so the pettyrollers wouldn't run up on them. the pettyrollers would whoop 'em if they catch 'em. "ma told about one day the yankees come and made the white women came help the nigger women cook up a big dinner. ma was scared so bad she couldn't see nothing she wanted. she said there was no talking. they was too scared to say a word. they sot the table and never a one of them told 'em it was ready. "she said biscuits so scarce after the war they took 'em 'round in their pockets to nibble on they taste so good. "i was eighteen years old when pa and ma took the notion to come out here. all of us come but one sister had married, and pa and one brother had a little difference. pa had children ma didn't have. they went together way after slavery. we got transportation to memphis by train and took a steamboat to pillowmount. that close to forrest city. later on i come to biscoe. they finally come too. "i been pretty independent all my life till i getting so feeble. i work a sight now. i'm making boards to kiver my house out at the lot now. i goiner get somebody to kiver it soon as i get my boards made. "we don't get no pwa aid 'ceptin' for two orphant babies we got. they are my wife's sister's little boys. "well sir-ree, folks could do if the young ones would. young folks don't have no consideration for the old wore-out parents. they dance and drink it bodaciously out on saturday ebening and about till sunday night. i may be wrong but i sees it thater way. whan we get old we get helpless. i'm getting feebler every year. i see that. times goiner be hard ag'in this winter and next spring. money is scarce now for summer time and craps laid by. i feels that my own self now. every winter times get tough." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: richard h. mcdaniel, brinkley, arkansas age: "i was born in newton county, mississippi the first year of the surrender. i don't think my mother was sold and i know my father was never sold. jim mcdaniel raised my father and one sister after his mother died. one sister was married when she died. i heard him say when he got mad he would quit work. he said old master wouldn't let the mistress whoop him and she wouldn't let him whoop my father. my father was a black man but my mother was light. her father was a white man and her mother part indian and white mixed, so what am i? my mother was owned by people named wash. dick wash was her young master. my parents' names was willis and elsie mcdaniel. when it was freedom i heard them say moster mcdaniel told them they was free. he was broke. if they could do better go on, he didn't blame them, he couldn't promise them much now. they moved off on another man's place to share crop. they had to work as hard and didn't have no more than they had in slavery. that is what they told me. they could move around and visit around without asking. they said it didn't lighten the work none but it lightened the rations right smart. moster mcdaniel nor my father neither one went to war. "from the way i always heard it, the ku klux was the law like night watchman. when i was a boy there was a lot of stealing and bushwhacking. folks meet you out and kill you, rob you, whoop you. a few of the black men wouldn't work and wanted to steal. that ku klux was the law watching around. folks was scared of em. i did see them. i would run hide. "i farmed up till . then i been doing jobs. i worked on relief till they turned me off, said i was too old to work but they won't give me the pension. i been trying to figure out what i am to do. lady, could you tell me? work at jobs when i can get them. "i allus been voting till late years. if they let some folks vote in the first lection, they would be putting in somebody got no business in the gover'ment. all the fault i see in white folks running the gover'ment is we colored folks ain't got work we can do all the time to live on. i thought all the white folks had jobs what wanted jobs. the conditions is hard for old men like me. i pay $ for a house every month. it is a cold house. "this present generation is living a fast life. what all don't they do?" interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: waters mcintosh howard street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born july , at : in the morning at lynchburg, sumter county, south carolina. parents "my mother was named lucy sanders. my father was named sumter durant. our owner was dr. j.m. sanders, the son of mr. bartlett sanders. sumter durant was a white man. my mother was fourteen years old when i was born i was her second child. durant was in the confederate army and was killed during the war in the same year i was born, and before my birth. sold "when i was a year old, my mother was sold for $ in gold, and i was sold for $ in gold to william carter who lived about five miles south of cartersville. the payment was made in fine gold. i was sold because my folk realized that freedom was coming and they wanted to obtain the cash value of their slaves. name "my name is spelled 'waters' but it is pronounced 'waiters.' when i was born, i was thought to be a very likely child and it was proposed that i should be a waiter. therefore i was called waters (but it was pronounced waiters). they did not spell it w-a-i-t-e-r-s, but they pronounced it that way. how freedom came "my mother said that they had been waiting a long time to hear what had become of the war, perhaps one or two weeks. one day when they were in the field moulding corn, going round the corn hoeing it and putting a little hill around it, the conk sounded at about eleven o'clock, and they knew that the long expected time had come. they dropped their hoes and went to the big house. they went around to the back where the master always met the servants and he said to them, 'you are all free, free as i am. you can go or come as you please. i want you to stay. if you will stay, i will give you half the crop.' that was the beginning of the share cropping system. "my mother came at once to the quarters, and when she found me she pulled the end out of a corn sack, stuck holes on the sides, put a cord through the top, pulled out the end, put it on me, put on the only dress she had, and made it back to the old home (her first master's folk). what the slaves expected "when the slaves were freed, they got what they expected. they were glad to get it and get away with it, and that was what mother and them did. slave time preaching "one time when an old white man come along who wanted to preach, the white people gave him a chance to preach to the niggers. the substance of his sermon was this: "'now when you servants are working for your masters, you must be honest. when you go to the mill, don't carry along an extra sack and put some of the meal or the flour in for yourself. and when you women are cooking in the big house, don't make a big pocket under your dress and put a sack of coffee and a sack of sugar and other things you want in it." "they took him out and hanged him for corrupting the morals of the slaves. conditions after the war "immediately after the war, there was a great scarcity of food. neither negroes nor white folk had anything to eat. the few white people who did have something wouldn't let it be known. my grandmother who was sixty-five years old and one of the old and respected inhabitants of that time went out to find something for us to eat. a white woman named mrs. burton gave her a sack of meal and told her not to tell anybody where she got it. "my grandmother brought the meal home and cooked it in a large skillet in a big cake. when it got done, she cut it into slices in the way you would cut up a pie and divided it among us. that all we had to eat. house "the white people in those days built their houses back from the front. in south carolina, there were lots of farms that had four to twelve thousand acres. from what mother told me, master bill's place set back from the road. then there was a great square place they called the yard. a fence divided the house and the yard adjoining it from that part of the grounds which held the barn. the yard in front and back of the house held a grove. [illustration] the square around the house and the negro quarters were all enclosed so that the little slaves could not get out while parents were at work. the negroes assembled on the porch when the gong called them in the morning. the boss gave orders from the porch. there was an open space between the quarters and the court (where the little slaves played). there was a gate between the court and the big house. "on the rear of the house, there was a porch from which the boss gave orders usually about four o'clock in the morning and at which they would disband in the evening between nine and ten--no certain time but more or less not earlier than nine and not often later than ten. back of the house and beyond it was a fence extending clear across the yard. in one corner of this fence was a gate leading into the court. leading out of the court was an opening surrounded by a semi-circular fence which enclosed the negro quarters. "the cabins were usually built on the ground--no floors. the roofs were covered with clapboards. "when i was a boy we used to sing, 'rather be a nigger than a poor white man.' even in slavery they used to sing that. it was the poor white man who was freed by the war, not the negroes. furniture "there wasn't any furniture. beds were built with one post out and the other three _sides_ fastened to the sides of the house. marrying time "i remember one night the people were gone to marry. that was when all the people in the community married immediately after slavery. ghosts "we had an open fireplace. that was at bartlett sanders' place. he had close on to three thousand acres. every grown person had gone to the marrying, and i was at home in the bed i just described. "my grandfather's mother[hw: ?] had a chair and that was hers only. she was named senia and was about eighty years old. we burned nothing but pine knots in the hearth. you would put one or two of those on the fire and they would burn for hours. we were all in bed and had been for an hour or two. there were some others sleeping in the same room. there came a peculiar knocking on grandmother's[hw: great grandmother?] chair. it's hard to describe it. it was something like the distant beating of a drum. grandmother was dead, of course. the boys got up and ran out and brought in some of the hands. when they came in, a little thing about three and a half feet high with legs about six or eight inches long ran out of the room. ku klux klan "whenever there was a man of influence, they terrorized him. they were at their height about the time of grant's election. many a time my mother and i have watched them pass our door. they wore gowns and some kind of helmet. they would be going to catch same leading negro and whip him. there was scarcely a night they couldn't take a leading negro out and whip him if they would catch him alone. on that account, the negro men did not stay at home in sumter county, south carolina at night. they left home and stayed together. the ku klux very seldom interfered with a woman or a child. "they often scared colored people by drinking large quantities of water. they had something that held a lot of water, and when they would raise the bucket to their mouths to drink, they would slip the water into it. white caps "the white caps operated further to the northwest of where i lived. i never came in contact with them. they were not the same thing as the ku klux. voting "in south carolina under the reconstruction, we voted right along. in there were soldiers at all of the election places to see that you did vote. career since the war "in i married. the year after that, in ' ,[hw: ?] i merchandised a little. then i got converted. i got it in my head that it was wrong to take big profits from business, so i sold out. then i was asked to assist the keeper of the jail. "in i went to school for the first time. i was then twenty-six years old. by the end of the first term, i knew all that the teacher could teach, so he sent me to claflin university. i left there in the third year normal. "when i returned home, i taught school, at first in a private school and later in a public school for $ a month. "a man named boyle told me that he had some ground to sell. i saved up $ , the price he asked for it. when i offered it to him, he said that he had decided not to sell it. i went to town and spent my $ . a few days later, he met me and offered me the place again. i told him i had spent my money. he then offered it to me on time. there was plenty of timber on the place, so i got some contracts with a man named roland and delivered wood to him. when i went to collect the money, he said he would not pay me in money. "a man named pennington offered me ¢ a day for labor. i asked if he would pay in money. "he replied, 'if you're looking for money, don't come.' "i went home and said to my wife, 'i am going to leave here.' "i came to forrest city, arkansas january , . i farmed in forrest city, making one crop, and then i entered the ministry, and then i preached at spring park for two years. "then i entered philander smith college where i stayed from - . i preached from the time i left philander until . "then i studied law and completed the american correspondence course in law when i was fifty years old. i am still practicing. wife and family "in , when i graduated from philander, my wife and six children were sitting on the front seat. "i have eleven sons and daughters, of whom six are living. i had seven brothers and sisters. "my wife and i have been married fifty-six years. i had to steal her away from her parents, and she has never regretted coming to me nor i taking her." interviewer's comment "brother mack" as he is familiarly and affectionately known to his friends is a man keen and vigorous, mentally and physically. he attends sunday school, church both in the morning and evening, and all departments of the epworth league. he takes the epworth herald, the southwestern christian advocate, the literary digest, some poultry and farm magazines, the arkansas gazette, and the st. louis democrat, and several other journals. he is on omnivorous reader and a clear thinker. he raises chickens and goats and plants a garden as avocations. he has on invincible reputation for honesty as well as for thrift and thought. nothing is pleasanter than to view the relationship between him and his wife. they have been married fifty-six years and seem to have achieved a perfect understanding. she is an excellent cook and is devoted to her home. she attends church regularly. seems to be four or five years younger than her husband. like him, however, she seems to enjoy excellent health. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: cresa mack short indiana st., pine bluff, ark. age: "i can tell you something about slavery days. i was born at south bend, arkansas on the old joe clay place. i 'member they used to work 'em scandalous. they used me at the house and i used to wait on old mistress' brother. he was a old man named cal fletcher. "i 'member when they said the yankees was comin' the boss man put us in wagons and runned us to texas. they put the women and chillun in the wagons but the men had to walk. i know i was something over twelve years old. "old mistress, miss sarah clay, took her chillun and went to memphis. "my white folks treated us very well. i never seed 'em whip my mother but once, but i seen some whipped till they's speechless. yes ma'm i have. "i can 'member a lot 'bout the war. the lord have mercy, i'se old. i 'member they used to sing 'run nigger run, the paddyrollers'll ketch you, run nigger run.' "corse if they ketch you out without a pass they'd beat you nearly to death and tell you to go home to your master. "one time i was totin' water for the woman what did the washin'. i was goin' along the road and seed somethin' up in a tree that look like a dog. i said 'look at that dog.' the overseer was comin' from the house and said 'that ain't no dog, that's a panther. you better not stop' and he shot it out. then i've seen bears out in the cane brakes. i thought they was big black bulls. i was young then--yes mam, i was young. "when the yankees come through they sot the house afire and the gin and burned up 'bout a hundred bales a cotton. they never bothered the niggers' quarters. that was the time the overseer carried us to texas to get rid of the yankees. "after the surrender the yankees told the overseer to bring us all up in the front yard so he could read us the ceremony and he said we was as free as any white man that walked the ground. i didn't know what 'twas about much cause i was too busy playin'. "i didn't know what school was 'fore freedom, but i went about a month after peace was declared. then papa died and mama took me out and put me in the field. "i was grown, 'bout twenty-four or five, when i married. now my chillun and grand chillun takes care of me." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: warren mckinney, hazen, arkansas age: i was born in edgefield county, south carolina. i am eighty-five years old. i was born a slave of george strauter. i remembers hearing them say "thank god ize free as a jay bird." my ma was a slave in the field. i was eleven years old when freedom was declared. when i was little, mr. strauter whipped my ma. it hurt me bad as it did her. i hated him. she was crying. i chunked him with rocks. he run after me, but he didn't catch me. there was twenty-five or thirty hands that worked in the field. they raised wheat, corn, oats, barley, and cotton. all the children that couldn't work stayed at one house. aunt mat kept the babies and small children that couldn't go to the field. he had a gin and a shop. the shop was at the fork of the roads. when de war come on my papa went to build forts. he quit ma and took another woman. when de war closed ma took her four children, bundled em up and went to augusta. the government give out rations there. my ma washed and ironed. people died in piles. i don't know till yet what was de matter. they said it was the change of living. i seen five or six wooden, painted coffins piled up on wagons pass by our house. loads passed every day lack you see cotton pass here. some said it was cholorea and some took consumption. lots of de colored people nearly starved. not much to get to do and not much house room. several families had to live in one house. lots of the colored folks went up north and froze to death. they couldn't stand the cold. they wrote back about them dieing. no they never sent them back. i heard some sent for money to come back. i heerd plenty bout the ku klux. they scared the folks to death. people left augusta in droves. about a thousand would all meet and walk going to hunt work and new homes. some of them died. i had a sister and brother lost that way. i had another sister come to louisiana that way. she wrote back. i don't think the colored folks looked for a share of land. they never got nothing cause the white folks didn't have nothing but barren hills left. about all the mules was wore out hauling provisions in the army. some folks say they ought to done more for de colored folks when dey left, but dey say dey was broke. freeing all de slaves left em broke. that reconstruction was a mighty hard pull. me and ma couldn't live. a man paid our ways to carlisle, arkansas and we come. we started working for mr. emenson. he had a big store, teams, and land. we liked it fine, and i been here fifty-six years now. there was so much wild game living was not so hard. if a fellow could get a little bread and a place to stay he was all right. after i come to dis state i voted some. i have farmed and worked at odd jobs. i farmed mostly. ma went back to her old master. he persuaded her to come back home. me and her went back and run a farm four or five years before she died. then i come back here. i first had acres at carlisle. i sold it and bought acres at green grove. i married in south carolina. we had a fine weddin, home weddin. each of our families furnished the weddin supper. we had waiters. that is all the wife i ever had. we lived together years. it is hard for me to keep up with my mind since she died. she been dead five years nearly now. i used to sing but i forgot all the songs. we had song books. i joined the church when i was twelve years old. i think the times are worse than they use to be. the people is living mighty fast i tell you. i don't get no help from the government. they won't give me the pension. i can't work and i can't pay taxes on my place. they just don't give me nothing but a little out of the store. i can't get no pension. little rock district folklore subjects name of interviewer: irene robertson subject: ex-slave--history story:--information this information given by: warren mckinney place of residence: hazen, green grove settlement, arkansas occupation: farming age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] warren mckinney was born in edgefield county, south carolina. he was born a slave. his master was george strauter. he had a big plantation and worked twenty-five or thirty work hands. there were twenty-five or thirty children too small to work in the field. they raised cotton, corn, oats, and wheat. his mother washed and ironed and cooked. he was small but well remembers once when his mother had been sick and had just gotten out. george strauter whipped her with a switch on her legs. warren did not approve of it. rocks were plentiful and he began throwing at him. he said mr. george took out after him but didn't catch or whip him. george strauter tried to teach them all how to be good farmers and be saving. warren knew war was going on but he didn't see any of it. his father came home several times. he was off building forts. he said he remembered a big "hurly-burly" and he heard 'em saying, "thank god i'ze free as a jay bird." he didn't know why they were fighting so he didn't know then why they were saying that. george strauter had a shop at the fork of the roads. he had his own gin. they sold cotton and bought provisions at augusta, georgia. they made some of their meal and flour and raised all their meat and made enough lard to do the year around. he heard them talking about the "yankees" burning up augusta, but he saw where they had burned hamburg, south carolina or north augusta they call it. after they were free he remembers his mother bundling up her things and her family and them all going in an ox cart to augusta to live. warren's mother washed, cooked and ironed for a living. her husband went off and lived with another woman after freedom. warren was about eleven years old then. the government furnished food for them too. one thing that distressed warren was _the way people died for more than a year_. he saw five or six coffins piled up on a wagon being taken out to be buried. he thought it was changing houses and changing ways of living. they didn't have shoes and warm clothes and weren't fed from white folks smoke house. _lots of the slaves had consumption and died right now_. stout men and women didn't live two years after they were freed. lots of them said they didn't like that freedom and wanted to go back but the masters were broke and couldn't keep many of them if they went back. when warren was about fifteen years old, there was a white man or two, but colored leaders mostly got about a thousand colored people to start for the west walking. warren had sisters and brothers who started on this trip. warren had some fussy brothers, his mother was afraid would get in jail. they kept her uneasy. they shipped their "stuff" by boat and train. he never saw them any more but he heard from them in louisiana. louisiana had a bad name in those days. when warren was about fourteen and fifteen, his mother had them on a farm, farming near hamburg. when he was sixteen or seventeen, his mother and the other children came on the train to about where carlisle now is but it wasn't called by that name. there were very few houses of any kind. mr. emerson had a big store and lots of land. he worked black and white. mr. emerson let them have seven or eight mules and wagons and they farmed near there. he remembers pretty soon there was a depot where the depot now stands, a bank, a post office, and two or three more stores, all small buildings. he liked coming to arkansas because he got to ride on the train a long ways. it was easy to live here. there were lots of game and fish. warren never shot anything in his life. he was no hunter. _nats_ were awful. warren made smoke to run the nats from the cows. four or five deer would come to the smoke. cows were afraid of them and would leave the smoke. when he would go the deer would leap four or five feet in the air at the sight of him. when warren lived in augusta, georgia, they had schools a month at a time but warren never did get to go to any, so he can't read or write. but he learned to save his money. he joined a church when he was twelve years old in south carolina and belongs to the baptist church at green grove now. the old master in south carolina persuaded his mother to come back. they all went back four or five years before his mother died. while warren was there he married a woman on a joining farm. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: victoria mcmullen e. valmar, little rock, arkansas age: occupation: seamstress "my mother was born march , , and knew nothing of slavery. "both my grandmothers and both grandfathers were slaves. my father was born in the same year as my mother and like my mother knew nothing of slavery although both of them might have been born slaves. "i knew my mother's mother and father and my father's mother, but i didn't know my father's father. "he was from texas and he always stayed there. he never did come out to louisiana where i was born. my mother was born in louisiana, but my father was born in texas. i don't know what county or city my father was born in. i just heard my grandmother on his side say he was born in texas. "during the war (he was born in ' when the war ceased), grandmother katy--that was her name, katy, katy elmore--she was in louisiana at first--she was run out in texas, i suppose, to be hidden from the yankees. my father was born there and my grandfather stayed there. he died in texas and then grandma katy come back to louisiana with my father and settled in ouachita parish. "grandma katy was sold from south carolina into louisiana to bob mcclendon, and she kept the name of elmore who was her first owner in south carolina. it was bob mcclendon who run her out in texas to hide her from the yankees. my grandfather in texas kept the name of jamison. that was the name of his master in texas. but grandma kept the name of elmore from south carolina because he was good to her. he was better than bob mcclendon. the eastern states sold their slaves to the southern states and got all the money, then they freed the slaves and that left the south without anything. "grandma katy had creek indian blood in her. she was of medium size and height, copper colored, high cheek bones, small squinchy eyes, black curly hair. her hair was really pretty but she didn't curl it. it was just naturally curly. she was a practical nurse as they call it, but she did more of what some people call a midwife. they call it something else now. they got a proper word for it. "they got it in these government agencies. that is what she was even in slavery times. she worked for colored people and white people both. that was after she was freed until she went blind. she went blind three years before she died. she died at the age of exactly one hundred years. she treated women and babies. they said she was a real good doctor in her day. that is been fifty-four years ago. [i will be fifty-four years old tomorrow--september , .] in slavery times my grandma was almost as free as she was in freedom because of her work. "she said that bob mcclendon was cruel to her. sometimes he'd get angry and take the shovel and throw hot ashes on the slaves. and then he'd see them with blisters on them and he would take a handsaw or a flat plank and bust the blisters. louisiana was a warm country and they wouldn't have much clothes on. when the slaves were freed, he went completely broke. he had scarcely a place to live. "i seen him once. be look like on old possum. he had a long beard down to his waist and he had long side burns too. just a little of his face showed. he was tall and stooping and he wore his hair long and uncut down on his neck. you know about what he looked like. he had on blue jeans pants and brogan shoes and a common shirt--a work shirt. he wore very common clothes. when they freed the negroes, it broke him up completely. he had been called a 'big-to-do' in his life but he wasn't nothing then. he owned grandma katy. "grandma katy had a sister named maria and a brother named peter. he owned all three of them. i have seen all of them. grandma katy was the oldest. she and uncle peter stayed close together. he didn't have no wife and she didn't have no husband. but aunt maria had a husband. she lived off from them after freedom. it was about twelve miles away. my great-aunt and great-uncle--they were maria and peter--that was what they were. uncle peter died first before i left louisiana, but aunt maria and grandma katy died after i came to arkansas. grandma katy lived four years after i came here. "after they was free and my father had gotten large enough to work and didn't have no horse, my grandma was going 'round waiting on women--that is all she did--all the rest of the people had gotten large and left home. papa made a crop with a hoe. he made three bales of cotton and about twelve loads of corn with that hoe. he used to tell me, 'you don't know nothin' 'bout work. you oughter see how i had to work.' after that he bought him a horse. money was scarce then and it took something to buy the place and the horse both. they were turned loose from slavery without anything. hardly had a surname--just katy, maria, and peter. "i knew more about the slave-time history of my mother's folks than i did about my father's but i'll tell you that some other time. my grandmother on my mother's side was born in richmond, virginia. she was owned by a doctor but i can't call his name. she gets her name from her husband's owners. they came from virginia. they didn't take the name of their owners in louisiana. they took the name of the owners in virginia. she was a twin--her twin was a boy named june and her name was hetty. her master kept her brother to be a driver for him. she was sent from virginia to louisiana to people that were related to her virginia people. she called her louisiana mistress 'white ma;' she never did call her 'missis.' the white folks and the colored folks too called her indian because she was mixed with choctaw. that's the indian that has brown spots on the jaw. they're brownskin. it was an indian from the oklahoma reservation that said my mother belonged to the choctaws. "she rode from virginia to louisiana on a boat at the age of twelve years. she was separated from her mother and brothers and sisters and never did see them again. she was kept in the house for a nurse. she was not a midwife. she nursed the white babies. that was what she was sent to louisiana for--to nurse the babies. the louisiana man that owned her was named george dorkins. but i think this white woman came from virginia. she married this louisiana man, then sent back to her father's house and got grandma; she got her for a nurse. she worked only a year and a half in the field before peace was declared. after she got grown and married, my grandfather--she had to stay with him and cook and keep house for him. that was during slavery time but after george dorkins died. dorkins went and got hisself a barrel of whiskey--one of these great big old barrels--and set it up in his house, and put a faucet in it and didn't do nothin' but drink whiskey. he said he was goin' to drink hisself to death. and he did. "he was young enough to go to war and he said he would drink hisself to death before he would go, and he did. my grandma used to steal newspapers out of his house and take them down to the quarters and leave them there where there were one or two slaves that could read and tell how the war was goin' on. i never did learn how the slaves learned to read. but she was in the house and she could steal the papers and send them down. later she could slip off and they would tell her the news, and then she could slip the papers back. "her master drank so much he couldn't walk without falling and she would have to help him out. her mistress was really good. she never allowed the overseer to whip her. she was only whipped once in slave time while my father's mother was whipped more times than you could count. "her master often said, 'i'll drink myself to death before i'll go to war and be shot down like a damn target.' she said in living with them in the house, she learned to cuss from him. she said she was a cussin' soul until she became a christian. she wasn't 'fraid of them because she was kin to them in some way. there was another woman there who was some kin to them and she looked enough like my grandma for them to be kin to each other. we talked it over several times and said we believed we were related; but none of us know for sure. "when the slaves wanted something said they would have my grandma say it because they knew she wouldn't be whipped for it. 'white ma' wouldn't let nobody whip her if she knew it. she cussed the overseer out that time for whipping her. "when grandma was fourteen or fifteen years old they locked her up in the seed house once or twice for not going to church. you see they let the white folks go to the church in the morning and the colored folks in the evening, and my grandma didn't always want to go. she would be locked up in the seed bin and she would cuss the preacher out so he could hear her. she would say, 'master, let us out.' and he would say, 'you want to go to church?' and she would say, 'no, i don't want to hear that same old sermon: "stay out of your missis' and master's hen house. don't steal your missis' and master's chickens. stay out of your missis' and master's smokehouse. don't steal your missis' and master's hams." i don't steal nothing. don't need to tell me not to.' "she was tellin' the truth too. she didn't steal because she didn't have to. she had plenty without stealin'! she got plenty to eat in the house. but the other slaves didn't git nothin' but fat meat and corn bread and molasses. and they got tired of that same old thing. they wanted something else sometimes. they'd go to the hen house and get chickens. they would go to the smokehouse and get hams and lard. and they would get flour and anything else they wanted and they would eat something they wanted. there wasn't no way to keep them from it. "the reason she got whipped that time, the overseer wanted her to help get a tree off the fence that had been blown down by a storm. she told him that wasn't her work and she wasn't goin' to do it. old miss was away at that time. he hit her a few licks and she told old miss when she came back. old 'white ma' told the overseer, 'don't never put your hands on her no more no matter what she does. that's more than i do. i don't hit her and you got no business to do it.' "her husband, my grandfather, was a blacksmith, and he never did work in the field. he made wagons, plows, plowstocks, buzzard wings--they call them turning plows now. they used to make and put them on the stocks. he made anything-handles, baskets. he could fill wagon wheels. he could sharpen tools. anything that come under the line of blacksmith, that is what he did. he used to fix wagons all the time i knowed him. in harvest time in the fall he would drive from bienville where they were slaves to monroe in ouachita parish. he kept all the plows and was sharpening and fixing anything that got broke. he said he never did get no whipping. "his name was tom eldridge. they called him 'uncle tom'. they was the mother and father of twelve children. six lived and six died. one boy and five girls lived. and one girl and five boys died--half and half. he died at the age of seventy-five, june , . she died january . "i came out here in january . i lived in pine bluff. from louisiana i came to pine bluff in . in i went to kerr in lonoke county and lived there eight years and then i came to little rock. i farmed at kerr and just worked 'round town those few months in pine bluff. excusing the time i was in pine bluff and little rock i farmed. i farmed in ouachita parish, louisiana." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: nannie p. madden west memphis, arkansas age: "i am martha johnson's sister. i was born at lake village, arkansas. i am years old. i was born on mr. ike wethingtons place. pa was renting. mother died in on this farm. we called it red leaf plantation. father died at martha johnson's here in west memphis when he was years old. "mother was not counted a slave. her master's southern wife (white wife) disliked her very much but kept her till her death. mother had three white children by her master. after freedom she married a black man and had four children by him. we are in the last set. "we was born after slavery and all we know is from hearing our people talk. father talked all time about slavery. he was a soldier. i couldn't tell you straight. i can give you some books on slavery: booker t. washington's own story of his life and work, page supplement, by albon l. holsey authentic edition--in office of library of congress, washington, d.c., , copywrighted by j.l. nichols co. the master mind of a child of slavery--booker t. washington, by frederick e. drinker, washington, d.c. i have read them both. yes, they are my own books. "i farmed and cooked all my life." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: perry madden, thirteenth street, south side, one block east of boyle park road, route , care l.g. cotton, little rock, arkansas age: about birth and age "i have been here quite a few years. this life is short. a man ought to prepare for eternity. i had an uncle who used to say that a person who went to torment stayed as long as there was a grain of sand on the sea. "i was a little boy when slavery broke. i used to go out with my brother. he watched gaps. i did not have to do anything; i just went out with him to keep him company. i was scared of the old master. i used to call him the 'big bear.' he was a great big old man. "i was about six years old when the war ended, i guess. i don't know how old i am. the insurance men put me down as seventy-three. i know i was here in slavery time, and i was just about six years old when the war ended. schooling "i got my first learning in alabama. i didn't learn anything at all in slavery times. i went to school. i would go to the house in slavery tine, and there wouldn't be nobody home, and i would go to the bed and get under it because i was scared. when i would wake up it would be way in the night and dark, and i would be in bed. "i got my schooling way after the surrender. we would make crops. the third time we moved, dad started me to school. i had colored teachers. i was in talladega county. i made the fifth grade before i stopped. my father died and then i had to stop and take care of my mother. an "aunt caroline" story "i know that some people can tell things that are goin' to happen. old man julks lived at pumpkin bend. he had a colt that disappeared. he went to 'aunt caroline'--that's caroline dye. she told him just where the colt was and who had it and how he had to get it back. she described the colt and told him that was what he come to find out about before he had a chance to ask her anything. she told him that white people had it and told him where they lived and told him he would have to have a white man go and git it for him. he was working for a good man and he told him about it. he advertised for the colt and the next day, the man that stole it came and told him that a colt had been found over on his place and for him to come over and arrange to git it. but he said, 'no, i've placed that matter in the hands of my boss.' he told his boss about it, but the fellow brought the horse and give it to the boss without any argument. family and masters "my old master's slaves were called free niggers. he and his wife never mistreated their slaves. when any of madden's slaves were out and the pateroles got after them, if they could make it home, that ended it. nobody beat madden's niggers. "my father's name was allen madden and my mother's name was amy madden. i knew my grandfather and grandmother on my mother's side. my grandfather and grandmother never were 'round me though that i can remember. "when the old man died, the negroes were divided out. this boy got so many and that one got so many. the old man, mabe madden, had two sons, john and little mabe. my mother and father went to john. they were in talladega because john stayed there. "my father's mother and father fell to little mabe madden. they never did come to alabama but i have heard my father talk about them so much. my father's father was named harry. his last name must have been madden. "my grandfather on my mother's side was named charlie hall. he married into the madden family. he belonged to the halls before he married. old man charlie, his master, had a plantation that wasn't far from the madden's plantation. in those days, if you met a girl and fell in love with her, you could git a pass and go to see her if you wanted to. you didn't have to be on the same plantation at all. and you could marry her and go to see her, and have children by her even though you belonged to different masters. the maddens never did buy hall. grandma never would change her name to hall. he stayed at my house after we married, stayed with me sometimes, and stayed with his other son sometimes. "my mother was born a madden. she was born right at madden's place. when grandma married hall, like it is now, she would have been called hall. but she was born a madden and stayed madden and never did change to her husband's name. so my mother was born a madden although her father's name was hall. "i don't know what sort of man mabe was, and i only know what my parents said about john. they said he was a good man and i have to say what they said. he didn't let nobody impose on his niggers. pateroles did git after them and bring them in with the hounds, but when they got in, that settled it. madden never would allow white people to beat on his niggers. "they tried to git my daddy out so that they could whip him, but they couldn't catch him. they shot him--the pateroles did--but he whipped them. my daddy was a coon. i mean he was a good man. early life "my brother was big enough to mind gaps. that was in slavery times. they had good fences around the field. they didn't have gates like they do now. they had gaps. the fence would zigzag, and the rails could be lifted down at one section, and that would leave a gap. if you left a gap, the stock would go into the field. when there was a gap, my brother would stay in it and keep the stock from passing. when the folks would come to dinner, he would go in and eat dinner with them just as big as anybody. when they would leave, the gap would stay down till night. it stayed down from morning till noon and from one o'clock till the men come in at night. the gap was a place in the rails like i told you where they could take down the rails to pass. it took time to lay the rails down and more time to place then back up again. they wouldn't do it. they would leave them down till they come back during the work hours and a boy that was too small to do anything else was put to mind them. my brother used to do that and i would keep him company. when i heard old master coming there, i'd be gone, yes siree. i would see him when he left the house and when he got to the gap, i would be home or at my grandfather's. occupational experiences "i have followed farming all my life. that is the sweetest life a man can lead. i have been farming all my life principally. my occupation is farming. that is it was until i lost my health. i ain't done nothin' for about four years now. i would follow public work in the fall of the year and make a crop every year. never failed till i got disabled. i used to make all i used and all i needed to feed my stock. i even raised my own wheat before i left home in alabama. that is a wheat country. they don't raise it out here.[hw: ?] "i came here--lemme see, about how many years ago did i come here. i guess i have been in arkansas about twenty-eight years since the first time i come here. i have gone in and out as i got a chance to work somewheres. i have been living in this house about three years. "i preached for about twenty or more years. i don't know that i call myself a preacher. i am a pretty good talker sometimes. i have never pastored a church; somehow or 'nother the word come to me to go and i go and talk. i ain't no pulpit chinch. i could have taken two or three men's churches out from under them, but i didn't. freedom and soldiers "i can't remember just how my father got freed. old folks then didn't let you stan' and listen when they talked. if you did it once, you didn't do it again. they would talk while they were together, but the children would have business outdoors. yes siree, i never heard them say much about how they got freedom. "i was there when the yankees come through. that was in slave time. they marched right through old man madden's grove. they were playing the fifes and beating the drums. and they were playing the fiddle. yes sir, they were playing the fiddle too. it must have been a fiddle; it sounded just like one. the soldiers were all just a singin'. they didn't bother nobody at our house. if they bothered anything, nothing was told me about it. i heard my uncle say they took a horse from my old manager. i didn't see it. they took the best horse in the lot my uncle said. pardon me, they didn't take him. a peckerwood took him and let the yankees get him. i have heard that they bothered plenty of other places. took the best mules, and left old broken down ones and things like that. broke things up. i have heard that about other places, but i didn't see any of it. right after the war "right after the war, my father went to farming--renting land. i mean he sharecropped and done around. thing is come way up from then when the negroes first started. they didn't have no stock nor nothin' then. they made a crop just for the third of it. when they quit the third, they started givin' them two-fifths. that's more than a third, ain't it? then they moved up from that, and give them half, and they are there yet. if you furnish, they give you two-thirds and take one-third. or they give you so much per acre or give him produce in rent. marriage "i was married in . my wife's name was mary elston. her mother died when she was an infant. her grandmother was an elston at first. then she changed her name to cunningham. but she always went in the name of elston, and was an elston when she married me. my wife i mean. i married on a thursday in the christmas week. this december i will be married fifty-five years. this is the only wife i have ever had. we had three children and all of them are dead. all our birthed children are dead. one of them was just three months old when he died. my baby girl had three children and she lived to see all of them married. opinions "our own folks is about the worst enemies we have. they will come and sweet talk you and then work against you. i had a fellow in here not long ago who came here for a dollar, and i never did hear from him again after he got it. he couldn't get another favor from me. no man can fool me more than one time. i have been beat out of lots of money and i have got hurt trying to help people. "the young folks now is just gone astray. i tell you the truth, i wouldn't give you forty cents a dozen for these young folks. they are sassy and disrespectful. don't respect themselves and nobody else. when they get off from home, they'll respect somebody else better 'n they will their own mothers. "if they would do away with this stock law, they would do better everywhere. if you would say fence up your place and raise what you want, i could get along. but you have to keep somebody to watch your stock. if you don't, you'll have to pay something out. it's a bad old thing this stock law. it's detrimental to the welfare of man." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: lewis mann bell street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "as nigh as i can come at it, i was bout five or six time of the war. i remember when the war ceasted. i was a good-sized chap. "durin' the war my mother's master sent us to texas; western texas is whar they stopped me. we stayed there two years and then they brought us back after surrender. "i remember when the war ceasted and remember the soldiers refugeein' through the country. i'm somewhar round eighty-one. i'm tellin' you the truf. i ain't just now come here. "i was born right here in arkansas. my mother's master was old b.d. williams of tennessee and we worked for his son mac h. williams here in arkansas. they was good to my mother. always had nurses for the colored childrun while the old folks was in the field. "after the war i used to work in the house for my white folks--for dr. bob williams way up there in the country on the river. i stayed with his brother mac williams might near twenty-five or thirty years. worked around the house servin' and doin' arrands different places. "i went to school a little bit a good piece after the war and learned to read and write. "i've heard too much of the ku klux. i remember when they was ku kluxin' all round through here. "lord! i don't know how many times i ever voted. i used to vote every time they had an election. i voted before i could read. the white man showed me how to vote and asked me who i wanted to vote for. oh lord, i was might near grown when i learned to read. "i been married just one time in my life and my wife's been dead thirteen years. "i tell you, miss, i don't know hardly what to think of things now. everything so changeable i can't bring nothin' to remembrance to hold it. "i didn't do nothin' when i was young but just knock around with the white folks. oh lord, when i was young i delighted in parties. don't nothin' like that worry me now. don't go to no parades or nothin'. don't have that on my brain like i did when i was young. i goes to church all the place i does go. "i ain't never had no accident. don't get in the way to have no accident cause i know the age i is if i injure these bones there ain't anything more to me. "my mother had eight childrun and just my sister and me left. i can't do a whole day's work to save my life. i own this place and my sister-in-law gives me a little somethin' to eat. i used to be on the bureau but they took me off that." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: angeline martin, kansas city, missouri visiting at louisiana st., pine bluff, arkansas age "well, i was livin' then. i was born in georgia. honey, i don't know what year. i was born before the war. i was about ten when freedom come. i don't remember when it started but i remember when it ended. i think i'm in the 's--that's the way i count it. "my master was dead and my mistress was a widow--miss sarah childs. she had a guardeen. "when the war come, old mistress and her daughter refugeed to mississippi. the guardeen wouldn't let me go, said i was too young. "my parents stayed on the plantation. my white folks' house was vacant and the yankees come and used it for headquarters. they never had put shoes on me and when the yankees shot the chickens i'd run and get em. they didn't burn up nothin', just kill the hogs and chickens and give us plenty. "i didn't know what the war was about. you know chillun in them days didn't have as much sense as they got now. "after freedom, my folks stayed on the place and worked on the shares. i want to school right after the war. i went every year till we left there. we come to this country in seventy something. we come here and stopped at the cummins place. i worked in the field till i come to town bout fifty years ago. since then i cooked some and done laundry work. "i married when i was seventeen. had six children. i been livin' in kansas city twenty-three years. followed my boy up there. i like it up there a lot better than i do here. oh lord, yes, there are a lot of colored people in kansas city." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: josie martin r.f.d., madison, arkansas age: "i was born up near cotton plant but took down near helena to live. my parents named sallie and bob martin. they had seven children. i heard mother say she was sold on a block in mississippi when she was twelve years old. my father was a creek indian; he was dark. mother was a choctaw indian; she was bright. mother died when i was but a girl and left a family on my hands. i sent my baby brother and sister to school and i cooked on a boarding train. the railroad hands working on the tracks roomed and et on the train. they are all dead now and i'm 'lone in the world. "my greatest pleasure was independence--make my money, go and spend it as i see fit. i wasn't popular with men. i never danced. i did sell herbs for diarrhea and piles and 'what ails you.' i don't sell no more. folks too close to drug stores now. i had long straight hair nearly to my knees. it come out after a spell of typhoid fever. it never come in to do no good." (baldheaded like a man and she shaves. she is a hermaphrodite, reason for never marrying.) "i made and saved up at one time twenty-three thousand dollars cooking and field work. i let it slip out from me in dribs. "i used to run from the yankees. i've seen them go in droves along the road. they found old colored couple, went out, took their hog and made them barbecue it. they drove up a stob, nailed a piece to a tree stacked their guns. they rested around till everything was ready. they et at one o'clock at night and after the feast drove on. they wasn't so good to negroes. they was good to their own feelings. they et up all that old couple had to eat in their house and the pig they raised. i reckon their owners give them more to eat. they lived off alone and the soldiers stopped there and worked the old man and woman nearly to death. "our master told us about freedom. his name was master martin. he come here from mississippi. i don't recollect his family. "i get help from the welfare. i had paralysis. i never got over my stroke. i ain't no 'count to work." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: bess mathis, hazen, arkansas age: "i was born in de sota county, mississippi. my parents' owners was mars hancock. mama was a cook and field hand. papa milked and worked in the field. mama had jes' one child, that me. i had six childern. i got five livin'. they knowed they free. it went round from mouth to mouth. mama said mars hancock was good er slave holder as ever lived she recken. i heard her come over that er good many times. but they wanted to be free. i jes' heard em talk bout the ku klux. they said the ku klux made lot of em roamin' round go get a place to live and start workin'. they tell how they would ride at night and how scarry lookin' they was. i heard em say if mars hancock didn't want to give em meat they got tree a coon or possum. cut the tree down or climb it and then come home and cook it. they had no guns. they had dogs or could get one. game helps out lots. "the women chewed for their children after they weaned em. they don't none of em do that way now. women wouldn't cut the baby's finger nails. they bite em off. they said if you cut its nails off he would steal. they bite its toe nails off, too. and if they wanted the children to have long pretty hair, they would trim the ends off on the new of the moon. that would cause the hair to grow long. white folks and darkies both done them things. "i been doin' whatever come to hand--farmin', cookin', washin', ironin'. "i never expects to vote neither. i sure ain't voted. "conditions pretty bad sometimes. i don't know what cause it. you got beyond me now. i don't know what going become of the young folks, and they ain't studyin' it. they ain't kind. got no raisin' i call it. i tried to raise em to work and behave. they work some. my son is takin' care of me now." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: caroline matthews spruce street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm, i was born in slavery times in mississippi. now, the only thing i remember was some soldiers come along on some mules. i remember my mother and father was sittin' on the gallery and they say, 'look a there, them's soldiers.' "and i remember when my parents run off. i was with 'em and i cried for 'em to tote me. "my mother's first owner was named armstrong. she said she was about eleven years old when he bought her. i heard her say they just changed around a lot. "freedom was comin' and her last owners had carried her to a state where it hadn't come yet. that's right--it was texas. "her first owners was good. she said they wouldn't 'low the overseer to 'buke the women at all. "but her last owners was cruel. she said one day old missis was out in the yard and backed up and fell into a pan of hot water and when her husband come she told him and he tried to 'buke my mother. you know if somebody tryin' to get the best of you and you can help yourself, you gwine do it. so mama throwed up her arm and old master hit it with a stick and cut it bad. so my parents run off. that was in texas. "she said we was a year comin' back and i know they stopped at the dillard place and made a crop. and they lost one child on the way--that was kittie. "i heard mama say they got back here to arkansas and got to the bureau and they freed 'em. i know the war wasn't over yet 'cause i know i heard mama say, 'just listen to them guns at vicksburg.' "when i was little, i was so sickly. i took down with the whoopin' cough and i was sick so long. but mama say to the old woman what stayed with me, 'this gal gwine be here to see many a winter 'cause she so stout in the jaws i can't give her no medicine.' "when i commenced to remember anything, i heered 'em talkin' 'bout grant and colfax. used to wear buttons with grant and colfax. "but i was livin' in abraham lincoln's time. chillun them days didn't know nothin'. why, woman, i was twelve years old 'fore i knowed babies didn't come out a holler log. i used to go 'round lookin' in logs for a baby. "i had seven sisters and three brothers and they all dead but me. had three younger than me. they was what they called freeborn chillun. "after freedom my parents worked for major ross. i know when mama fixed us up to go to sunday-school we'd go by major ross for him to see us. i know we'd go so early, sometimes he'd still be in his drawers. "i know one thing--when i was about sixteen years old things was good here. ever'body had a good living." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: malindy maxwell, madison, arkansas age: up in 's "i was born close to como and sardis, mississippi. my master and mistress was sam shans and miss cornelia shans. i was born a slave. they owned mama and master rube sanders owned pa. neither owner wouldn't sell but they agreed to let ma and pa marry. they had a white preacher and they married out in the yard and had a big table full of weddin' supper, and the white folks et in the house. they had a big supper too. ma said they had a big crowd. the preacher read the ceremony. miss cornelia give her a white dress and white shoes and miss cloe wilburn give her a veil. miss cloe was some connection of rube sanders. "they had seven children. i'm the oldest--three of us living. "after 'mancipation pa went to see about marrying ma over agen and they told him that marriage would stand long as ever he lived. "mama was sold at twelve years old in atlanta, georgia. ma and pa was always field hands. grandma got to be one of john sanders' leading hands to work mong the women folks. they said john sanders was meanest man ever lived or died. according to pa's saying, mars ruben was a good sorter man. pa said john sanders was too mean a man to have a wife. he was mean to miss sarah. they said he beat her, his wife, like he beat a nigger woman. "miss sarah say, 'come get your rations early saturday morning, clean up your house, wash and iron, and we'll go to preaching tomorrow--sunday. i want you to all come out clean monday morning.' they go ask mars john sanders if they could go to preaching. i recken from what they said they walked. mars john, when they git their best clothes on, make them turn round and go to the field and work all day long. he was just that mean. work all day long sunday. "miss sarah was a primitive baptist and that is what i am till this day. some folks call us hardshell baptist. the colored folks set in the back of the church. the women all set on one side and the men on the other. if they had a middle row, there was a railing dividing mens' seats from the womens' seats on the very same benches. "miss cloe, miss cornelia, and miss sarah cook up a whole lot of good things to eat and go to camp meeting. sometimes they would stay a week and longer. they would take time bout letting the colored folks go long. we had big times. my grandpa took a gingercake cutter with him and sold gingercakes when they come out of the church. he could keep that money his own. i don't know how he sold them. my sister has the cutter now i expect. my girl has seen it. it was a foot long, this wide ( inches), and fluted all around the edges, and had a handle like a biscuit cutter. they was about an inch thick. he made good ones and he sold all he could ever make. grandpa took carpet sacks to carry his gingercakes in to sell them. i remember that mighty well. (the shape of the cutter was like this: [illustration].) he purt nigh always got to go to all the camp meetings. folks got happy and shouted in them days. it would be when somebody got religion. at some big meetings they didn't shout. "when i was born they had a white mid-wife, miss martin. my mistress was in the cabin when i was born. i was born foot foremost and had a veil on my face and down on my body a piece. they call it a 'caul.' sometimes i see forms and they vanish. i can see some out of one eye now. but i've always seen things when my sight was good. it is like when you are dreaming at night but i see them at times that plain in day. "i don't know how old i am but i was a good size girl when 'mancipation come on. miss cornelia had my age in her bible. they done took me from the cabin and i was staying at the house. i slept on a trundle bed under miss cornelia's bed. her bed was a teaster--way high up, had a big stool to step on to go up in there and she had it curtained off. i had a good cotton bed and i slept good up under there. her bed was corded with sea grass rope. it didn't have no slats like beds do now. "colored folks slept on cotton beds and white folks--some of em at least--picked geese and made feather beds and down pillows. they carded and washed sheep's wool and put in their quilts. some of them, they'd be light and warm. colored folks' bed had one leg. then it was holes hewed in the wall on the other three sides and wooden slats across it. now that wasn't no bad bed. some of them was big enough for three to sleep on good. when the children was small four could sleep easy cross ways, and they slept that way. "they had shelves and tables and chairs. they made chests and put things in there and set on top of it too. white folks had fine chests to keep their bed clothes in. some of them was made of oak, and pine, and cypress. they would cook walnut hulls and bark and paint them dark with the tea. "i recollect a right smart of the civil war. we was close nough to hear the roar and ramble and the big cannons shake the things in the house. i don't know where they was fighting--a long ways off i guess. "i saw the soldiers scouting. they come most any time. they go in and take every drop of milk out of the churn. they took anything they could find and went away with it. i seen the cavalry come through. i thought they looked so pretty. their canteens was shining in the sun. miss cornelia told me to hide, the soldiers might take me on with them. i didn't want to go. i was very well pleased there at miss cornelia's. "i seen the cavalry come through that raised the 'white sheet.' i know now it must have been a white flag but they called it a white sheet to quit fighting. it was raised a short time after they passed and they said they was the ones raised it. i don't know where it was. i reckon it was a big white flag they rared up. it was so they would stop fighting. "mars sam shan didn't go to no war; he hid out. he said it was a useless war, he wasn't going to get shot up for no use a tall, and he never went a step. he hid out. i don't know where. i know charles would take the baskets off. charles tended to the stock and the carriage. he drove the wagon and carriage. he fetched water and wood. he was a black boy. mars sam shan said he wasn't goiner loose his life for nothing. "miss cornelia would cook corn light bread and muffins and anything else they had to cook. rations got down mighty scarce before it was done wid. they put the big round basket nearly big as a split cotton basket out on the back portico. charles come and disappear with it. "chess and charles was colored overseers. he didn't have white overseers. miss cornelia and miss cloe would walk the floor and cry and i would walk between. i would cry feeling sorry for them, but i didn't know why they cried so much. i know now it was squally times. war is horrible. "mars sam shan come home, went down to the cabins--they was scattered over the fields--and told them the war was over, they was free but that they could stay. then come some runners, white men. they was yankee men. i know that now. they say you must get pay or go off. we stayed that year. another man went to pa and said he would give him half of what he made. he got us all up and we went to pleasant hill. we done tolerable well. "then he tried to buy a house and five acres and got beat out of it. the minor heirs come and took it. i never learnt in books till i went to school. seem like things was in a confusion after i got big nough for that. i'd sweep and rake and cook and wash the dishes, card, spin, hoe, scour the floors and tables. i would knit at night heap of times. we'd sing some at night. "colored folks couldn't read so they couldn't sing at church lessen they learnt the songs by hearing them at home. colored folks would meet and sing and pray and preach at the cabins. "my first teacher was a white man, mr. babe willroy. i went to him several short sessions and on rainy days and cold days i couldn't work in the field. i worked in the field all my life. cook out in the winter, back to the field in the spring till fall again. "well, i jes' had this one girl. i carried her along with me. she would play round and then she was a heap of help. she is mighty good to me now. "i never seen a ku klux in my life. now, i couldn't tell you about them. "my parents' names was lou sanders and anthony sanders. ma's mother was a rockmore and her husband was a cherokee indian. i recollect them well. he was a free man and was fixing to buy her freedom. her young mistress married mr. joe bues and she heired her. mr. joe bues drunk her up and they come and got her and took her off. they run her to memphis before his wife could write to her pa. he was mars rockmore. "grandma was put on a block and sold fore grandpa could cumerlate nough cash to buy her for his wife. grandma never seen her ma no more. grandpa followed her and mr. sam shans bought her and took her to mississippi with a lot more he bought. "my pa's ma b'long to john sanders and grandpa b'long to rube sanders. they was brothers. rube sanders bought grandpa from enoch bobo down in mississippi. the bobo's had a heap of slaves and land. now, he was the one that sold gingercakes. he was a blacksmith too. both my grandpas was blacksmiths but my indian grandpa could make wagons, trays, bowls, shoes, and things out of wood too. him being a free man made his living that way. but he never could cumolate enough to buy grandma. "my other grandma was blacker than i am and grandpa too. when grandpa died he was carried back to the bobo graveyard and buried on enoch bobo's place. it was his request all his slaves be brought back and buried on his land. i went to the burying. i recollect that but ma and pa had to ask could we go. we all got to go--all who wanted to go. it was a big crowd. it was john sanders let us go mean as he was. "miss cornelia had the cistern cleaned out and they packed up their pretty china dishes and silver in a big flat sorter box. charles took them down a ladder to the bottom of the dark cistern and put dirt over it all and then scattered some old rubbish round, took the ladder out. the yankees never much as peared to see that old open cistern. i don't know if they buried money or not. they packed up a lot of nice things. it wasn't touched till after the war was over. "i been farming and cooking all my life. i worked for major black, mr. ben tolbert, mr. williams at pleasant hill, mississippi. i married and long time after come to arkansas. they said you could raise stock here--no fence law. "i get $ and commodities because i am blind. i live with my daughter here." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: nellie maxwell, biscoe, arkansas age: "mama was harriett baldwin. she was born in virginia. her owners was mistress mollie fisher and master coon fisher. it was so cold one winter that they burned up their furniture keeping a fire. said seemed like they would freeze in spite of what all they could do. "grandpa was sold away from grandma and three children. he didn't want to be sold nary bit. when they would be talking about selling him he go hide under the house. they go on off. he'd come out. when he was sold he went under there. he come out and went on off when they found him and told him he was sold to this man. grandma said he was obedient. they never hit him. he was her best husband. they never sold grandma and she couldn't 'count for him being let go. grandma had another husband after freedom and two more children. they left there in a crowd and all come to arkansas. grandma was a cook for the field hands. she had charge of ringing a big dinner-bell hung up in a tree. she was black as charcoal. mama and grandma said master coon and old mistress mollie was good to them. that the reason grandpa would go under the house. he didn't want to be sold. he never was seen no more by them. "grandma said sometimes the meals was carried to the fields and they fed the children out of troughs. they took all the children to the spring set them in a row. they had a tubful of water and they washed them dried them and put on their clean clothes. they used homemade lye soap and greased them with tallow and mutton suet. that made them shine. they kept them greased so their knees and knuckles would ruff up and bleed. "grandma and mama stopped at fourche dam. they was so glad to be free and go about. then it scared them to hear talk of being sold. it divided them and some owners was mean. "in my time if i done wrong most any grown person whoop me. then mama find it out, she give me another one. i got a double whooping. "times is powerful bad to raise up a family. drinking and gambling, and it takes too much to feed a family now. times is so much harder that way then when i was growing." interviewer: miss sallie c. miller person interviewed: ann may, clarksville, arkansas age: "i was born at cabin creek (lamar now, but i still call it cabin creek. i can't call it anything else). i was sold with my mother when i was a little girl and lived with our white folks until after the war and was freed. we lived on a farm. my father belong to another family, a neighbor of ours. we all lived with the white folks. my mother took care of all of them. they was always as good as they could be to us and after the war we stayed on with the white folks who owned my father and worked on the farm for him. his master gave us half of everything we made until we could get started our selves, then our white folks told my father to homestead a place near him, and he did. we lived there until after father died. we paid taxes and lived just like the white folks. we did what the white folks told us to do and never lost a thing by doing it. after i married my husband worked at the mill for your father and made a living for me and i worked for the white folks. now i am too old to cook but i have a few washin's for the white folks and am getting my old age pension that helps me a lot. "i don't know what i think about the young generation. i aim at my stopping place. "the songs we sang were 'come ye that love the lord and let your joys be known' 'when you and i were young, maggie' 'juanita' 'just before the battle, mother' 'darling nellie gray' 'carry me back to old virginia' 'old black joe' of course we sang 'dixie.' we had to sing that, it was the leading song." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: joe mayes, madison, arkansas age: ? "i was born a slave two years. i never will forget man come and told mother she was free. she cooked. she never worked in the field till after freedom. in a few days another man come and made them leave. they couldn't hold them in kentucky. the owners give her provisions, meat, lasses, etc. they give her her clothes. she had four children and i was her youngest. the two oldest was girls. father was dead. i don't remember him. mother finally made arrangements to go to will bennett's place. "another thing i remember: frank hayes sold mother to isaac tremble after she was free. she didn't know she was free. neither did isaac tremble. i don't know whether frank mayes was honest or not. the part i remember was that us boys stood on the block and never was parted from her. we had to leave our sisters. one was sold to miss margaret moxley, the other to miss almyra winder. (he said "miss" but they may have been widows. he didn't seem to know--ed.) father belong to a master mills. all our family got together after we found out we had been freed. "the ku klux: i went to the well little after dark. it was a good piece from our house. i looked up and saw a man with a robe and cap on. it scared me nearly to death. i nearly fell out. i had heard about the 'booger man' and learned better then. but there he was. i had heard a lot about ku klux. "there was a big gourd hanging up by the well. we kept it there. there was a bucket full up. he said, 'give me water.' i handed over the gourd full. he done something with it. he kept me handing him water. he said, 'hold my crown and draw me up another bucket full.' i was so scared i lit out hard as i could run. it was dark enough to hide me when i got a piece out of his way. "the owners was pretty good to mother to be slavery. she had clothes and enough to eat all the time. i used to go back to see all our white folks in kentucky. they are about all dead now i expect. mother was glad to be free but for a long time her life was harder. "after we got up larger she got along better. i worked on a steamboat twelve or thirteen years. i was a roustabout and freight picker. i was on passenger boats mostly but they carried freight. i went to school some. i always had colored teachers. i farmed at hughes and madison ever since excepting one year in mississippi. "i live alone. i get $ and commodities from the sociable welfare. "the young folks would do better, work better, if they could get work all time. it is hard at times to get work right now. the times is all right. better everything but work. i know colored folks is bad managers. that has been bad on us always. "i worked on boats from evansville, st. louis, memphis to new orleans mostly. it was hard work but a fine living. i was stout then." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: jesse meeks elm street, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: minister "i am seventy-six. 'course i was young in slavery times, but i can remember some things. i remember how they used to feed us. put milk and bread or poke salad and corn-meal dumplin's in a trough and give you a wooden spoon and all the children eat together. "we stayed with our old master fourteen years. they were good folks and treated us right. my old master's name was sam meeks--in longview, drew county, arkansas, down here below monticello. "i got a letter here about a month ago from the daughter of my young mistress. i wrote to my young mistress and she was dead, so her daughter got the letter. she answered it and sent me a dollar and asked me was i on the old age pension list. "as far as i know, i am the onliest one of the old darkies living that belonged to sam meeks. "i remember when the ku klux run in on my old master. that was after the war. he was at the breakfast table with his wife. you know in them days they didn't have locks and keys. had a hole bored through a board and put a peg in it, and i know the ku klux come up and stuck a gun through the auger hole and shot at old master but missed him. he run to the door and shot at the ku klux. i know us children found one of 'em down at the spring bathin' his leg where old master had shot him. "oh! they were good folks and treated us right." folklore subjects name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: superstitions story:--information this information given by: jesse meeks place of residence: elm street, pine bluff, arkansas occupation: minister age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] "i remember there was on old man called billy mann lived down here at noble lake. he said he could 'give you a hand.' if you and your wife wasn't gettin' along very well and you wanted to get somebody else, he said he could 'give you a hand' and that would enable you to get anybody you wanted. that's what he said. "and i've heard 'em say they could make a ring around you and you couldn't get out. "i don't believe in that though 'cause i'm in the ministerial work and it don't pay me to believe in things like that. that is the work of the devil." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: jeff metcalf r.f.d., brinkley, arkansas age: "my mother's name was julia metcalf and my father's name was jim metcalf. they belong to an old bachelor named bill metcalf. i think i was born in lee county, mississippi. they did not leave when the war was over. they stayed on the bill metcalf place till they died. i reckon i do remember him. "i can't tell you 'bout the war nor slavery. i don't know a thing 'bout it. i heard but i couldn't tell you it been so long ago. they didn't expect nothing but freedom. they got along in the reconstruction days about like they had been getting along. seemed like they didn't know much about the war. they heard they was free. i don't remember the ku klux klan. i heard old folks talk 'bout it. "i don't know if my father ever voted but i guess he did. i have voted but i don't vote now. in part i 'proves of the women votin'. i think the men outer vote and support his family fur as he can. "i come here in from mississippi. i got busted farmin'. i knowed a heap o' people said they was doing so well i come too. i come on the train. "i ain't got no home, no land. i got a hog. no garden. two times in the year now is hard--winter and simmer. in some ways times is better. in some ways they is worser. when a trade used to be made to let you have provisions, you know you would not starve. now if you can't get work you 'bout starve and can't get no credit. crops been good last few years and prices fair fur it. but money won't buy nothin' now. everything is so high. meat is so high. working man have to eat meat. if he don't he get weak. "the young folks do work. they can't save much farmin'. if they could do public work between times it be better. i had a hard time in july and august. i got six children, they grown and gone. my wife is years old. she ain't no 'count for work no more. the government give me an' her $ a month between us two. her name is hannah metcalf. "i wish i did know somethin' to tell you, lady, 'bout the civil war and the slavery times. i done forgot 'bout all i heard 'em talkin'. when you see hannah she might know somethin'." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: hardy miller - / w. second avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: yardman "mistress, i'll tell you what my mother said. she said she birthed me on christmas morning in in sumpter county, georgia. it was on her old master's place. bright herring was his name. old mistress' name was miss lizzie. my father belonged to a different owner. "mac mcclendon and john mourning was two nigger traders and they brought my mother and sister nancy and sister liza and my sister anna and hardy miller--that's me--out here on the train from americus, georgia to memphis and put us on a steamboat and brought us here to pine bluff and sold me to dr. pope. he was a poor white man and he wanted a pair of niggers. he bought me and laura beckwith. in them days a doctor examined you and if your heart was sound and your lungs was sound and you didn't have no broken bones--have to pay one hundred dollars for every year you was old. that was in and i was ten years old so they sold me for one thousand dollars and one thousand dollars for laura cause she was sound too. carried us down to monticello and when i got free my mammy come after me. "fore i left georgia, my daddy belonged to a man named bill ramsey. you see niggers used the name of their masters. "i can remember when i was a boy bill ramsey set my father free and give him a free pass and anybody hire him have to pay just like they pay a nigger now. my daddy hired my mammy from her master. my mammy was her master's daughter by a colored woman. "my daddy had a hoss named salem and had a cart and he would take me and my mammy and my sister liza and go to americus and buy rations for the next week. "i member when the war started in my mammy hired me out to mrs. brewer and she used to git after me and say, 'you better do that good or i'll whip you. my husband gone to war now on account of you niggers and it's a pity you niggers ever been cause he may get killed and i'll never see him again.' "i member seein' general bragg's men and general steele and general marmaduke. had a fight down at mark's mill. we just lived six miles from there. seen the yankees comin' by along the big public road. the yankees whipped and fought em so strong they didn't have time to bury the dead. we could see the buzzards and carrion crows. i used to hear old mistress say, 'there goes the buzzards, done et all the meat off.' i used to go to mill and we could see the bones. used to got out and look at their teeth. no ma'm, i wasn't scared, the white boys was with me. "dr. pope was good to me, better to me than he was to master walter and master billy and my young miss, aurelia, cause me and laura was scared of em and we tried to do everything they wanted. "when the war ended in we was out in the field gettin' pumpkins. old master come out and said, 'hardy, you and laura is free now. you can stay or you can go and live with somebody else.' we stayed till and then our mammies come after us. i was seventeen. "after freedom my mammy sent me to school. teacher's name was w.h. young. name was william young but he went under the head of w.h. young. "i went to school four years and then i got too old. i learned a whole lot. learned to read and spell and figger. i done pretty good. i learned how to add and multiply and how to cancel and how to work square root. "what i've been doin' all my life is farmin' down at fairfield on the murphy place. "vote? good lord! i done more votin'. voted for all the presidents. yankees wouldn't let us vote democrat, had to vote republican. they'd be there agitatin'. stand right there and tell me the ones to vote for. i done quit votin'. i voted for coolidge--we called him college--that's the last votin' i did. one of my friends, levi hunter, he was a colored magistrate down at fairfield. "ku klux? what you talkin' about? ku klux come to our house. my sister ellen's husband went to war on the yankee side durin' the war--on the republican side and fought the democrats. "after the war the ku klux came and got the colored folks what fought and killed em. i saw em kill a nigger right off his mule. fell off on his sack of corn and the old mule kep' on goin'. "ku klux used to wear big old long robe with bunches of cotton sewed all over it. i member one time we was havin' church and a ku klux was hid up in the scaffold. the preacher was readin' the bible and tellin' the folks there was a man sent from god and say an angel be here directly. just then the ku klux fell down and the niggers all thought 'twas the angel and they got up and flew. "ku klux used to come to the church well and ask for a drink and say, 'i ain't had a bit of water since i fought the battle of shiloh.' "might as well tell the truth--had just as good a time when i was a slave as when i was free. had all the hog meat and milk and everything else to eat. "i member one time when old master wasn't at home the yankees come and say to old mistress, 'madam, we is foragin'.' old mistress say, 'my husband ain't home; i can't let you.' yankees say, 'well, we're goin' to anyway.' they say, 'where you keep your milk and butter?' old mistress standin' up there, her face as red as blood and say, 'i haven't any milk or butter to spare.' but the yankees would hunt till they found it. "after a battle when the dead soldiers was layin' around and didn't have on no uniform cause some of the other soldiers took em, i've heard the old folk what knowed say you could tell the yankees from the rebels cause the yankees had blue veins on their bellies and the rebels didn't. "now you want me to tell you bout this young nigger generation? i never thought i'd live to see this young generation come out and do as well as they is doin'. i'm goin' tell you the truth. when i was young, boys and girls used to wear long white shirt come down to their ankles, cause it would shrink, with a hole cut out for their head. i think they is doin' a whole lot better. got better clothes. almost look as well as the white folks. i just say the niggers dressin' better than the white folks used to. "then i see some niggers got automobiles. just been free bout seventy-two years and some of em actin' just like white folks now. "well, good-bye--if i don't see you again i'll meet you in heaven." interviewer: beulah sherwood hagg person interviewed: [hw: henry kirk] h.k. miller state street, little rock, arkansas age: "no ma'am, it will not bother me one bit if you want to have a long visit with me.... yes, i was a little busy, but it can wait. i was getting my dishes ready for a party tomorrow night. "yes ma'am, i was born during slavery. i was born at a little place called fort valley in georgia, july , . fort valley is about miles from macon. i came to little rock in . my old mistress was a widow. as well as i can remember she did not have any slaves but my father and mother and the six children. no ma'am, her name was not miller, it was wade.... where did i get my name, then? it came from my grandfather on my father's side.... well, now, miss, i can't tell you where he got that name. from some white master, i reckon. "we got free in georgia june , . i'll never forget that date. what i mean is, that was the day the big freedom came. but we didn't know it and just worked on. my father was a shoemaker for old mistress. only one in town, far as i recollect. he made a lot of money for mistress. mother was houseworker for her. as fast as us children got big enough to hire out, she leased us to anybody who would pay for our hire. i was put out with another widow woman who lived about miles. she worked me on her cotton plantation. old mistress sold one of my sisters; took cotton for pay. i remember hearing them tell about the big price she brought because cotton was so high. old mistress got bales of cotton for sister, and it was only a few days till freedom came and the man who had traded all them bales of cotton lost my sister, but old mistress kept the cotton. she was smart, wasn't she? she knew freedom was right there. sister came right back to my parents. "just give me time, miss, and i'll tell you the whole story. this woman what had me hired tried to run away and take all her slaves along. i don't remember just how many, but a dozen or more. lots of white folks tried to run away and hide their slaves until after the yankee soldiers had been through the town searching for them what had not been set free. she was trying to get to the woods country. but she got nervous and scared and done the worst thing she could. she run right into a yankee camp. course they asked where we all belonged and sent us where we belonged. they had always taught us to be scared of the yankees. i remember just as well when i got back to where my mother was she asked me: "boy, why you come here? don't you know old mistress got you rented out? you're goin' be whipped for sure." i told her, no, now we got freedom. that was the first they had heard. so then she had to tell my father and mother. she tole them how they have no place to go, no money,--nothing to start life on; they better stay on with her. so my father and mother kept on with her; she let them have a part of what they made; she took some for board, as was right. the white ladies what had me between them fixed it up that i would serve out the time i was rented out for. it was about six months more. my parents saved money and we all went to a farm. i stayed with them till i was years old. of course they got all the money i made. i married when i was , still living in georgia. we tried to farm on shares. a man from arkansas came there, getting up a colony of colored to go to arkansas to farm. told big tales of fine land with nobody to work it. not half as many negroes in arkansas as in georgia. me and my wife joined up to go. "well, ma'am, i didn't get enough education to be what you call a educated man. my father paid for a six months night course for me after peace. i learned to read and write and figure a little. i have used my tablespoon full of brains ever since, always adding to that start. i learned everything i could from the many white friends i have had. any way, miss, i have known enough to make a good living all these years. "now i'll get on with the story. first work i got in arkansas was working on a farm; me and her both; we always tried to stay together. we could not make anything on the garner farm, and it was mighty unhealthy down in fourche bottoms. i carried her back to little rock and i got work as house man in the bunch home. from there i went to the home of dudley e. jones and stayed there years. that was the beginning of my catering. i just naturally took to cooking and serving. white folks was still used to having colored wait on them and they liked my style. mr. jones was so kind. he told his friends about how i could plan big dinners and banquets; then cook and serve them. right soon i was handling most of the big swell weddings for the society folks. child, if i could call off the names of the folks i have served, it would be mighty near everybody of any consequence in little rock for more than years. yes ma'am, i'm now being called on to serve the grandchildren of my first customers. "during the years i lived in mr. jones' family i was serving banquets, big public dinners, all kinds of big affairs. i have had the spring and fall banquets for the scottish rite masons for more than years. i have served nearly all the governor's banquets, college graduation and reunion parties; i took care of president roosevelt--not this one, but teddy----. served about that day. any big parties for colored people?... yes ma'am! don't you remember when booker t. washington was here?... no ma'am. white folks didn't have a thing to do with it, excepting the city let us have the new fire station. it was just finished but the fire engines ain't moved in yet. i served about that time. yes ma'am, there was a lot of white folks there. then, i have been called to other places to do the catering. lonoke, benton, malvern, conway--a heap of places like that. "no miss, i didn't always have all the catering business; oh, no. there was mr. rossner. he was a fine man. white gentleman. i used to help him a lot. but when he sold out to bott, i got a lot of what business mr. rossner had had, mr. bott was a jew. all that time my wife was my best helper. i took a young colored fellow named freeling alexander and taught him the business. he never been able to make it go on his own, but does fine working on salary. he has a cafeteria now. "well thank you miss, speaking about my home like that. yes ma'am, i sure do own it. fifty-two years i been living right here. first i bought the lot; it took me two years to pay for it. next i build a little house. the big pin oak trees out front was only saplings when i set them out. come out in the back yard and see my pecan tree.... it is a giant, ain't it? yes ma'am, it was a tiny thing when i set it out fifty-two years ago. our only child was born in this house,--a dear daughter--and her three babies were born here too. after my wife and daughter died, me and the children kept on trying to keep the home together. i have taught them the catering business. both granddaughters are high school graduates. the boy is in mexico. before he went he signed his name to a check and said: "here, grandpa. you ain't going to want for a thing while i'm gone. if something happens to your catering business, or you get so you can't work, fill this in for whatever you need." but thank the good lord, i'm still going strong. nobody has ever had to take care of h.k. miller. now let me tell you something else about this place. for more than ten years i have been paying $ . every year for my part of that asphalt paving you see out in front. yes ma'am, the lot is foot front, and i am paying for only half of it; from my curb line to the middle of the street. maybe if i live long enough i'll get it paid for sometime. "i haven't tried to lay by much money. i don't suppose there is any other colored man--uneducated like me--what has done more for his community. i have given as high as $ and $ at one time to help out on the church debt or when they wanted to build. i always help in times of floods and things like that. i've helped many white persons in my lifetime. "well, now, i'll tell you what i think about the voting system. i think this. of course we are still in subjection to the white people; they are in the majority and have most of the government on their side. but i think that, er,--er,--well i'll tell you, while it is all right for them to be at the head of things, they ought to do what is right. being educated, they ought to know right from wrong. i believe in the bible, miss. look here. this little book--gospel of st. john--has been carried in my pocket every day for years and years. and i never miss a day reading it. i don't see how some people can be so unjust. i guess they never read their bible. the reason i been able to make my three-score years and ten is because i obeys what the good book says. "now, let me see. i can remember that i been voting mighty near ever since i been here. i never had any trouble voting. i have never been objected from voting that i remember of. "now you ask about what i think of the young people. well, i tell you. i think really that the young people of today had better begin to check up, a little. they are going too fast. they don't seem to have enough consideration. when i see so many killed in automobile accidents, and know that drinking is the cause of so many car accidents,--well, yes ma'am, drinking sure does have a lot to do with it. i think they should more consider the way they going to make a living. make a rule to look before they act. another thing--the education being given them--they are not taking advantage of it. if they would profit by what they learn they could benefit theirselves. a lot of them now spend heap of time trying to get to be doctors and lawyers and like that. that is a mistake. there is not enough work among colored people to support them. i know. negroes do not have confidence in their race for this kind of business. no ma'am. colored will go for a white doctor and white lawyer 'cause they think they know more about that kind of business. i would recommend as the best means of making a living for colored young people is to select some kind of work that is absolutely necessary to be done and then do it honestly. the trades, carpentering, paper hanging, painting, garage work. some work that white people need to have done, and they just as soon colored do it as white. white folks ain't never going to have negro doctors and lawyers, i reckon. that's the reason i took up catering--even that long ago. fifty-five years ago i knew to look around and find some work that white folks would need done. there's where your living comes from. "yes, miss, my business is slack--falling off, as you say. catering is not what it used to be. you see, or years ago, people's homes were grand and big; big dining rooms, built for parties and banquets. but for the big affairs with or guests, they went to the hotels. even the hotels had to rent my dishes, silver and linens.... oh, lord, yes, miss. i always had my own. it took me ten years to save enough money to start out with my first of everything.... you want to see them?... sure, i keep them here at home.... look. here's my silver chests, all packed to go. i have them divided into different sizes. this one has fifty of every kind of silver, so if fifty guests are to be provided for. i keep my linens, plates of different sizes, glasses and everything the same way. a -guest outfit is packed in those chests over there. no, ma'am, i don't have much trouble of losing silver, because it all has my initials on; look: h.k.m. on every piece. heap of dishes are broken every time i have a big catering. i found one plate yesterday--the last of a full pattern i had fifteen years ago. about every ten years is a complete turnover of china. glassware goes faster, and of course, the linen is the greatest overhead. yes ma'am, as i was telling you, catering is slack because of clubs. so many women take their parties to clubs now. another thing, the style of food has changed. in those old days, the table was loaded with three four meats, fish, half dozen vegetable dishes, entrees, different kinds of wine, and an array of desserts. now what do they have? liquid punch, frozen punch and cakes. in june i had a wedding party for , and that's all they served. i had to have punch bowls, but borrowed about half from my white friends. "you have got that wrong about me living with my grandchildren. no ma'am! they are living with me. they make their home with me. i don't expect ever to marry again. i'm . in my will i am leaving everything i have to my three grandchildren. "well, miss, you're looking young and blooming. guess your husband is right proud of you? say you're a widow? well, now, my goodness. some of these days a fine man going to find you and then, er--er, lady, let me cater for the wedding?" interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: henry kirk miller [hw: same as h.k. miller] state street, little rock, arkansas age [hw: ] "i am eighty-six years old-eighty-six years and six months. i was born july , . i was a slave. didn't get free till june . i was a boy fifteen years old when i got free. "i have been living in this house fifty years. i have been living in arkansas ever since . that makes about sixty-five years. "the engineer who got killed in that wreck the other day (a wreck which occurred february , , monday morning at three and in which the engineer and five other people were killed) came right from my town, fort valley, georgia. i came here from there in . i don't know anybody living in fort valley now unless it's my own folks. and i don't 'spect i'd know them now. when i got married and left there, i was only twenty-one years old. parents and relatives "my mother and father were born in south carolina. after their master and missis married they came to georgia. back there i don't know. when i remember anything they were in georgia. they said they came from south carolina to georgia. i don't know how they came. both of my parents were negroes. they came to arkansas ahead of me. i have their pictures." (he carried me into the parlor and showed me life-sized bust portraits of his mother and father.) "there were eighteen of us: six boys and twelve girls. they are all dead now but myself and one sister. she lives in atlanta, georgia. i am older than she is. occupation "i am a caterer. i have been serving the scottish rite masons in their annual reunion every six months for forty-one years. we are going to the seventh street entrance this friday. one of the orders will have a dinner and i am going down to serve it. i served the dinner for teddy roosevelt there, thirty years ago. this roosevelt is a cousin of his. masters "my parents' master was named wade. when he died, i was so little that they had to lift me up to let me see into the coffin so i could look at him. i went to his daughter. my name is after my father's father. my grandfather was named miller. i took his name. he was a white man. "wade's daughter was named riley, but i keep my grandfather's name. my mother and father were then transferred to the rileys too, and they took the name of riley. it was after freedom that i took the name miller from my original people. haven riley's father was my brother." (haven riley lives in little rock and was formerly an instructor at philander smith college. now he is a public stenographer and a private teacher.) "wade owned all of my brothers and sisters and parents and some of my kin--father's sister and brother. there might have been some more i can't remember. wade was a farmer. "i remember once when my mother and father were going to the field to work, i went with them as usual. that was before wade died and his daughter drew us. "my wife died six years ago. if she had lived till tomorrow, she would have been married to me sixty years. she died on the tenth of february and we were married on the sixth. we just lacked five years of being married sixty years when she died. food "for food, i don't know anything more than bread and meat. meal, meat, molasses were the only rations i saw. in those times the white people had what was known as the white people's house and then what was known as nigger quarters. the children that weren't big enough to work were fed at the white people's house. we got milk and mush for breakfast. when they boiled cabbage we got bread and pot-liquor. for supper we got milk and bread. they had cows and the children were fed mostly on milk and mush or milk and bread. we used to bake a corn cake in the ashes, ash cake, and put it in the milk. "the chickens used to lay out in the barn. if we children would find the nests and bring the eggs in our missis would give us a biscuit, and we always got biscuits for christmas. houses in the negro quarters "in the nigger quarters there were nothing but log houses. i don't remember any house other than a log house. they'd just go out in the woods and get logs and put up a log house. put dirt and mud or clay in the cracks to seal it. notch the logs in the end to hitch them at corners. nailed planks at the end of the logs to make a door frame. "my people all ate and cooked and lived in the same room. some of the slaves had dirt floors and some of them had plank floors. "food was kept in the house in a sort of box or chest, built in the wall sometimes. mostly it was kept on the table. "in cooking they had a round oven made like a pot only the bottom would be flat. it had an iron top. the oven was a bought oven. it was shaped like a barrel. the top lifted up. coal was placed under the oven and a little on top. tables and chairs "tables were just boards nailed together. nothing but planks nailed together. i don't remember nothing but homemade benches for chairs. they sometimes made platted or split-bottom chairs out of white oak. strips of oak were seven feet long. they put them in water so they would bend easily and wove them while they were flexible and fresh. the whole chair bottom was made out of one strip just like in caning. those chairs were stouter than the chairs they make now." (to be continued) [tr: no continuation found.] interviewer: mrs. annie l. lacotts person interviewed: matilda miller humphrey, ark. age: the day of the interview matilda, a nice clean-looking negro woman, was in bed, suffering from some kind of a pain in her head. she lives in a little two-room unpainted boxed house beside the highway in humphrey. her house is almost in the shadow of the big tank which was put up recently when the town acquired its water system. when told that the visitor wanted to talk with her about her early life, matilda said, "well, honey, i'll tell you all i can, but you see, i was just a little girl when the war was, but i've heard my mother tell lots of things about then. "i was born a slave; my mother and daddy both were owned by judge richard gamble at crockett's bluff. i was born at boone hill--about twelve miles north of dewitt--and how come it named boone hill, that farm was my young mistress's. her papa give it to her, just like he give me to her when i was little, and after she married mr. oliver boone and lived there the farm always went by the name of 'boone hill.' the house is right on top of a hill, you know, it shure was a pretty place when miss georgia lived there, with great big magnolia trees in the front yard. i belonged to miss georgia, my young mistress, and when the niggers were freed my mamma staid on with her. she was right there when both of his chillun were born, mr. john boone and miss mary, too. i nursed _both_ of them chillun. you know who miss mary is now, don't you? yes'um, she's mr. lester black's wife and he's good, too. "i was de oney child my mother had till twelve years after the surrender. you see, my papa went off with yankees and didn't come back till twelve years after we was free, and then i had some brothers and sisters. exactly nine months from the day my daddy come home, i had a baby brother born. my mother said she knew my daddy had been married or took up with some other woman, but she hadn't got a divorce and still counted him her husband. they lived for a long time with our white folks, for they were good to us, but you know after the boys and girls got grown and began to marry and live in different places, my parents wanted to be with them and left the white folks. "no mam, i didn't see any fighting, but we could hear the big guns booming away off in the distance. i was married when i was to henry miller and lived with him years and ten months; he died from old age and hard work. we had two chillun, both girls. one of them lives here with me in that other room. mamma said the yankees told the negroes when they got em freed they'd give em a mule and a farm or maybe a part of the plantation they'd been working on for their white folks. she thought they just told em that to make them dissatisfied and to get more of them 'to join up with em' and they were dressed in pretty blue clothes and had nice horses and that made lots of the negro men go with them. none of em ever got anything but what their white folks give em, and just lots and lots of em never come back after the war cause the yankees put them in front where the shooting was and they was killed. my husband henry miller died four years ago. he followed public work and made plenty of money but he had lots of friends and his money went easy too. i don't spect i'll live long for this hurtin' in my head is awful bad sometime." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: nathan miller, madison, arkansas age: born in "lady, i'll tell you what i know but it won't nigh fill your book. "i was born in south of lockesburg, arkansas. my parents was marther and burl miller. "they told me their owners come here from north carolina in . they owned lots of slaves and lots of land. mother was medium light--about my color. see, i'm mixed. my hair is white. i heard mother say she never worked in the field. father was a blacksmith on the place. he wasn't a slave. his grandfather willed him free at ten years of age. it was tried in the supreme court. they set him free. said they couldn't break the dead man's will. "my father was a real bright colored man. it caused some disturbance. father went back and forth to kansas. they tried to make him leave if he was a free man. they said i would have to be a slave several years or leave the state. freedom settled that for me. "my great grandmother on my mother's side belong to thomas jefferson. he was good to her. she used to tell me stories on her lap. she come from virginia to tennessee. they all cried to go back to virginia and their master got mad and sold them. he was a meaner man. her name was sarah jefferson. mariah was her daughter and marther was my mother. they was real dark folks but mother was my color, or a shade darker. "grandmother said she picked cotton from the seed all day till her fingers nearly bled. that was fore gin day. they said the more hills of tobacco you could cultivate was how much you was worth. "i don't remember the ku klux. they was in my little boy days but they never bothered me. "all my life i been working hard--steamboat, railroad, farming. wore clean out now. "times is awful hard. i am worn clean out. i am not sick. i'm ashamed to say i can't do a good day's work but i couldn't. i am proud to own i get commodities and $ from the relief." interviewer: thomas elmore lacy person interviewed: sam miller, morrilton, arkansas age: "i is ninety-eight years old, suh. my name's sam miller, and i was born in texas in --don't know de month nor de day. my parents died when i was jes' a little chap, and we come to conway county, arkansas fifty years ago; been livin' here ever since. my wife's name was annie williamson. we ain't got no chillun and never had none. i don't belong to no chu'ch, but my wife is a baptis'. "can't see to git around much now. no, suh, i can't read or write, neither. my memory ain't so good about things when i was little, away back yonder, but i sure members dem ku klux klans and de militia. they used to ketch people and take em out and whup em. "don't rickolleck any of de old songs but one or two--oh, yes, dey used to sing 'old time religion's good enough for me' and songs like dat. "de young people! lawzy, i jest dunno how to take em. can't understand em at all. dey too much for me!" note: the old fellow chuckled and shook his head but said very little more. he could have told much but for his faulty memory, no doubt. he was almost non-committal as to facts of slavery days, the war between the states, and reconstruction period. has the sense of humor that seems to be a characteristic of most of the old-time negroes, but aside from a whimsical chuckle shows little of the interest that is usually associated with the old generation of negroes. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: w.d. miller, west memphis, arkansas age: ? "grandpa was sold twice in raleigh, north carolina. he was sold twice to the same people, from the millers to the robertsons (robersons, robinsons, etc.?). he said the robertsons were not so very good to him but the millers were. grandma was washing when a yank come and told them they had been sot free. they quit washing and went from house to house rejoicing. my parents' names was jesse and mary miller, and grandma agnes and grandpa peter miller. the robertsons was hill wheat farmers. the millers had a cloth factory. dan miller owned it and he raised wheat. mama was a puny woman and they worked her in the factory. she made cloth and yarn. "i was born in raleigh, north carolina or close by there. my father's uncle john house brought about one hundred families from north carolina to quittenden county, mississippi. i was seven years old. he said they rode mules to pick cotton, it growed up like trees. we come in car boxes. i came to heath and helena eleven years ago. papa stayed with his master dan miller till my uncle tolled him away. he died with smallpox soon after we come to mississippi. "it is a very good country but they don't pick cotton riding on mules, at least i ain't seed none that way." el dorado district folklore subjects name of interviewer: pernella anderson subject: slavery customs story:--information information given by: mose minser--farmer--age-- place of residence: miles from el dorado--section [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] ah use ter could tawk an tell a thing plum well but ah been broke up by a cah. cah run ovah mah haid an ah couldn' tawk fuh days. so now ah aint no good fuh nothin. ah recollect one night ah dream a dream. de dream at ah dreamt, next morning dat dream come true. jes like ah dreamt hit. yes hit did. ah wuz heah in slavery time. ah membuh when dey freed us niggers. se here, ah wuz a purty good size kid when dey free us. ah kin membuh our house. sot dis way. an ole marster called all his niggers up. dey all come along roun in a squad on de porch. ah did not heah whut he said tuh em. but mah step-pa wuz dere an tole us we wuz free. ah atter dey freed mah step-pa ah recollect he went on home and fried some aigs (eggs) in de ubben. know we didn have no stove we cooked on de fiuhplace. as ah said cook dem aigs, gimme some uv hit, an he lef' den. went east and ah aint nevah seed dat man since. ah membuhs once ah got a whoopin bout goin tuh de chinquepin tree. some uv um tole me ole master wuz gwianter let us quit at dinnuh an so in place uv me goin ter dinnuh ah went on by de chinquepin tree tuh git some chanks. ah had a brothuh wid me. so ah come tuh fine out dat dey gin tuh callin us. dey hollered tuh come on dat we wuz gointer pick cotton. so in place uv us goin on tuh de house we went on back tuh de fiel'. our fiel wuz bout a mile fum de house. ole moster waited down dere at de gate. he call me when ah got dere an wanted tuh know why ah didn come and git mah dinnah sos ah could pick cotton. so he taken mah britches down dat day. mah chinks all run out on de groun' an he tole mah brothah tuh pick um up. ah knocked mah brothuh ovah fuh pickin um up an aftuh ah done dat ole moster taken his red pocket han'cher out and tied hit ovah mah eyes tuh keep me fum seein mah brothuh pick um up. so when he got through wid me and put mah britches back on me ah went on tuh de fiel and went tuh pickin cotton. dat evenin when us stop pickin cotton ah took mah brothah down and taken mah chinquapins. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: gip minton, des arc, arkansas age: "i was born at jackson, alabama on the tennessee river. it was sho a putty river. i never did know my grandfolks. i think my father was a soldier. my master was a soldier, i think. he was in de war. i do remember the civil war. i remember the last battle at scottsboro. there was several but one big battle and they got to belfontain. that is where it seemed they were trying to go. i don't recollect who won the battle. i heard them fighting and saw the smoke and after they went on saw the bodies dead and all that was left was like a cyclone had swept by. there was a big regiment stationed at scottsboro. it was just like any war fought with guns and they lived in tents. they took everything they could find. looked like starvation was upon de land. "i had two sisters and one brother and my mother died when i was a baby. i come out here to arkansas with my mothers old master and mistress and never did see nor hear of none of them. no i never did hear from none of them. i come out here when i was ten or twelve years old. it was, it was right after the war. i recken i was freed, but i was raised by white folks and i stayed right on wid em. dat freedom ain't never bothered me. "my master and mistress names was master alfred minton. dey call me gip for him. gip minton is what they always called me. my mistress was miss annie minton. i stayed right wid em. they raised me and i come on here wid em. i don't know nothin about that freedom. "i recken they was good to me. i et in de kitchen when they got through or on a table out in de back yard sometimes. i slept in an outhouse they fixed up mostly, when i got up big. "we come on the train to memphis and they come on thater way to lonoke whar we settled. don shirley was the man i come on horseback with from memphis to lonoke. he was a man what dealt in horses. sure he was a white man. he's where we got some horses. i don't remember if he lived at lonoke or not. "i have voted, yes ma'am, a heap of times. i don't remember what kind er ticket i votes. i'm a democrat, i think so. i ain't voted fur sometime now. i don't know if i'll vote any more times or not. i don't know what is right bout votin and what ain't right. "when i was a boy i helped farm. we had what we made. i guess it was plenty. i had more to eat and i didn't have as many changes of clothes as folks has to have nowdays bout all de difference. they raised lots more. they bought things to do a year and didn't be allus goin to town. it was hard to come to town. yes mam it did take a long time, sometimes in a ox wagon. the oxen pulled more over muddy roads. took three days to come to town and git back. i farmed one-half-for-the-other and on shear crop. well one bout good as the other. bout all anybody can make farmin is plenty to eat and a little to wear long time ago and nows the same way. the most i reckon i ever did make was on surrounded hill (biscoe) when i farmed one-half-fur-de-udder for sheriff reinhardt. the ground was new and rich and the seasons hit just fine. no maam i never owned no farm, no livestock, no home. the only thing i owned was a horse one time. i worked or years for mr. brown and for mr. plunkett and son. i drayed all de time fur em. hauled freight up from the old depot (wharf) down on the river. long time fore a railroad was thought of. i helped load cotton and hides on the boats. we loaded all day and all night too heap o'nights. we worked till we got through and let em take the ship on. "the times is critical for old folks, wages low and everything is so high. the young folks got heap better educations but seems like they can't use it. they don't know how to any avantage. i know they don't have as good chances at farmin as de older folks had. i don't know why it is. my son works up at the lumber yard. yes he owns this house. that's all he owns. he make nough to get by on, i recken. he works hard, yes maam. he helps me if he can. i get $ a month janitor at the farmers and merchants bank (des arc). i works a little garden and cleans off yards. no maam it hurts my rheumatism to run the yard mower. i works when i sho can't hardly go. nothin matter cept i'm bout wo out. i plied for the old folks penshun but i ain't got nuthin yet. i signed up at the bank fur it agin not long ago. i has been allus self sportin. didn't pend on no livin soul but myself." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: a.j. mitchell e. th avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: garbage hauler "i was 'bout seven when they surrendered. i can remember when my old master sold aunt susan. she raised me. i seen old master when he was tryin' to whip old aunt susan. she was the cook. she said, 'i ain't goin' let you whip me' and i heard my sister say next day he done sold aunt susan. i ain't seed her since. i called her ma. my mother died when i was two years old. she was full injun. my father was black but his hair was straight. his face was so black it shined. looked like it was greased. my father said he was freeborn and i've seen stripes on his back look like the veins on back of my hand where they whipped him tryin' to make him disown his freedom. "old jack clifton was my master. yes ma'm, that was his name. "i 'member when they had those old looms--makin' cloth and old shuttle to put the thread on. i can see 'em now. "i can 'member when this used to be a injun place. i've seen old injun mounds. white folks come and run 'em out and give 'em injun territory. "i heered the guns in the war and seed the folks comin' home when the war broke. they said they was fitin' 'bout freedom, tryin' to free the people. i 'member when they was fitin' at marks mill. i know some of the people said that was where they was sot free. "i don't know as i seed any ku klux when they was goin' round. hearin' 'bout 'em scared me. i have a good recollection. i can remember the first dream i ever had and the first time i whistled. i can remember when i was two or three years old. remember when they had a big old conch shell. old master would blow it at twelve o'clock for 'em to come in. "old master was good to us but i 'member he had a leather strap and if we chillun had done anything he'd make us younguns put our head 'tween his legs and put that strap on us. my goodness! he called me pat and called his own son bug--his own son junie. we played together. old master had nicknames for everybody. "my first mistress was named miss mary but she died. i 'member when old master married and brought miss becky home. "marse john (he was old master's oldest son) he used to tote me about in his saddle bags. he was the overseer. "i 'member old master's ridin' hoss--a little old bay pony--called him hardy. i never remember nobody else bein' on it--that was his ridin' hoss. "old master had dogs. one was gus and one named brute (he was a red bone hound). and one little dog they called trigger. old master's head as white as cotton. "i do remember the day they said the people was free--after the war broke. my father come and got me. "now i'm givin' you a true statement. i've been stayin' by myself twenty-three years. i been here in pine bluff--well i jest had got here when the people was comin' back from that german war. "my god, we had the finest time when we killed hogs--make sausage. we'd eat cracklin's--oh, we thought they wasn't nothin' like cracklin's. the lord have mercy, there was an old beech tree set there in my master's yard. you could hear that old tree pop ever' day bout the same time, bout twelve o'clock. we used to eat beech mass. good? yes ma'm! i think about it often and wonder why it was right in old master's yard. "i've cast a many a vote. not a bit of trouble in the world. hope elect most all the old officers here in town. i had a brother was a constable under squire gaines. well of course, miss, i don't think it's right when they disfranchised the colored people. i tell you, miss, i read the bible and the bible says every man has his rights--the poor and the free and the bound. i got good sense from the time i leaped in this world. i 'member well i used to go and cast my vote just that quick but they got so they wouldn't let you vote unless you could read. "i've had 'em to offer me money to vote the democrat ticket. i told him, no. i didn't think that was principle. the colored man ain't got no representive now. colored men used to be elected to the legislature and they'd go and sell out. some of 'em used to vote the democrat ticket. god wants every man to have his birthright. "i tell you one thing they did. this here no fence law was one of the lowest things they ever did. i don't know what the governor was studyin' 'bout. if they would let the old people raise meat, they wouldn't have to get so much help from the government. god don't like that, god wants the people to raise things. i could make a livin' but they won't let me. "the first thing i remember bout studyin' was junie, old master's son, studyin' his book and i heard 'em spell the word 'baker'. that was when they used the old blue back speller. "i went to school. i'm goin' tell you as nearly as i can. that was, madam, let me see, that was in sixty-nine as near as i can come at it. miss, i don't know how long i went. my father wouldn't let me. i didn't know nothin' but work. i weighed cotton ever since i was a little boy. i always wanted to be weighin'. looked like it was my gift--weighin' cotton. "i'm a missionary baptist preacher. got a license to preach. you go down and try to preach without a license and they put you up. "madam, you asked me a question i think i can answer with knowledge and understanding. the young people is goin' too fast. the people is growin' weaker and wiser. you take my folks--goin' to school but not doin' anything. i don't think there's much to the younger generation. don't think they're doin' much good. i was brought up with what they called fireside teachin'." circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--bernice bowden address-- oak street, pine bluff, arkansas date--november , subject--exslaves [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] . name and address of informant--gracie mitchell . date and time of interview--november , , : p.m. . place of interview-- worthen street . name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant--bernice wilburn, miller street, pine bluff, arkansas . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you--none . description of room, house, surroundings, etc.--a frame house (rented), bare floors, no window shades; a bed and some boxes and three straight chairs. in an adjoining room were another bed, heating stove, two trunks, one straight chair, one rocking chair. a third room the kitchen, contained cookstove and table and chairs. text of interview "they said i was born in alabama. my mother's name was sallie and my father was andrew wheeler. i couldn't tell when i was born--my folks never did tell me that. belonged to dr. moore and when his daughter married he give my mother to her and she went to mobile. they said i wasn't weaned yet. my grandmother told me that. she is dead now. don't know nothin' bout nary one o' my white folks. i don't recollect nothin' bout a one of 'em 'cept my old boss. he took us to texas and stayed till the niggers was all free and then he went back. good to me? no ma'm--no good there. and if you didn't work he'd see what was the matter. lived near coffeyville in upshaw county. that's whar my husband found me. i was living with my aunt and uncle. they said the reason i had such a good gift makin' quilts was cause my mother was a seamstress. "i cooked 'fore i married and i could make my own dresses, piece quilts and quilt. that's mostly what i done. no laundry work. i never did farm till i was married. after we went to chicago in , i took care of other folks chillun, colored folks, while they was working in laundries and factories. i sure has worked. i ain't nobody to what i was when i was first married. i knowed how to turn, but i don't know whar to turn now--i ain't able. "i use to could plow just as good as any man. i could put that dirt up against that cotton and corn. i'd mold it up. lay it by? yes ma'm i'd lay it by, too. "they didn't send me to school but they learned me how to work. "i had a quilt book with a lot o' different patterns but i loaned it to a woman and she carried it to oklahoma. mighty few people you can put confidence in nowdays. "i don't go out much 'cept to church--folks is so critical. "you have to mind how you walk on the cross; if you don't, your foot will slip, and your soul will be lost." "i was a motherless chile but the lord made up for it by givin' me a good husband and i don't want for anything." interviewer's comment according to her husband, gracie spends every spare moment piecing quilts. he said they use to go fishing and that gracie always took her quilt pieces along and if the fish were not biting she would sew. she showed me twenty-two finished quilt tops, each of a different design and several of the same design, or about thirty quilts in all. two were entirely of silk, two of applique design which called "laid work". they were folded up in a trunk and as she took them out and spread them on the bed for me to see she told me the name of the design. the following are the names of the designs: . breakfast dish . sawtooth (silk) . tulip design (laid work) . "prickle" pear . little boy's breeches . birds all over the elements . drunkard's path . railroad crossing . cocoanut leaf ("that's laid work") . cotton leaf . half an orange . tree of paradise . sunflower . ocean wave (silk) . double star . swan's nest . log cabin in the lane . reel . lily in de valley (silk) . feathered star . fish tail . whirligig gracie showed me her winter coat bought in chicago of fur fabric called moleskin, and with fur collar and cuffs. she sells the quilt tops whenever she can. many are made of new material which they buy. personal history of informant . ancestry--father, andrew wheeler; sallie wheeler, mother. . place and date of birth--alabama. no date known, about years old. . family--husband and one grown son. . places lived in, with dates--alabama, texas till , arkansas - , chicago, to . arkansas to date. . education, with dates--no education. . occupations and accomplishments, with dates--cooked before marriage at ; farmed after marriage; home sewing. . special skills and interests--quilt making and knitting. . community and religious activities--assisted husband in ministry. . description of informant--hair divided into many pigtails and wrapped with rags. skin, dark. medium height, slender, clothing soiled. . other points gained in interview--spends all her time piecing quilts, aside from housework. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: hettie mitchell (mulatto) brinkley, arkansas age: "i am sixty-nine years old. i was raised in dyersburg, tennessee. i can tell you a few things mother told us. my own grandma on mother's side was in south carolina. she was stole when a child and brought to tennessee in a covered wagon. her mother died from the grief of it. she was hired out to nurse for these people. the people that stole her was named spence. she was a house woman for them till freedom. she was never sold. spences was not cruel people. mother was never sold. she was the mother of twelve and raised nine to a good age--more than grown. the spences seemed to always care for her children. when i go to dyersburg they always want us to come to see them and they treat us mighty well. "mother was light. she said she had indian strain (blood) but father was very light and it was white blood but he never discussed it before his children. so i can't tell you excepting he said he was owned by the brittians in south carolina. he said his mother died soon after he was sold. he was sold to a nigger trader and come in the gang to memphis, tennessee and was put on the block and auctioned off to the highest bidder. he was a farm hand. "mother married father when she was nineteen years old. she was a house girl. she lived close to her old mistress. she was very, very old before she died she nearly stayed at my mother's house. her mind wasn't right and mother understood how to take care of her and was kind to her. the spences heard about grandma. they wrote and visited years after when mother was a girl. "the way that father found out about his kin folks was this: one day a creek was named and he told the white man, 'i was born close to that creek and played there in the white sand and water when i was a little boy.' the white man asked his name, said he knew the creek well too. father told him he never was named till he was sold and they named him sam--sam barnett. he was sold to barnett in memphis. but his dear own mother called him 'candy.' the white man found out about his people for him and they found out his own dear mother died that same year he was taken from south carolina from grief. he heard from some of his people from that time on till he died. "i worked on the farm in tennessee till i married. i ironed, washed, and have kept my own house and done the work that goes along with raising a small family. we own our home. we have saved all we could along. i have never had a real hard time like some i know. i guess my time is at hand now. i don't know which way to turn since my husband got down sick. "i don't vote. seem like it used to not be a nice place for women to go where voting was taking place. now they go mix up and vote. that is one big change. time is changing and changing the people. maybe it is the people is changing up the world as time goes by. we colored folks look to the white folks to know the way to do. we have always done it." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mary mitchell, hazen, arkansas age: "i was born in trenton, tennessee. my parents had five children. they were named william and charlotte wells. my father ran away and left my mother with all the children to raise. by birth mother was a mississippian. she had been a nurse and my father was a timber man and farmer. my mother said she had her hardest time raising her little children. she was taken from her parents when a small girl and put on a block and sold. she never said if her owners was bad to her, but she said they was rough on uncle peter. he would fight. she said they would tie uncle peter and whoop him with a strap. from what she said there was a gang of slaves on mr. wade's place. he owned her. i never heard her mention freedom but she said they had a big farm bell on a tall post in the back yard and they had a horn to blow. it was a whistle made of a cow's horn. "she said they was all afraid of the ku klux. they would ride across the field and they could see that they was around, but they never come up close to them." circumstances of interview state--arkansas name of worker--bernice bowden address-- oak street, pine bluff, arkansas date--november , subject--exslaves [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] . name and address of informant--moses mitchell, worthen street . date and time of interview--november , , : p.m. . place of interview-- worthen street, pine bluff, arkansas . place and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant--bernice wilburn, miller street, pine bluff, arkansas . name and address of person, if any, accompanying you--none . description of room, house, surroundings, etc.--a frame house (rented), bare floors, no window shades; a bed and some boxes and three straight chairs. in an adjoining room were another bed, heating stove, two trunks, one straight chair, one rocking chair. a third room, the kitchen, contained cookstove and table and chairs. text of interview "i was born down here on white river near arkansas post, august, . i belonged to thomas mitchel and when they (yankees) took arkansas post, our owners gathered us up and my young master took us to texas and he sold me to an irishman named john mcinish in marshall for $ . $ in gold and the rest in confederate money. they called it the new issue. "i was twelve years old then and i stayed in texas till i was forty-eight. i was at tyler, texas when they freed us. when they took us to texas they left my mother and baby sister here in arkansas, down here on oak log bayou. i never saw her again and when i came back here to arkansas, they said she had been dead twenty-eight years. never did hear of my father again. "i'm supposed to be part creek indian. don't know how much. we have one son, a farmer, lives across the river. married this wife in . "my wife and i left texas forty-one years ago and came back here to arkansas and stayed till . then we went to chicago and stayed till , and then came back here. i'd like to go back up there, but i guess i'm gettin' too old. while i was there i preached and i worked all the time. i worked on the streets and the driveways in lincoln park. i was in the brick and block department. then i went from there to the asphalt department. there's where i coined the money. made $ . in the brick and block and $ . a day in the asphalt. down here they don't know no more about asphalt than a pig does about a holiday. _a man that's from the south and never been nowhere, don't know nothin', a woman either_. "yes ma'm, i'm a preacher. just a local preacher, wasn't ordained. the reason for that was, in texas a man over forty-five couldn't join the traveling connection. i was licensed, but of course i couldn't perform marriage ceremonies. i was just within one step of that. "i went to school two days in my life. i was privileged to go to the first free school in texas. had a teacher named goldman. don't know what year that was but they found out me and another fellow was too old so they wouldn't let us go no more. but i caught my alphabet in them two days. so i just caught what education i've got, here and there. i can read well--best on my bible and testament and i read the newspapers. i can sorta scribble my name. "i've been a farmer most of my life and a preacher for fifty-five years. i can repair shoes and use to do common carpenter work. i can help build a house. i only preach occasionally now, here and there. i belong to the allen temple in hoboken (east pine bluff). "i think the young generation is gone to naught. they're a different cut to what they was in my comin' up." interviewer's comment this man and his wife live in the outskirts of west pine bluff. they receive a small sum of money and commodities from the county welfare department. he has a very pleasant personality, a good memory and intelligence above the ordinary. reads the daily graphic and arkansas gazette. age . he said, "_here's the idea, freedom is worth it all_." personal history of informant . ancestry--father, lewis mitchell; mother, rhoda mitchell . place and date of birth--oak log bayou, white river, near arkansas post, ark. . family--wife and one grown son. . places lived in, with dates--taken to texas by his young master and sold in marshall during the war. lived in tyler, texas until forty-eight years of age; came back to arkansas in and stayed until ; went to chicago and lived until ; back to jefferson county, arkansas. . education, with dates--two days after twenty-one years of age. no date. . occupations and accomplishments, with dates--farmer, preacher, common carpenter, cobbler, public work on streets in chicago, farmed and preached until he went to chicago in . the he worked in the maintenance department of city streets of chicago and of lincoln park, chicago. . special skills and interests--asphalt worker . community and religious activities--licensed methodist preacher. no assignment now. . description of informant--five feet eight inches tall; weight, pounds, nearly bald. very prominent cheek bones. keen intelligence. neatly dressed. . other points gained in interview--reads daily papers; knowledge of world affairs. pine bluff district folklore subjects name of interviewer: martin - barker subject: negro customs information by: ben moon [tr: information moved from bottom of second page.] i was born on the walker place, in . my father was a slave to mr. bob. i used to drive miss lelia (eulalie) to the catholic church here in pine bluff. she used to let me go barefooted, and bare headed. miss lelia was the daughter of col. creed taylor. all during slavery time i drove her gins. we had eight mules. eight at a time hitched to each lever, they would weave in an out but they was so hitched that they never got in any body's way. they just walked around and round like they did in those days. we had herds of sheep, we sheared them and wove yarn for socks. we raised wheat, when it was ripe we laid a canvas cloth on the ground and put wheat on it, then men and women on horse back rode over it, and thrashed it that way. they called it treading it. then we took it to the mill and ground it and made it into flour. for breakfast, (we ate awful soon in the morning), about am, then we packed lunch in tin buckets and eat again at daylight. fat meat, cornbread and molasses. some would have turnip greens for breakfast. summertime, miss lelia would plant plenty of fruit, and we would have fried apples, stewed peaches and things. sunday mornings we would have biscuit, butter, molasses, chicken, etc. for our work they paid us seventy-five cents a day and when come cotton picking time old rule, seventy five cents for pickin cotton. christmas time, plenty of fireworks, plenty to eat, drink and everything. we would dance all christmas. all kind of game was plentiful, plenty of coon, possum, used up everything that grew in the woods. plenty of corn, we took it to the grist mill every saturday. ark. riv. boats passed the walker place, and dey was a landing right at dere place, and one at the wright place, that is where the airport is now. all de white folks had plenty of cattle den and in de winter time dey was all turned in on the fields and with what us niggers had, that made a good many, and you know yorself dat was good for de ground. mother was a slave on the merriweather place, her marster was mick[tr: name not clear] merriweather. my granma was gusta merriweather, my mother lavina and lived on the merriweather place in what was then dorsey county, near edinburg, now cleveland co. my grandfather was louis barnett, owned by nick barnett of cleveland co., then dorsey co. fathers people was owned by marse bob walker. miss lelia (eulalie) was mistis. miss maggie benton was young mistis. i dont believe in ghosts or spirits. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: emma moore short west second, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: laundry work "i'se born in slavery times. when my daddy come back from the war, he said i was gwine on seven or eight. "he stayed in the war three years and six months. i know that's what he always told us. he went with his master, joe horton. looks like i can see old marse joe now. had long sandy whiskers. the las' time i seed him he come to my uncle's house. we was all livin' in a row of houses. called em the quarters. i never will fergit it. "i was born on horton's island here in arkansas. that's what they told me. "i know when my daddy went to war and when he come back, he put on his crudiments (accoutrements) to let us see how he looked. "i seed the soldiers gwine to war and comin' back. look like to me i was glad to see em till i seed too many of em. "yankees used to come down and take provisions. yes, 'twas the yankees! "my granddaddy was the whippin' boss. had a white boss too named massa fred. "massa joe used to come down and play with us chillun. his name was joe horton. ever'body can tell you that was his name. old missis named miss mary. she didn't play with us much. "yes ma'am, they sure did take us to texas durin' of the war--in a ox wagon. stayed down there a long time. "we didn't have plenty to eat but we had to eat what we did. i member they wouldn't give us chillun no meat, jus' grease my mouf and make my mother think we had meat. "now my mother told me, at night some of the folks used to steal one of old massa's shoats and cook it at night. i know when that pot was on the rack but you better not say nothin' bout it. "all us chillun stayed in a big long log house. dar is where us chillun stayed in the daytime, right close to miss mary. "i used to sit on the lever at the gin. you know that was glory to me to ride. i whipped the old mule. ever' now and then i'd give him a tap. "when they pressed the cotton, they wet the press and i member one time they wet it too much. i don't say they sont it back but i think they made em pay for it. and they used to put chunks in the bale to make it weigh heavy. right there on that lake where i was born. "used to work in the field. these white folks can tell you i loved to work. i used to get as much as the men. my mammy was a worker and as the sayin' is, i was a chip off the old block. "the first teacher i went to school to was named mr. cushman. didn't go only on rainy days. that was the first school and you might say the las' one cause i had to nuss them chillun. "you know old massa used to keep all our ages and my daddy said i was nineteen when i married, but i don't know what year 'twas--honest i don't. "i been married three times. "i member one time i was goin' to a buryin'. i was hurryin' to get dressed. i wanted to be ready when they come by for me cause they say it's bad luck to stop a corpse. if you don't know that i do--you know if they had done started from the house. "my mama and daddy said they was born in tennessee and was bought and brought here. "i been goin' to one of these gov'ment schools and got my eyes so weak i can't hardly see to thread a needle. i'se crazy bout it i'm tellin' you. i sit up here till god knows how long. they give me a copy to practice and they'd brag on me and that turned me foolish. i jus' thought i was the teacher herself almos'. that's the truf now. "i can't read much. i don't fool with no newspaper. i wish i could, woman--i sure do. "i keep tellin' these young folks they better learn somethin'. i tell em they better take this chance. this young generation--i don't know much bout the whites--i'm tellin' you these colored is a sight. "well, i'm gwine away from here d'rectly--ain't gwine be here much longer. if i don't see you again i'll meet you in heaven." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: patsy moore, madison, arkansas age: "my mother was sold in jamestown, virginia to daphney hull. her white folks got in debt. my papa was born in georgia. folks named williams owned him. ma never seen her ma no more but william hull went to virginia and bought her two sisters. "i was named patsy after grandma in virginia. she had twenty-one children to ma's knowing. ma was a light color. pa was a molly glaspy man. that means he was indian and african. molly glaspy folks was nearly always free folks. ma was named mattie. if they would have no children they got trafficked about. "daphney hull was good but william hull and his wife was both mean. they lived on the main road to holly springs. daphney hull was a methodist man, kind-hearted and good. he was a bachelor i think. he kept a woman to cook and keep his house. auntie said the yankees was mean to mr. william hull's wife. they took all their money and meat. they had their money hid and some of the black folks let the yankees find out where it was. they got it. "papa was a soldier. he sent for us. we come to memphis, tennessee in a wagon. we lived there five or six years. pa got a pension till he died. both my parents was field hands in slavery. ma took in washing and ironing in memphis. "i was born in de sota county, mississippi. i remember forrest's battle in memphis. i didn't have sense to be scared. i seen black and white dead in the streets and alleys. we went to the magazine house for protection, and we played and stayed there. they tried to open the magazine house but couldn't. "when freedom come, folks left home, out in the streets, crying, praying, singing, shouting, yelling, and knocking down everything. some shot off big guns. den come the calm. it was sad then. so many folks done dead, things tore up and nowheres to go and nothing to eat, nothing to do. it got squally. folks got sick, so hungry. some folks starved nearly to death. times got hard. we went to the washtub onliest way we all could live. ma was a cripple woman. pa couldn't find work for so long when he mustered out. "i do recollect the civil war well. "i live with my daughter. i have a cough since i had flu and now i have chills and fever. my daughter helps me all i get. she lives with me. "some of the young folks is mighty good. i reckon some is too loose acting. times is hard. harder in the winter than in summer time. we has our garden and chickens to help us out in summer." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: ada moorehead e. barraque, pine bluff, arkansas age: ? "i was here in slavery times, honey, but i don't know exactly how old i am. i was born in huntsville, alabama but you know in them days old folks didn't tell the young folks no thin' and i was so small when they brought me here. i don't know what year i was born but i believe i'm about eighty-two. you know when a person ain't able to work and dabble out his own clothes, you know he's gone a long ways. "my white folks was ad white what owned me. called him marse ad. don't call folks marse much now-days. "my father was sold away from us in alabama and we heard he was here in pine bluff so aunt fanny brought us here. she just had a road full of us and brought us here to arkansas. we walked. we was a week on the road. i know we started here on monday morning and we got here to the courthouse on the next monday round about noon. that was that old courthouse. i reckon that ground is in the river now. "when we got here i saw my father. he took me to his sister--that was my aunt savannah--and dropped me down. "mrs. reynolds raised me. she come to aunt savannah's house and hired me the very same day i got here. i nursed miss katie. she was bout a month old. you know--a little long dress baby. don't wear then long dresses now--gettin' wiser. "mrs. reynolds she was good to me. and since she's gone looks like i'm gone too--gone to the dogs. cause when mrs. reynolds got a dress for miss katie--got one for me too. "my father was a soldier in the war. last time i heard from him i know he was hauling salt to the breastworks. yes, i was here in the war. that was all right to me but i wished a many a time i wasn't here. "i went to school two or three days in a week for about a term. but i didn't learn to read much. had to hire out and help raise my brother and sister. i'm goin' to this here government school now. i goes every afternoon. "since i got old i can think bout the old times. it comes to me. i didn't pay attention to nothin' much when i was young. "oh lord, i don't know what's goin' to become of us old folks. wasn't for the welfare, i don't know what i'd do. "i was sixteen when i married. i sure did marry young. i married young so i could see my chillun grown. i never married but once and i stayed a married woman forty-nine years to the very day my old man died. lived with one man forty-nine years. i had my hand and heart full. i had a home of my own. how many chillun? me? i had nine of my own and i raised other folks' chillun. oh, i been over this world right smart--first one thing and then another. i know a lot of white folks. they all been pretty good to me." interviewer: mary d. hudgins person interviewed: mrs. mary jane (mattie) mooreman home: with son age: "yes, ma'am. i've been in hot springs, been in hot springs years. that's a long time. lots of changes have come--i've seen lots of changes here--changed from wooden sidewalks and little wood buildings. "your name's hudgins? i knew the hudginses--knew miss nora well. what's that? did i know adeline? did i know adeline! do you mean to tell me she's still alive? adeline! why miss maud," (addressing mrs. eisele, for whom she works--and who sat nearby to help in the interview) "miss maude, i tell you adeline's white, she's white clean through!" (see interview with adeline blakeley, who incidentally is as black as "the ace of spades"--in pigmentation.) "miss maude, you never knew anybody like adeline. she bossed those children and made them mind--just like they was hers. she took good care of them." (turning to the interviewer) "you know how the hudgins always was about their children. adeline thought every one of 'em was made out of gold---made out of pure gold. "she made 'em mind. i remember once, she was down on central avenue with ross and he did southing or other that, wasn't nice. she walked over to the umbrella stand, you remember how they used to have umbrellas for sale out in front of the stores. she grabbed an umbrella and she whipped ross with it--she didn't hurt him. then she put it back in the stand and said to the man who ran the store, 'if that umbrella's hurt, just charge it to harve hudgins.' that's the way adeline was. so she's still alive. law how i'd like to see her. bring me a picture of her. oh miss mary, i'd love to have it. "me? i was born on green river near hartford, kentucky. guess i was about a year and a half, from what they told me when my mistress married. don't know how she ever met my master. she was raised in a convent and his folks lived a long way from hers. but anyhow she did. she was just when she married. the man she married was named charles mooreman m-o-o-r-e-m-a-n. they had a son called charles wycliff mooreman. he was named for his mother's people. i got a son i called charles wycliff too. he works at the arlington. he's a waiter. they say he looks just like me. mr. charles wycliff mooreman--back in kentucky. i still gets letters from him. "miss mary i guess i had a pretty easy time in slavery days. they was good to us. besides i was a house niggah." (those who have been "house niggahs" never quibble at the word slave or negro. a subtle social distinction brewed in the black race to separate house servants from field hands as far as wealthy planters from "poor white trash.".) "once i heard a man say of my mother, 'you could put on a white boiled shirt and lie flat down on the floor in her kitchen and not get dirty.'" "cook? no, ma'am!" (with dignity and indignation) "i never cooked until after i was married, and i never washed, never washed so much as a rag. all i washed was the babies and maybe my mistress's feet. i was a lady's maid. i'd wait on my mistress and i'd knit sox for all the folks. when they would sleep it was our duty--us maids--to fan 'em with feathers made out of turkey feathers--feather fans. part of it was to keep 'em cool. then they didn't have screens like we have today. so part of it was to keep the flies off. i remember how we couldn't stomp our feet to keep the flies from biting for fear of waking 'em up. "no, miss mary, we didn't get such, good food. nobody had all the kinds of things we have today. we had mostly buttermilk and cornbread and fat meat. cake? 'deed we didn't. i remember once they baked a cake and mr. charles wycliff--he was just a little boy--he got in and took a whole fistful out of the cake. when miss found out about it, she give us all doses of salts--enough to make us all throw up. she gave it to all the niggahs and the children--the white children. and what did she find out? it was her own child who had done it. "yes ma'am we learned to read and write. oh, miss maude now--i don't want to recite. i don't want to." (but she did "twinkle, twinkle little star" and "the playful kitten"--the latter all of lines.) "i think, i think they both come out of mcguffey's second reader. yes ma'am i remember's mcguffey's and the blueback speller too. "no, miss mary, there wasn't so much of the war that was fought around us. i remember that old master used to go out in the front yard and stand by a locust tree and put his ear against it. he said that way he could hear the cannon down to bowling green. no, i didn't never hear any shooting from the war myself. "yes ma'am, the confederates used to come through lots. i remember how we used to go to the spring for water for 'em. then we'd stand with the buckets on our heads while they drank--drank out of a big gourd. when the buckets was empty we'd go back to the spring for more water. "once the yankees come by the place. it was at night. they went out to the quarters and they tried to get 'em to rise up. told 'em to come on in the big house and take what they wanted. told 'em to take anything they wanted to take, take master's silver spoons and miss' silk dress. 'if they don't like it, we'll shoot their brains out,' they said. next morning they told master. he got scared and moved. at that time we was living at cloverport. "it was near the end of the war and we was already free, only we didn't know it. he moved on up to stephensport. that's on the ohio too. he took me and a brother of mine and another black boy. while we was there i remember he took me to a circus. i remember how the lady--she was dressed in pink come walking down a wire--straight on down to the ground. she was carrying a long pole. i won't never forget that. "not long afterwards i was married. we was all free then. my husband asked my master if he could marry me. he told him 'you're a good man. you can come and live on my farm and work for me, but you can't have mattie.' so we moved off to his master's farm. "a little while after that his master bought a big farm in arkansas. he wanted to hire as many people as he could. so we went with him. he started out well, but the first summer he died. so everything had to be sold. a man what come down to bid on some of the farm tools and stock--come to the auction, he told us to come on up to woodruff county and work for him. we was there years and he worked the farm and i took care of myself and my babies. then he went off and left me. "i went in to cotton plant and started working there. finally he wrote me and tried to get me to say we hadn't never been married. said he wanted to marry another woman. the white folks i worked for wouldn't let me. i'd been married right and they wouldn't let me disgrace myself by writing such a letter. "finally i came on to hot springs. for a while i cooked and washed. then i started working for folks, regular. for years, tho, i mostly washed and ironed. "i came to hot springs on the th of february--i think it was years ago. you remember miss maud--it was just before that big hail storm. you was here, don't you remember--that hail storm that took all the windows out of all the houses, tore off roofs and swept dishes and table-cloths right off the tables. can't nobody forget that who's seen it. "miss mary, do you know miss julia huggins? i worked for her a long time. worked for her before she went away and after she came back. between times i cooked for mrs. button (burton--but called button by everyone) housley. when miss julia come back she marches right down to mrs. housley's and tells me she wants me to work for her again. 'can't get her now,' says mrs. housley, 'mattie's done found out she's black.' but anyhow i went to see her, and i went back to work for her, pretty foxy miss julia was. "i been working for mrs. eisele pretty near twenty five years. saw her children grow up and the grand children. lancing, he's my heart. once when mr. and mrs. eisele went to see mrs. brown, lancing's mother, they took me with them. all the way to watertown, wisconsin. there wasn't any more niggas in the town and all the children thought i was somthing to look at. they'd come to see me and they'd bring their friends with 'em. once while we was there, a circus come to town. the children wanted me to see it. told me there was a negro boy in it. guess they thought it would be a treat to me to see another niggah. i told 'em, 'law, don't you think i see lots, lots more than i wants, everyday when i is at home?' "it used to scare me. the folks would go off to a party or a show and leave me alone with the baby. no, miss mary, i wasn't scared for myself. i thought somebody might come in and kidnap that baby. no matter how late they was i'd sit on the top step of the stairs leading upstairs--just outside the door where lansing was asleep. no matter what time they come home they'd find me there. 'why don't you go on in your bedroom and lie down?' they'd ask me. 'no,' i'd tell 'em, 'somebody might come in, and they would have to get that baby over my dead body.' "jonnie, that's my daughter" (mrs. d.g. murphy, walnut street, a large stucco house with well cared for lawn) "she wants me to quit work. i told her, 'you put that over on mrs. murphy--you made her quit work and took care of her. what happened to her? she died! you're not going to make me old.' "twice she's got me to quit work. once, she told me it was against the law. told me there was a law old folks couldn't work. i believed her and i quit. then i come on down and i asked mr. eisele" (an important business executive and prominent in civic affairs, [hw: aged ]) "he rared back and he said, 'i'd like to see anybody stop me from working.' so i come on back. "another time, it was when the old age pensions come in. they tried to stop me again. told me i had to take it. i asked mr. eisele if i could work just the same. 'no,' he says 'if you take it, you'll have to quit work.' so i stamped my foot and i says, 'i won't take nobody's pension.' "the other day jonnie called up here and she started to crying. lots of folks write her notes and say she's bad to let me work. somebody told her that they had seen me going by to work at o'clock in the morning. it wasn't no such. i asked a man when i was on the way and it was minutes until . besides, my clock had stopped and i couldn't tell what time it was. yes, miss mary, i does get here sort of early, but then i like it. i just sit in the kitchen until the folks get up. "you see that picture over there, it's mr. eisele when he was . i'd know that smiling face anywhere. he's always good to me. when they go away to florida i can go to the store and get money whenever i need it. but it's always good to see them come back. miss maud says i'm sure to go to heaven, i'm such a good worker. no, miss mary, i'm not going to quit work. not until i get old." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: evelina morgan w. sixteenth street, little rock, arkansas age: app. [tr: original first page moved to follow second page per hw: insert this page before par. , p. ] "i was born in wedgeboro, north carolina, on the plantation of--let me see what that man's name was. he was an old lawyer. i done forgot that old white man's name. old tom ash! senator ash--that's his name. he was good to his slaves. he had so many niggers he didn't know them all. "my father's name was alphonso dorgens and my mother's name was lizzie dorgens. both of them dead. i don't know what her name was before she married. my pa belonged to the dorgens' and he married my ma. that is how she come to be a dorgen. old man ash never did buy him. he just visited my mother. they all was in the same neighborhood. big plantations. both of them had masters that owned lots of land. i don't know how often he visited my mother after he married her. he was over there all the time. they were right adjoining plantations. "i was born in a frame house. i don't know nothin' about it no more than that. it was j'ined to the kitchen. my mother had two rooms j'ined to the kitchen. she was the old mistress' cook. she could come right out of the kitchen and go on in her room. "my father worked on the farm. they fed the slaves meat and bread. that is all i remember--meat and bread and potatoes. they made lots of potatoes. they gave 'em what they raised. you could raise stuff for yourself if you wanted to. "my mother took care of her children. we children was on the place there with her. she didn't have nobody's children to take care of but us. "i was six years old during of the war. my ma told me my age, but i forgot it; i never did have it put down. the only way i gits a pension, i just tells 'em i was six years old during of the war, and they figures out the age. sorta like that. but i know i was six years old when the rebels and the yankees was fighting. "i seed the yankees come through. i seed that. they come in the time old master was gone. he run off--he run away. he didn't let 'em git him. i was a little child. they stayed there all day breaking into things--breaking into the molasses and all like that. old mistress stayed upstairs hiding. the soldiers went down in the basement and throwed things around. old master was a senator; they wanted to git him. they sure did cuss him: 'the ----, ----, ----, old senator,' they would say. he took his finest horses and all the gold and silver with him somewheres. they couldn't git 'im. they was after senators and high-ups like that. "the soldiers tickled me. they sung. the white people's yard was jus' full of them playing 'yankee doodle' and 'hang jeff davis on a sour apple tree.' "all the white people gone! funny how they run away like that. they had to save their selves. i 'member they took one old boss man and hung him up in a tree across a drain of water, jus' let his foot touch--and somebody cut him down after 'while. those white folks had to run away. patrollers "i used to hear them all talk about the patrollers. i used to hear my mother talking about them. my ma said my master wouldn't let the patrollers come on his place. they could go on anybody else's place but he never did let them come on his place. some of the slaves were treated very bad. but my ma said he didn't allow a patroller on the place and he didn't allow no other white man to touch his niggers. he was a big white man--a senator. he didn't know all his negroes but he didn't allow nobody to impose on them. he didn't let no patroller and nobody else beat up his niggers. how freedom came "i don't know how freedom came. i know the yankees came through and they'd pat we little niggers on the head and say, 'nigger, you are just as free as i am.' and i would say, 'yes'm.' right after freedom "right after the war my mother and father moved off the place and went on another plantation somewheres--i don't know where. they share cropped. i don't know how long. old mistress didn't want them to move at all. i never will forget that. present occupation and opinions "i used to cook out all the time when i got grown. i couldn't tell you when i married. you got enough junk down there now. so i ain't giving you no more. my husband's been dead about seven years. i goes to the methodist church on ninth and broadway. i ain't able to do no work now. i gets a little pension, and the lord takes care of me. i have a hard time sometime. "i ain't bothered about these young folks. they is _somethin' awful_. it would be wonderful to write a book from that. they ought to git a history of these young people. you could git a wonderful book out of that. "the colored folks have come a long way since freedom. and if the white folks didn't pin 'em down they'd go further. old jeff davis said when the niggers was turned loose, 'dive up your knives and forks with them.' but they didn't do it. "some niggers was sharp and got something. and they lost it just like they got it. look at bush. i know two or three big niggers got a lot and ain't got nothin' left now. well, i ain't got no time for no more junk. you got enough down there. you take that and go on." interviewer's comment during the interview, a little "pickaninny" came in with his mother. his grandmother and a forlorn little dog were also along. "tell grandma what you want," his mother prompted. "is that your grandson?" i interrupted. "no," she said, "he ain't no kin to me, but he calls me 'ma' and acts as if i was his grandma." the little fellow hung back. he was just about twenty-two months old, but large and mature for that age. "tell 'ma' what you want," his grandmother put in. finally, he made up his mind and stood in front of her and said, "buh--er." his mother explained, "i've done made him some corn bread, but he ain't got no butter to put on it and he wants you to give him some." sister morgan sat silent awhile. then she rose deliberately and went slowly to the ancient ice-box, opened it and took out a tin of butter which she had evidently churned herself in some manner and carefully cut out a small piece and wrapped it neatly and handed it to the little one. after a few amenities, they passed out. even with her pitiful and meagre lot, the old lady evidently means to share her bare necessities with others. the manner of her calculation of her age is interesting. she was six years old when the war was going on. she definitely remembers seeing sherman's army and wheeler's cavalry after she was six. since they were in her neighborhood in , she is undoubtedly more than eighty. eighty-one is a fair estimate. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: james morgan rice street, little rock, arkansas age: "during the slave time, the pateroles used to go from one plantation to the other hunting negroes. they would catch them at the door and throw hot ashes in their faces. you could go to another plantation and steal or do anything you wanted if you could manage to get back to your old master's place. but if you got caught away from your plantation, they would get you. sometimes a nigger didn't want to get caught and beat, so he would throw a shovel of hot ashes in the pateroles' faces and beat it away. "my daddy used to tell lots of stories about slavery times. he's been dead forty-three years and my mother has been dead forty-one years--forty-one years this may. i was quite young and lots of the things they told me, i remember, and some of them, i don't. "i was born in . that was eight years after the war ended. my father's name was aaron and my mother's name was rosa. both of them was in slavery.[tr: sentence lined out.] i got a brother that was a baby in her lap when the yankee soldiers got after a chicken. the chicken flew up in her lap and they never got that one. the white folks lost it, but the yankees didn't get it. i have heard my mother tell all sorts of things. but they just come to me at times. the soldiers would take chickens or anything they could get their hands on--those soldiers would. "my mother married the first time in slavery. her first husband was sold in slavery. that is the onliest brother i'm got living now out of ten--that one that was settin' in her lap when the soldiers come through. he's in boydell, arkansas now. it used to be called morrell. it is about one hundred twenty-one miles from here, because dermott is one hundred nine and boydell is about twelve miles further on. it's in nashville[hw:?] county. my brother was a great big old baby in slavery times. he was my mother's child by her first husband. all the rest of them is dead and he is the onliest one that is living. "i was a section foreman for the missouri pacific for twenty-two years. i worked there altogether for thirty-five years, but i was section foreman for twenty-two years. there's my card. lots of men stayed on the job till it wore them out. lewis holmes did that. it would take him two hours to walk from here to his home--if he ever managed it at all. "it's warm today and it will bring a lot of flies. flies don't die in the winter. lots of folks think they do. they go up in cracks and little places like that under the weatherboard there--any place where it is warm--and there they huddle up and stay till it gets warm. then they come out and get something to eat and go back again when it cools off. they live right on through the winter in their hiding places. "both of my parents said they always did their work whatever the task might be. and my daddy said he never got no whipping at all. you know they would put a task on you and if you didn't do it, you would get a whipping. my daddy wouldn't stand to be whipped by a paterole, and he didn't have to be whipped by nobody else, because he always did his work. "he was one of the ones that the pateroles couldn't catch. when the pateroles would be trying to break in some place where he was, and the other niggers would be standing 'round frightened to death and wonderin' what to do, he would be gettin' up a shovelful of ashes. when the door would be opened and they would be rushin' in, he would scatter the ashes in their faces and rush out. if he couldn't find no ashes, he would always have a handful of pepper with him, and he would throw that in their faces and beat it. "he would fool dogs that my too. my daddy never did run away. he said he didn't have no need to run away. they treated him all right. he did his work. he would get through with everything and sometimes he would be home before six o'clock. my mother said that lots of times she would pick cotton and give it to the others that couldn't keep up so that they wouldn't be punished. she had a brother they used to whip all the time because he didn't keep up. "my father told me that his old master told him he was free. he stayed with his master till he retired and sold the place. he worked on shares with him. his old master sold the place and went to monticello and died. he stayed with him about fifteen or sixteen years after he was freed, stayed on that place till the government donated him one hundred sixty acres and charged him only a dollar and sixty cents for it. he built a house on it and cleared it up. that's what my daddy did. some folks don't believe me when i tell 'em the government gave him a hundred and sixty acres of land and charged him only a dollar and sixty cents for it--a penny a acre. "i am retired now. been retired since . the government took over the railroad pension and it pays me now. that is under the security act. each and every man on the railroad pays in to the government. "i have been married right around thirty-nine years. "i was born in chicot county, arkansas.[tr: sentence lined out.] my father was born in georgia and brought here by his master. he come here in a old covered ox wagon. i don't know how they happened to decide to come here. my mother was born in south carolina. she met my father here in arkansas. they sold her husband and she was brought here. after peace was declared she met my daddy. her first husband was sold in south carolina and she never did know that became of him. they put him up on the block and sold him and she never did know which way he went. he left her with two boys right then. she had a sister that stayed in south carolina. somebody bought her there and kept her and somebody bought my mother and brought her here. my father's master was named mcdermott. my mother's last master was named belcher or something like that. "i don't belong to any church. i have always lived decent and kept out of trouble." interviewer's comment when morgan said "there is my record", he showed me a pass for the year - for himself and his wife between all stations on the missouri pacific lines signed by l.w. baldwin, chief executive officer. he is a good man even if he is not a christian as to church membership. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: olivia morgan hazen, ark. age: "i am years old. i was born in lafayette county close to new lewisville. i heard mama say many a time she was named after her state--north carolina. her name was carolina alexandria. they brought her a slave girl to this new country. she and papa must of met up toreckly after freedom. she had some children and i'm one of my papa's oldest children. "papa come here long fore the war started. the old master in atlanta, georgia--abe smith--give his son three boys and one girl. he emigrated to arkansas. "mama said her first husband and the young master went off and he never come back as she knowed of. young master played with mama's second girl a whole heap. one day they was playing hiding round. just as she come running to the base from round the house, young master hit her on the forehead with a rock. it killed her. old master tried to school him but he worried so they sent him off--thought it would do his health good to travel. i don't think they ever come back. "after freedom mama married and went over to papa's master's. papa stayed round there a long time. they got news some way they was to get forty acres land and a mule to start out with but they said they never got nothing. "my papa said he knowed it to be a fact, the ku klux cut a colored woman's breast off. i don't recollect why he said they got after her. the jayhawkers was bad too. they all went wild; some of em left men hanging up in trees. they needed a good master to protect em worse after the war than they needed em before. they said they had a yankee government then was reason of the ku klux. they run the jayhawkers out and made the yankees go on home. everybody had a hard time. bread was mighty scarce when i was a child. times was hard. men that had land had to let it lay out. they had nothin' to feed the hands on, no money to pay, no seed, no stock to work. the fences all went to rack and all the houses nearly down. when i was a child they was havin' hard times. "i'm a country woman. i farmed all my life. i been married two times; i married holmes, then morgan. they dead. i washed, ironed, cooked, all at mr. jim buchannan's sawmill close to lewisville two years and eight months; then i went back to farmin' up at pine bluff. my oldest sister washed and ironed for mrs. buchannan till she moved from the sawmill to texarkana. he lived right at the sawmill ground. "my papa voted a republican ticket. i don't vote. my husbands have voted along. if the women would let the men have the business i think times would be better. i don't believe in women voting. the men ought to make the livings for the families, but the women doing too much. they crowding the men out of work. "some folks is sorry in all colors. seems like the young folks ain't got no use for quiet country life. they buying too much. they say they have to buy everything. i ain't had no depression yet. i been at work and we had crop failures but i made it through. some folks good and some ain't. times is bout to run away with some of the folks. they all say times is better than they been since . i hope times is on the mend." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: tom morgan, madison, arkansas age: "my mother was the mother of fourteen of us children. their names was sarah and richard morgan. "my great-grandfather b'long to bill woods. they had b'long to the morgans and when freedom come they changed their names back. some of them still owned by morgans. "mother's owners was auris and lucella harris. they had a boy named harley harris and a girl. he had a small farm. "mother said her master wasn't bad, but my father said his owner was tough on him--tough on all of them. they was all field hands. they had to git up and be doing. he said they fed by torch morning and night and rested in the heat of the day two or three hours. feed the oxen and mules. in them days stock and folks all et three times a day. i does real well now to get two meals a day, sometimes but one. they done some kind of work all the year 'round. he said they had tasks. they better git the task done or they would get a beating. "i haven't voted in so long a time. i voted republican. i thought i did. "i worked at the railroad till they put me off. they put me off on disability. trying to git my papers fixed up to work or get something one. back on the railroad job. i farmed when i was young." el dorado district folklore subjects name of interviewer: pernella anderson subject: slavery days--cruel master murdered by slaves story:--information this information given by: charity morris place of residence: camden, arkansas age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] ah wuz born in carolina uh slave an ah was de eldest daughtuh of christiana webb whose owner wuz master louis amos. mah mammy had lots uv chillun an she also mammied de white chillun, whut wuz lef' mammyless. when ah wuz very small dey rented me out tuh some very po' white fokes. dey wuzn use tuh slaves so mah marster made him promise [hw: not] tuh beat me or knock me bout. dey promise dey wouldn. dey cahried me home an ah clare dey wuz so mean tuh me till ah run off an tried tuh fin' de way back tuh mah marster. night caught me in de woods. ah sho' wuz skeered. ah wuz skeered uv bears an panthers so ah crawled up in a ole bandoned crib an crouched down gainst de loft. ah went off tuh sleep but wuz woke by somethin scratchin on de wall below. ah stayed close as ah could tuh de wall an 'gin er prayin. dat things scratched all night an ah prayed all night. de nex' mawnin dese white fokes sent word tuh marster dat ah had lef' so marster foun' me an took me home and let me stay dar too. ah didn' work in de fiel' ah worked in de house. we lived in uh log cabin. evah sunda mawnin marster louis would have all us slaves tuh de house while he would sing an pray an read de bible tuh us all. de people dat owned de plantation near us had lots of slaves. dey owned lots uv mah kin fokes. dey marster would beat dem at night when dey come fum de fiel' an lock em up. he'd whoop um an sen' um tuh de fiel'. dey couldn' visit no slaves an no slaves was 'lowed tuh visit em. so mah cousin sallie watched him hide de key so she moved dem a li'l further back so dat he had tuh lean ovah tuh reach dem. dat mawnin soon when he come tuh let em out she cracked him in de haid wid de poker an made little joe help put his haid in de fiuh place. dat day in de fiel' little joe made er song; "if yo don' bleave aunt sallie kilt marse jim de blood is on huh under dress". he jes hollered hit. "aunt sallie kilt marse jim." dey zamined aunt sallie's under dress so dey put huh in jail till de baby come den dey tried huh an sentenced huh tuh be hung an she wuz. our marster use tuh tell us if we left de house de patarollers would catch us. one night de patarollers run mah two brothers home, joe an henry. when de ole haid died out dey chillun got de property. yo see we slaves wuz de property. den we got separated. some sent one way an some nother. hit jes happent dat marse jim drawed me. when de wah broke out we could heah li'l things bein said. we couldn' make out. so we begin tuh move erbout. later we learnt we wuz runnin fum de wah. in runnin we run intuh a bunch uv soldiers dat had got kilt. oh dat wuz terrible. aftuh mah brudders foun out dat dey wuz fightin tuh free us dey stole hosses an run erway tuh keep fum bein set free. aftuh we got tuh morris creek hit wuz bloody an dar wuz one uv de hosses turnin roun an roun in de watuh wid his eyes shot out. we nevah saw nuthin else uv joe nor henry nor de othuh horse from dat day tuh dis one. but we went on an on till we come tuh a red house and dat red house represented free. de white fokes wouldn go dat way cause dey hated tuh give us up. dey turnt an went de othuh way but hit wuz too late. de news come dat mr. lincoln had signed de papuhs dat made us all free an dere wuz some 'joicing ah tells yo. ah wuz a grown woman at dat time. ole moster amos brought us on as fur as fo'dyce an turnt us a loose. dat's wha' dey settled. some uv de slaves stayed wid em an some went tuh othuh places. me an mah sistuh come tuh camden an settled. ah mahried george morris. we havn' seen our pa an ma since we wuz 'vided and since we wuz chillun. when we got tuh camden and settled down we went tuh work an sont back tuh de ole country aftuh ma an pa. enroute tuh dis country we come through tennessee an ah membuh comin through memphis an pine bluff to fordyce. as we wuz comin we stopped at de mississippi rivuh. ah wuz standin on de bank lookin at de great roll uv watuh high in de air. somebody snatched me back and de watuh took in de bank wha ah wuz standin. yo cound'n stand too close tuh de rivuh 'count uv de waves. der wuz a col' wintuh and at night we would gather roun a large camp fire an play sich games as "jack-in-de-bush cut him down" an "ole gray mule-out ride him." yaul know dem games ah know. an in de summer times at night we played _julands_. on our way tuh arkansas we drove ox-teams, jinnie teams, donkey teams, mule teams an horse teams. we sho had a good time. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: emma morris, forrest city, arkansas age: "my parents was jane and sam mccaslin. they come from close to atlanta, georgia to hernando, mississippi after slavery. ma was heired and they bought pa before they left north carolina. they bought pa out of a nigger drove after he was grown. he raised tobacco and corn. pa helped farm and they raised hogs. he drove hogs to sell. he didn't say where they took the hogs, only they would have to stay up all night driving the hogs, and they rode horses and walked too and had shepherd dogs to keep them in a drove. "pa was a böwick (b(our)ick) but i never heard him say nothing bout master bowick, so i don't know his other name. he said they got in a tight [tr: missing word?] and had to sell some of the slaves and he being young would bring more than one of the older men. he was real black. ma was lighter but not very light. "mccaslin was a low heavy set man and he rented out hacks and horses in atlanta and pa drove, greased the harness and curried and sheared the horses. master mccaslin brought them in town and rented them out. he didn't have a livery stable. he just furnished conveyances. i heard him tell about a good hitching post where he could more than apt rent out his rig and how he always stopped and fed the horses when eating time come. he took a feed box all the time. master mccaslin would tell him to not drive too hard when he had to make long drives. he never would let him take a whoop. "he had some girls i heard him say. may and alice was their names. he didn't say much about the family. he took a basket of provision with him to eat miss may and miss alice fixed up. the basket was close wove and had a lid. the old man farmed. he drove too. he drove a hack. ma worked in the field. i heard her tell about the cockleburs. well, she said they would stick on your dress and stick your legs and you would have to pick them off and sometimes the beggar's-lice would be thick on their clothes and they would pick them off. "when they would clean out the fence corners (rail fence) they would leave every little wild plum tree and leave a whole lot of briers so they would have wild plums and berries. they raised cotton. sometime during the war old master mccaslin took all his slaves and stock way back in the bottoms. the cane was big as ma's wrist she said. they put up some cabins to live in and shelter the stock. pa said some of em went in the army. he didn't want to go. they worked a corn crop over in there. "they left soon as they was freed. i don't know how they found it out. they walked to way over in alabama and pa made terms with a man, to come to mississippi. then they come in a wagon and walked too. she had three little children. i was [hw: born] close to montgomery, alabama in september but i don't know how long it was after the war. i was the first girl. there was two more boys and three more girls after me. ma had children born in three states. "ma died with the typhoid fever. then two sisters and a brother died. pa had it all summer and he got well. miss (mrs.) betty chamlin took us children to a house and fed us away from ma and the sick girls and boy. we was on her place. she had two families then. we got water from a spring. it was a pretty spring under a big hill. we would wade where the spring run off. she moved us out of that house. "miss betty was a widow. she had several boys. they worked in the field all the time. we stayed till the boys left and she sold her place. she went back to her folks. i never did see her no more. we scattered out. pa lived about wid us till he died. i got three girls living. i got five children dead. i got one girl out here from town and one girl at meridian and my oldest girl in memphis. i takes it time around wid em. "i seen the ku klux but they never bothered us. i seen them in alabama, i recken it was. i was so small i jes' do remember seeing them. i was the onliest child born in alabama. pa made one crop. i don't know how they got along the rest of the time there. we started share cropping in mississippi. pa was always a good hand with stock. if they got sick they sent for him to tell them what to do. he never owned no land, no home neither. "i farmed all my life. i used to make a little money along during the year washing and ironing. i don't get no help. i live with the girls. my girl in memphis sends me a little change to buy my snuff and little things i have to have. she cooks for a lawyer now. she did take care of an lady. she died since i been here and she moved. i rather work in the field than do what she done when that old lady lived. she was like a baby to tend to. she had to stay in that house all the time. "the young folks don't learn manners now like they used to. times is better than i ever seen em. poor folks have a hard time any time. some folks got a lot and some ain't got nothing everywhere." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: claiborne moss marshall street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in washington county, georgia, on archie duggins' plantation, fifteen miles from sandersville, the county-seat, june , . "my mother's name was ellen moss. she was born in georgia too, in hancock county, near sparta, the county-seat. my father was fluellen moss. he, too, was born in hancock county. bill moss was his owner. jesse battle was my mother's owner before she married. my mother and father had ten children, none of them living now but me, so far as i know. i was the fifth in line. there were four older than i. the oldest was ten years older than i. "bill moss' and jesse battle's plantations ware not far apart. i never heard my father say how he first met my mother. i was only eight years old when he died. they were all right there in the same neighborhood, and they would go visiting. battle and moss and evans all had plantations in the same neighborhood and they would go from one place to the other. "when bill moss went to texas, he gave my mother and father to mrs. beck. mrs. beck was battle's daughter and mrs. beck bought my father from moss and that kept them together. he was that good. moss sold out and went to texas and all his slaves went walking while he went on the train. he had about a hundred of them. when he got there, he couldn't hear from them. he didn't know where they was--they was walking and he had got on the train--so he killed hisself. when they got there, just walking along, they found him dead. "moss' nephew, whaley, got two parts of all he had. another fellow--i can't call his name--got one part. his sister, they sent her back five--three of my uncles and two of my aunties. "where i was raised, duggins wasn't a mean man. his slaves didn't get out to work till after sunup. his brother, who lived three miles out from us, made his folks get up before sunup. but duggins didn't do that. he seemed to think something of his folks. every saturday, he'd give lard, flour, hog meat, syrup. that was all he had to give. that was extra. war was going on and he couldn't get nothing else. on wednesday night he'd give it to them again. of course, they would get corn-meal and other things from the kitchen. they didn't eat in the kitchen or any place together. everybody got what there was on the place and cooked it in his cabin. "before i was born, beck sold my mother and father to duggins. i don't know why he sold them. they had an auction block in the town, but out in the country they didn't have no block. if i had seen a nigger and wanted to buy him, i would just go up to the owner and do business with him. that was the way it was with beck and duggins. selling my mother and father was just a private transaction between them. rations "twice a week, flour, syrup, meat, and lard were given to the slaves. you got other food from the kitchen. meat, vegetables, milk,--all the milk you wanted--bread. a mean owner "beck, moss, battle, and duggins, they was all good people. but kenyon morps, now talk about a mean man, there was one. he lived on a hill a little off from the duggins plantation. his women never give birth to children in the house. he'd never let 'em quit work before the time. he wanted them to work--work right up to the last minute. children were all born in the field and in fence corners. then he had to let 'em stay in about a week. last i seen him, he didn't have nothin', and was ragged as a jay bird. houses "our house was a log house. it had a large room, and then it had another room as large as that one or larger built on to it. both of these rooms were for our use. my mother and father slept in the log cabin and the kids slept back in the other room. my sister stayed with joe duggins. her missis was a school-teacher, and she loved sister. my master gave my sister to joe duggins. mrs. duggins taught my sister, fannie, to read and spell but not to write. if there was a slave man that knowed how to write, they used to cut off his thumb so that he couldn't write. "there was some white people wouldn't have the darkies eating butter; our white people let us have butter, biscuits, and ham every day. they would put it up for me. "i had more sense than any kid on the plantation. i would do anything they wanted done no matter how hard it was. i walked five miles through the woods once on an errand. the old lady who i went to said: "'you walk way down here by yourself?' "i told her, 'yes'. "she said, 'well, you ain't going back by yo'self because you're too little,' and she sent her oldest son back with me. he was white. "my boss was sick once, and he wanted to get his mail. the post office was five miles away. he said to me: "'can't you get my mail if i let you ride on my horse?' "i said, 'yes sir.' i rode up to the platform on the horse. they run out and took me off the horse and filled up the saddle bags. then they put me back on and told me not to get off until i reached my master. when i got back, everybody was standing out watching for me. when my boss heard me coming, he jumped out the bed and ran out and took me off the horse and carried me and the sacks and all back into the house. soldiers "i saw all of wheeler's cavalry. sherman come through first. he came and stayed all night. thousands and thousands of soldiers passed through during the night. cooper cuck was with them. he was a fellow that used to peddle around in all that country before the war. he went all through the south and learned everything. then he joined up with the yankees. he come there. nobody seen him that night. he knowed everybody knowed him. he went and hid under something somewhere. he was under the hill at daybreak, but nobody seen him. when the last of the soldiers was going out in the morning, one fellow lagged behind and rounded a corner. then he galloped a little ways and motioned with his arms. cooper cuck come out from under the hill, and he and cooper cuck both came back and stole everything that they could lay their hands on--all the gold and silver that was in the house, and everything they could carry. "wheeler's cavalry was about three days behind sherman. they caught up with sherman, but it would have been better if they hadn't, 'cause he whipped 'em and drove 'em back and went right on. they didn't have much fighting in my country. they had a little scrimmage once--thirty-six men was all they was in it. one of the yankees got lost from his company. he come back and inquired the way to louisville. the old boss pointed the way with his left hand and while the fellow was looking that way, he drug him off his horse and cut his throat and took his gun off'n him and killed him. "sherman's men stayed one night and left. i mean, his officers stayed. we had to feed them. they didn't pay nothing for what they was fed. the other men cooked and ate their own grub. they took every horse and mule we had. i was sitting beside my old missis. she said: "'please don't let 'em take all our horses.' "the fellows she was talking to never looked around. he just said: 'every damn horse goes.' "the yankees took my uncle ben with them when they left. he didn't stay but a couple of days. they got in a fight. they give uncle ben five horses, five sacks of silverware, and five saddles. the goods was taken in the fight. uncle ben brought it back with him. the boss took all that silver away from him. uncle ben didn't know what to do with it. the yankees had taken all my master's and he took ben's. ben give it to him. he come back 'cause he wanted to. "when wheeler's cavalry came through they didn't take nothing--nothing but what they et. i heard a fellow say, 'have you got anything to eat?' "my mother said, 'i ain't got nothin' but some chitlins.' "he said, 'gimme some of those; i love chitlins.' "mother gave 'em to me to carry to him. i didn't get half way to him before the rest of the men grabbed me and took 'em away from me and et 'em up. the man that asked for them didn't get a one. slave money "the slaves would sometimes have five or six dollars. mostly, they would make charcoal and sell it to get money. patrollers "i seen patrollers. they come to our house. they didn't whip nobody. our folks didn't care nothin' about 'em. they come looking for keys and whiskey. they couldn't whip nobody on my master's plantation. when they would come there, he would be sitting up with 'em. he would sit there in his back door and look at 'em. wouldn't let 'em hit nobody. "them colored women had more fun that enough--laughing at them patrollers. fool 'em and then laugh at 'em. make out like they was trying to hide something and the patrollers would come running up, grab 'em and try to see what it was. and the women would laugh and show they had nothing. couldn't do nothin' about it. never whipped anybody 'round there. couldn't whip nobody on our place; couldn't whip nobody on jessie mills' place; couldn't whip nobody on stephen mills' place; couldn't whip nobody on betsy geesley's place; couldn't whip nobody on nancy mills' place; couldn't whip nobody on potter duggins' place. potter duggins was a cousin to my master. nobody run them peoples' plantations but theirselves. social life "when slaves wanted to, they would have dances. they would have dances from one plantation to the other. the master didn't object. they had fiddles, banjo and quills. they made the quills and blowed 'em to beat the band. good music. they would make the quills out of reeds. those reeds would sound just like a piano. they didn't have no piano. they didn't serve nothing. nothing to eat and nothing to drink except them that brought whiskey. the white folks made the whiskey, but the colored folks would get it. "we had church twice a month. the union church was three miles away from us. my father and i would go when they had a meeting. bethlehem church was five miles away. everybody on the plantation belonged to that church. both the colored and the white belonged and went there. they had the same pastor for bethlehem, union, and dairy ann. his name was tom adams. he was a white man. colored folks would go to dairy ann sometimes. they would go to union too. "sometimes they would have meetings from house to house, the colored folks. the colored folks had those house to house meetings any time they felt like it. the masters didn't care. they didn't care how much they prayed. "sometimes they had corn shuckings. that was where they did the serving, and that was where they had the big eatings. they'd lay out a big pile of corn. everybody would get down and throw the corn out as they shucked it. they would have a fellow there they would call the general. he would walk from one person to another and from one end of the pile to the other and holler and the boys would answer. his idea was to keep them working. if they didn't do something to keep them working, they wouldn't get that corn shucked that night. them people would be shucking corn! there would be a prize to the one who got the most done or who would be the first to get done. they would sing while they were shucking. they had one song they would sing when they were getting close to the finish. part of it went like this: 'red shirt, red shirt nigger got a red shirt.' after the shucking was over, they would have pies, beef, biscuits, corn bread, whiskey if you wanted it. i believe that was the most they had. they didn't have any ice-cream. they didn't use ice-cream much in those days. didn't have no ice down there in the country. not a bit of ice there. if they had anything they wanted to save, they would let it down in the well with a rope and keep it cool down there. they used to do that here until they stopped them from having the wells. "ring plays too. sometimes when they wanted to amuse themselves, they would play ring plays. they all take hands and form a ring and there would be one in the center of the ring. now he is got to get out. he would come up and say, 'i am in this lady's garden, and i'll bet you five dollars i can get out of here.' and d'reckly he would break somebody's hands apart and get out. how freedom came "the old boss called 'em up to the house and told 'em, 'you are free as i am.' that was one day in june. i went on in the house and got something to eat. my mother and father, he hired them to stay and look after the crop. next year, my mother and father went to ben hook's place and farmed on shares. but my father died there about may. then it wasn't nobody working but me and my sister and mother. what the slaves got "the slaves never got nothing. alexander stephens, the vice-president of the confederacy, divided his plantation up and gave it to his darkies when he died. i knew him and his brother too. alexander[hw: *] never did walk. he was deformed. big headed rascal, but he had sense! his brother was named leonard[hw: *]. he was a lawyer. he really killed himself. he was one of these die-hard southerners. he did something and they arrested him. it made him so mad. he'd bought him a horse. he got on that horse and fell off and broke his neck. that was right after the war. they kept garrisons in all the counties right after the war. "i was in hancock county when i knew vice-president stephens. i don't know where he was born but he had a plantation in toliver [hw: taliaferro] county. most of the stephenses was lawyers. he was a lawyer too, and he would come to sparta. that is where i was living then. there was more politics and political doings in sparta than there was in crawfordville where he lived. he lived between montgomery and richmond during the war, for the capital of the confederacy was at montgomery one time and richmond another. "after the war, the republicans nominated alexander stephens for governor. the democrats knew they couldn't beat him, so they turned 'round and nominated him too. he had a lot of sense. he said, 'what we lost on the battle-field, we will get it back at the ballot box.' seeb reese, united states senator from hancock county, said, 'if you let the nigger have four or five dollars in his pocket he never will steal.' life since freedom "after my father died, my mother stayed where she was till christmas. then she moved back to the place she came from. we went to farming. my brother and my uncle went and farmed up in hancock county; so the next year we moved up there. we stayed there and farmed for a long while. my mother married three years afterwards. we still farmed. after awhile, i got to be sixteen years old and i wouldn't work with my stepfather, i told my mother to hire me out; if she didn't i would be gone. she hired me out all right. but the old man used all my money. the next year i made it plain to her that i wanted her to hire me out again but that nobody was to use a dollar of my money. my mother could get as much of it as she wanted but he couldn't. the first year i bought a buggy for them. the old man didn't want me to use it at all. i said, 'well then, he can't use my money no more.' but i didn't stop helping him and giving him things. i would buy beef and give it to my mother. i knew they would all eat it. he asked me for some wheat. i wouldn't steal it like he wanted me to but i asked the man i was working for for it. he said, 'take just as much as you want.' so i let him come up and get it. he would carry it to the mill. ku klux klan "the ku klux got after uncle will once. he was a brave man. he had a little mare that was a race horse. will rode right through the bunch before they ever realized that it was him. he got on the other side of them. she was gone! they kept on after him. they went down to his house one night. he wouldn't run for nothing. he shot two of them and they went away. then he was out of ammunition. people urged him to leave, for they knew he didn't have no more bullets; but he wouldn't and they came back and killed him. "they came down to hancock county one night and the boys hid on both sides of the bridge. when they got in the middle of the bridge, the boys commenced to fire on them from both sides, and they jumped into the river. the darkies went on home when they got through shooting at them; but there wasn't no more ku klux in hancock county. the better thinking white folks got together and stopped it. "the ku klux kept the niggers scared. they cowed them down so that they wouldn't go to the polls. i stood there one night when they were counting ballots. i belonged to the county central committee. i went in and stood and looked. our ballot was long; theirs was short. i stood and seen clait turner calling their names from our ballots. i went out and got rube turner and then we both went back. they couldn't call the votes that they had put down they had. rube saw it. "then they said, 'are you going to test this?' "rube said, 'yes.' but he didn't because it would have cost too much money. rube was chairman of the committee. "the ku klux did a whole lot to keep the niggers away from the polls in washington and baldwin counties. they killed a many a nigger down there. "they hanged a ku klux for killing his wife and he said he didn't mind being hung but he didn't want a damn nigger to see him die. "but they couldn't keep the niggers in hancock county away from the polls. there was too many of them. work in little rock "i came to little rock, november , . i came here with surveyors. they wanted to send me to miami but i wouldn't go. then i went to the mortar box and made mortar. then i went to the school board. after that i ain't had no job. i was too old. i get a little help from the government. opinions of the present "i think that the young folks ought to make great men and women. but i don't see that they are making that stride. most of them is dropping below the mark. i think we ought to have some powerful men and women but what i see they don't stand up like they should. own family "i have three daughters, no sons. these three daughters have twelve grandchildren." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: frozie moss (dark mulatto), brinkley, arkansas age: "when my grandma whut raised me got free she and grandpa come to memphis and didn't stay there long till they went to crittenden county on a man's farm. my grandma was born in alabama and my grandpa in virginia. i know he wasn't in the nat turner rebellion, for my mother had nine children and all but me at holly grove, mississippi. i was born up in crittenden county. she died. i remember very little about my father. i jes' remember father a little. he died too. my grand parents lived at holly grove all during the war. they used to talk about how they did. she said hardest time she ever lived through was at memphis. nothing to do, nothing to eat and no places to stay. i don't know why they left and come on to memphis. she said her master's name was pig'ge. he wasn't married. he and his sisters lived together. my grandmother was a slave thirty years. she was a field hand. she said she would be right back in the field when her baby was two weeks old. they didn't wont the slaves to die, they cost too much money, but they give them mighty hard work to do sometimes. grandma and grandpa was heap stronger i am at my age. they didn't know how old they was. her master told her how long he had her when they left him and his father owned her before he died. i think they had a heap easier time after they come to arkansas from what she said. i can't answer yo questions because i'm just tellin' you what i remembers and i was little when they used to talk so much. "if the young generation would save anything for the time when they can't work i think they would be all right. i don't hear about them saving. they buys too much. that their only trouble. they don't know how to see ahead. "i owns this house is all. i been sick a whole heap, spent a lot on my medicines and doctor bill. i worked on the farm till after i come to brinkley. we bought this place here and i cooks. i cooked for miss molly brinkkell, mr. adams and mrs. fowler. i washes and irons some when i can get it. washing and ironing 'bout gone out of fashion now. i don't get no moneys. i get commodities from the sociable welfare. my son works and they don't give me no money." interviewer: thomas elmore lucy person interviewed: mose moss, russellville, arkansas age: "mose moss is my name, suh, and i was born in in yell county. my father was born in old virginny in and died in yell county, arkansas, eight miles from dardanelle, in . yes suh, i've lived in pope county a good many years. i recollects some things pretty well and some not so good. "yes suh, my father used to talk a heap about the ku klux klan, and a lot of the negroes were afraid of em and would run when they heard they was comin' around. "my father's name was henry moss. he run away from the plantation in virginia before the war had been goin' on very long, and he j'ined the army in tennessee--yes suh, the confedrit army. ho suh, his name was never found on the records, so didn't never draw no pension. "after he was freed he always voted the republican ticket till he died. "after the war he served as justice of the peace in his township in yell county. yes suh, that was the time they called the re-con-struc-tion. "i vote the republican ticket, but sometimes i don't vote at the reg'lar elections. no, i've never had any trouble with my votin'. "i works at first one thing and another but ain't doin' much now. work is hard to get. used to work mostly at the mines. not able to do much of late years. "oh, yes, i remember some of the old songs they used to sing when my parents was living: 'old-time religion' was one of em, and 'swing low, sweet chariot' was another one we liked to sing." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: s.o. mullins, clarendon, arkansas janitor for masonic hall he wears a masonic ring age: "my master was b.f. wallace--benjamin franklin wallace and katie wallace. they had no children to my recollection. "i was born at brittville, alabama. my parents' names was george w. mullins and millie. they had, to my recollection, one girl and three boys. mr. wallace moved to arkansas before the civil war. they moved to phillips county. my mother and father both farm hands and when my grandmother was no longer able to do the cookin' my mother took her place. i was rally too little to recollect but they always praised wallace. they said he never whipped one of his slaves in his life. his slaves was about free before freedom was declared. they said he was a good man. well when freedom was declared all the white folks knowed it first. he come down to the cabins and told us. he said you can stay and finish the crops. i will feed and clothe you and give you men $ and you women $ apiece christmas. that was more money then than it is now. we all stayed on and worked on shares the next year. we stayed around poplar grove till he died. when i was nineteen i got a job, porter on the railroad. i brought my mother to clarendon to live with me. i was in the railroad service at least fifteen years. i was on the passenger train. then i went to a sawmill here and then i farmed, i been doing every little thing i find to do since i been old. all i owns is a little house and six lots in the new addition. i live with my wife. she is my second wife. cause i am old they wouldn't let me work on the levy. if i been young i could have got work. my age knocks me out of 'bout all the jobs. some of it i could do. i sure don't get no old age pension. i gets $ every two months janitor of the masonic hall. "i have a garden. no place for hog nor cow. "my boys in chicago. they need 'bout all they can get. they don't help. "the present conditions seem good. they can get cotton to pick and two sawmills run in the winter ( men each) where folks can get work if they hire them. the stay (stave) mill is shut down and so is the button factory. that cuts out a lot of work here. the present generation is beyond me. seems like they are gone hog wild." interviewer's note the next afternoon he met me and told me the following story:---- "one night the servants quarters was overflowin' wid yankee soldiers. i was scared nearly to death. my mother left me and my little brother cause she didn't wanter sleep in the house where the soldiers was. we slept on the floor and they used our beds. they left next mornin'. they camped in our yard under the trees. next morning they was ridin' out when old mistress saw 'em. she said they'd get it pretty soon. when they crossed the creek--big creek--half mile from our cabins i heard the guns turn in on 'em. the neighbors all fell out wid my master. they say he orter go fight too. he was sick all time. course he wasn't sick. they come and took off mules and all the chickens and he never got up. they took two fine carriage horses weighed , pounds apiece i speck. one named lee and one stone wall. he never went out there. he claimed he was sick all time. one of the carriage horses was a fine big white horse and had a bay match. folks didn't like him--said he was a coward. when i went over cross the creek after the fightin' was over, men just lay like dis[a] piled on top each other." [a: [illustration] he used his fingers to show me how the soldiers were crossed.] interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: alex murdock, edmondson, arkansas age: "my owner or least my folks was owned by dr. [hw: 'murder'] (murdock). he had a big farm. he was a widower. he had no children as ever i knowed of. dr. 'murder' raised my father's mother. he bought her at tupelo, mississippi. he raised mother too. she was bright color. i'm sure they stayed on after freedom 'cause i stayed there till we come to arkansas. father was a teamster. he followed that till he died. he owned a dray and died at brinkley. he was well-known and honorable. "i worked in the oil mill at brinkley-american oil company. "mother was learned durin' slavery but i couldn't say who done it. she taught school 'round buena vista and okolona, mississippi. she learned me. i was born --november , . i heard her say she worked in the field one year. they give her some land and ploughed it so she could have a patch. it was all she could work. i don't know how much. it was her patch. our depot was prairie station, mississippi. my parents was monroe [hw: 'murder'] murdock[tr: lined out] and lucy ann murdock[tr: lined out] [hw: murder]. it is spelled m-u-r-d-o-c-k. "i farmed all my whole life. oil milling was the surest, quickest living but i likes farmin' all right. "i never contacted the ku kluxes. they was 'bout gone when i come on. "i voted off an' on. this is the white folks' country and they going to run their gov'mint. the thing balls us up is, some tells us one way and some more tells us a different way to do. and we don't know the best way. that balls us up. times is better than ever i seen them, for the man that wants to work. "i get $ a month. i work all i can." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: bessie myers, brassfield, arkansas age: ? didn't know "my mother was named jennie bell. she was born in north ca'lina (carolina). she worked about the house. she said there was others at the house working all the time with her. "she said they daresn't to cross the fence on other folks' land or go off up the road 'lessen you had a writing to show. one woman could write. she got a pass and this woman made some more. she said couldn't find nothing to make passes on. it happened they never got caught up. that woman didn't live very close by. she talked like she was free but was one time a slave her own self. "mother said she would run hide every time the yankee men come. she said she felt safer in the dark. they took so many young women to wait on them and mother was afraid every time they would take her. "she said she had been at the end of a corn row at daylight ready to start chopping it over, or pull fodder, or pull ears either. she said they thought to lie in bed late made you weak. said the early fresh air what made children strong. "on wash days they all met at a lake and washed. they had good times then. they put the clothes about on the bushes and briers and rail fences. some one or two had to stay about to keep the clothes from a stray hog or goat till they dried. and they would forage about in the woods. it was cool and pleasant. they had to gather up the clothes in hamper baskets and bring them up to iron. mother said they didn't mind work much. they got used to it. "mother told about men carried money in sacks. when they bought a slave, they open up a sack and pull out gold and silver. "the way she talked she didn't mind slavery much. papa lived till a few years ago but he never would talk about slavery at all. his name was willis bell." interviewer: miss sallie c. miller person interviewed: mary myhand, clarksville, arkansas age: "my mammie died when i was a little girl she had three children and our white folks took us in their house and raised us. two of us had fever and would have died if they hadn't got us a good doctor. the doctor they had first was a quack and we were getting worse until they called the other doctor, then we commence to get well. i don't know how old i am. our birthdays was down in the mistress' bible and when the old war come up, the house was burned and lost everything but i know i am at least or years old. our white folks was so good to us. they never whipped us, and we eat what they eat and when they eat. i was born in white county, tennessee and moved to missouri but the folks did not like it there so we come to benton county, arkansas. one side of the road was benton county and the other side was washington county but we always had to go to bentonville, the county seat, to tend to business. i was a little tod of a girl when the war come up. one day word come that the 'feds' were coming through and kill all of the old men and take all the boys with them, so master took my brother and a grandson of his and started south. i was so scared. i followed them about a half mile before they found me and i begged so hard they took me with them. we went to texas and was there about one year when the feds gave the women on our place orders to leave their home. said they owned it now. they had just got to texas where we was when the south surrendered and we all come back home. "we stayed with our white folks for about twenty years after the war. they shore was good to me. i worked for them in the house but never worked in the field. i came across the mountain to clarksville with a methodist preacher and his family and married here. my husband worked in a livery stable until he died, then i worked for the white folks until i fell and hurt my knee and got too old. i draws my old age pension. "i do not know about the young generation. i am old and crippled and don't go out none." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: griffin myrax missouri street, pine bluff, arkansas age ? "i don't know my age exactly. you know in them days people didn't take care of their ages like they do now. i couldn't give you any trace of the war, but i do remember when the ku klux was runnin' around. "oh lord, so much of the time i heard my mother talk about the slavery. i was born in oklahoma and my grandfather was a full-blooded crete indian. he was very much of a man and lived to be one hundred thirty years old. all crete indians named after some herb--that's what the name myrax means. "i heard my mother say that in slavery times the man worked all day with weights on their feet so when night come they take them off and their feet feel so light they could outran the ku klux. now i heard her tell that. "my parents moved from oklahoma to texas and i went to school in marshall, texas. all my schoolin' was in texas--my people was tied up there. my last schoolin' was in buchanan, texas. the professor told my mother she would have to take me out of school for awhile, i studied too hard. i treasured my books. when other children was out playin' i was studyin'. "there was some folks in that country that didn't get along so well. i remember there was a blind woman that the folks sent something to eat by another colored woman. but she eat it up and cooked a toadfrog for the old blind woman. that didn't occur on our place but in the neighborhood. when the people found it out they whipped her sufficient. "when my grandfather died he didn't have a decayed tooth in his head. they was worn off like a horse's teeth but he had all of them. "i always followed sawmill work and after i left that i followed railroading. i liked railroading. i more or less kept that in my view. "about this slavery--i couldn't hardly pass my sentiments on it. the world is so far gone, it would be the hardest thing to put the bridle on some of the people that's runnin' wild now." name of interviewer: irene robertson subject: ex-slaves--dreams--herbs: cures and remedies story:-- this information given by: tom wylie neal place of residence: hazen, arkansas--near green grove occupation: farmer--feeds cattle in the winter for a man in hazen. age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] his father and mother belonged to tom neal at calhoun, georgia. he remembers the big battle at atlanta ga. he was eight years old. he saw the lights, [saw the bullets in the air at night] and heard the boom, boom of guns and cannons. they passed along with loaded wagons and in uniforms. the horses were beautiful, and he saw lots of fine saddles and bridles. his mistress' name was mrs. tom neal. she had the property and married tom neal. she had been married before and her first husband died but her first husband's name can't be recalled. she had two children--girls--by her first husband. her second husband just married her to protect them all he could. he didn't do anything unless the old mistress told him to do it and how to do it. wylie neal was raised up with the old mistress' children. he was born a slave and lived to thirteen years. "the family had some better to eat and lots more to wear, but they gave me plenty and never did mistreat me. they had a peafowl. that was good luck, to keep some of them about on the place." they had guineas, chickens and turkeys. they never had a farm bell. he never saw one till he came to arkansas. they blew a big "conch shell" instead. mistress had cows and she would pour milk or pot-liquor out in a big pewter bowl on a stump and the children would come up there from the cabins and eat [till the field hands had time to cook a meal.][hw:?] wylie's mother was a field hand. they drank out of tin cans and gourds. the master mated his hands. some times he would ask his young man or woman if they knew anybody they would like to marry that he was going to buy more help and if they knew anybody he would buy them if he could. the way they met folks they would get asked to corn shuckings and log rollings and mrs. neal always took some of her colored people to church to attend to the stock, tie the horses and hitch up, maybe feed and to nurse her little girls at church. the colored folks sat on the back seats over in a corner together. if they didn't behave or talked out they got a whipping or didn't go no more. "they kept the colored people scared to be bad." the colored folks believed in hoodoo and witches. heard them talking lots about witches. they said if they found anybody was a witch they would kill them. witches took on other forms and went out to do meaness. they said sometimes some of them got through latch holes. they used buttons and door knobs whittled out of wood, and door latches with strings. people married early in "them days"--when mistress' oldest girl married she gave her sumanthy, wylie's oldest sister when they come home [they would let her come.] they sent their children to school some but the colored folks didn't go because it was "pay school." every year they had "pertracted meeting." looked like a thousand people come and stayed two or three weeks along in august, in tents. "we had a big time then and some times we'd see a colored girl we'd ask the master to buy. they'd preach to the colored folks some days. tell them the law. how to behave and serve the lord." when wylie was twelve years old the "yanks" came and tore up the farm. "it was just like these cyclones that is [tr: illegible word] around here in arkansas, exactly like that." his mistress left and he never saw her again. general [hw: john bell] hood was the [tr: illegible word] he thinks, but he was given to captain condennens to wait on him. they went to marietta, ga., and kingston, ga. "rumors came about that we were free and everybody was drifting around. the u.s. government gave us food then like they do now and we hunted work. everybody nearly froze and starved. we wore old uniforms and slept anywhere we could find, an old house or piece of a house. in - --the ku klux was miserable on the colored folks. lots of folks died out of consumption in the spring and pneumonia all winter. "there wasn't any doctors seeing after colored folks for they had no money and they used herbs--only medicine they could get." only herbs he remembers he used is: chew black snake roots to settle sick stomach. flux weed tea for disordered stomach. people eat so much "messed up food" lot of them got sick. wylie neal wandered about and finally came to chattanooga. they got old uniforms and victuals from the "yanks" about a year. colonel stocker come and got up a lot of hands and paid their way to memphis on the train. from there they were put on the _molly hamilton_ boat and went to linden, arkansas, on the st. francis river. "he fared fine" there. in [tr: ?] he came to hazen and since then he has owned small farms at biscoe and forty acres near hazen. it was joining the old joe perry place. dr. ---- got a mortgage on it and took it. wylie neal lives with his niece and she is old too so they get relief and a pension. "he don't believe in dreams but some dreams like when you dream of the dead there's sho' goner be falling weather." he "don't dream much" he says. he has a birthmark on his leg. it looks like a bunch of berries. he never heard what caused it. it has always been there. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: sally nealy mulberry street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes mam, i was a slave! i was sixteen years old when the war begun. i was born in texas. "my old master was john hall and my young master was marse dick. marse john went to war the th day of may in and he was killed in june. they wasn't nothin' left to bring home but his right leg and his left arm. they knowed it was him cause his name was tattooed on his leg. "he was a mean rascal. he brought us up from the plantation and pat us on the head and give us a little whisky and say 'your name is sally or mary or mose' just like we was dogs. "my old mistress, miss caroline, was a mean one too. she was the mother of eight children--five girls and three boys. when she combed her hair down low on her neck she was all right but when she come down with it done up on the top of her head--look out. "it was my job to scrub the big cedar churns with brick dust and irish potato and polish the knives and forks the same way. then every other day i had to mold twelve dozen candles and sweep the yard with a dogwood bresh broom. "she didn't give us no biscuits or sugar 'cept on christmas. jest shorts and molasses for our coffee. when the yankee soldiers come through old mistress run and hide in the cellar but the yankees went down in the collar too and took all the hams and honey and brandied peaches she had. "they didn't have no doctors for the niggers then. old mistress just give us some blue mass and castor oil and they didn't give you nothin' to take the taste out your mouth either. "oh lord, i know 'bout them ku klux. they wore false faces and went around whippin' people. "after the surrender i went to stay with miss fulton. she was good to me and i stayed with her eleven years. she wanted to know how old i was so my father went to miss caroline and she say i 'bout twenty now. "some white folks was good to their slaves. i know one man, alec yates, when he killed hogs he give the niggers five of 'em. course he took the best but that was all right. "after freedom the yankees come and took the colored folks away to the marshal's yard and kept them till they got jobs for 'em. they went to the white folks houses and took things to feed the niggers. "i ain't been married but once. i thought i was in love but i wasn't. love is a itchin' 'round the heart you can't get at to scratch. "i 'member one song they sung durin' the war 'the yankees are comin' through by fall sez i we'll all drink stone blind johnny fill up the bowl.'" folklore subjects name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: songs of civil war days story:--information this information given by: sally neeley place of residence: n. mulberry, pine bluff, arkansas occupation: none age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] [tr: same as previous informant (sally nealy).] ( ) "in eighteen hundred and sixty-one football (?) sez i; in eighteen hundred and sixty-one that's the year the war begun we'll all drink stone blind, johnny, come fill up the bowl. ( ) "in eighteen hundred and sixty-two football (?) sez i; in eighteen hundred and sixty-two that's the year we put 'em through we'll all drink stone blind, johnny, come fill up the bowl. ( ) "in eighteen hundred and sixty-three football (?) sez i; in eighteen hundred and sixty-three that's the year we didn't agree we'll all drink stone blind. johnny, come fill up the bowl. ( ) "in eighteen hundred and sixty-four football (?) sez i; in eighteen hundred and sixty-four we'll all go home and fight no more we'll all drink stone blind. johnny, come fill up the bowl. ( ) "in eighteen hundred and sixty-five football (?) sez i; in eighteen hundred and sixty-five we'll have the rebels dead or alive we'll all drink stone blind, johnny, come fill up the bowl. ( ) "in eighteen hundred and sixty-six football (?) sez i; in eighteen hundred and sixty-six we'll have the rebels in a helava fix we'll all drink stone blind, johnny, come fill up the bowl. ( ) "in eighteen hundred and sixty-seven football (?) sez i; in eighteen hundred and sixty-seven we'll have the rebels dead and at the devil we'll all drink stone blind. johnny, came fill up the bowl." interviewer's comment the word "football" doesn't sound right in this song, but i was unable to find it in print, and sally seemed to think it was the right word. sally is a very wicked old woman and swears like a sailor, but she has a remarkable memory. she was "bred and born" in rusk county, texas and says she came to pine bluff when it was "just a little pig." says she was sixteen when the civil war began. i have previously reported an interview with her. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: wylie nealy [hw: biscoe arkansas?] age: i was born in . i am years old. i was born in gordon county. the closest town was calhoun, south carolina. my sister died in ' . that's the first dead, person i ever saw. one of my sisters was give away and another one was sold before the civil war started. sister mariah was give to the young mistress, miss ella conley. i didn't see her sold. i never seed nobody sold but i heard 'em talking about it. i had five sisters and one brother. my father was a free man always. he was a choctaw indian. mother was part cherokee indian. my mother's mistress was mrs. martha christian. he died and she married tom nealy, the one they call me fur, wylie nealy. liberty and freedom was all i ever heard any colored folks say dey expected to get out of de war, and mighty proud of dot. nobody knowed they was goin to have a war till it was done broke out and they was fightin about it. didn't nobody want land, they jess wanted freedom. i remembers when lincoln was made the president both times and when he was killed. i recollects all that like yesterday. the army had been through and swept out everything. there wasn't a chicken or hog nowhere to be had, took the stock and cattle and all the provisions. so de slaves jess had to scatter out and leave right now. and after de army come through. i was goin back down to the old place and some soldiers passed riding along and one said "boy where you goin? said nothing up there." i says, "i knows it." then he say "come on here, walk along back there" and i followed him. i was twelve years old. he was captain mcclendenny. then when i got to the camp wid him he say "you help around here." i got sick and they let me go back home then to resacca, georgia and my mother died. when i went back they sent me to chattanooga with captain story. i was in a colored regiment nine months, i saw my father several times while i was at chattanooga. we was in shermans army till it went past atlanta. they burned up the city. two of my masters come out of the war alive and two dead. i was mustered out in august . i stayed in camp till my sisters found a cabin to move in. everybody got rations issued out. it was a hard time. i got hungry lots times. no plantations was divided and the masters didn't have no more than the slaves had when the war was done. after the yankees come in and ripped them up old missus left and mr. tom nealy was a home guard. he had a class of old men. never went back or seen any more of them. everybody left and a heap of the colored folks went where rations could be issued to them and some followed on in the armies. after i was mustered out i stayed around the camps and went to my sister's cabin till we left there. made anything we could pick up. men come in there getting people to go work for them. some folks went to chicago. a heap of the slaves went to the northern cities. colonel stocker, a officer in the yankee army, got us to come to a farm in arkansas. we wanted to stay together is why we all went on the farm. may , when we come to arkansas is the first farmin i had seen done since i left tom nealy's place. colonel stocker is mighty well known in st. francis county. he brought lots of families, brought me and my brother, my two brothers and a nephew. we come on the train. it took four or five days. when we got to memphis we come to linden on a boat "molly hamilton" they called it. i heard it was sunk at madison long time after that. colonel stocker promised to pay $ a month and feed us. when christmas come he said all i was due was $ . . we made a good crop. that wasn't it. been there since may. had to stay till got all the train and boat fare paid. there wasn't no difference in that and slavery 'cept they couldn't sell us. i heard a heap about the ku klux but i nebber seed them. everybody was scared of them. the first votin i ever heard of was in grant's election. both black and white voted. i voted republican for grant. lot of the southern soldiers was franchised and couldn't vote. just the private soldiers could vote at tall. i don't know why it was. i was a slave for thirteen years from birth. every slave could vote after freedom. some colored folks held office. i knew several magistrates and sheriffs. there was one at helena (arkansas) and one at marianna. he was a high sheriff. i voted some after that but i never voted in the last presidento election. i heard 'em say it wasn't no use, this man would be elected anyhow. i sorter quit off long time ago. in and i worked for halves and made nough to buy a farm in st. francis county. it cost $ . i bought it in . eighty acres to be cleared down in the bottoms. my family helped and when my help got shallow, the children leaving me, i sold it for $ , , in . i was married jess once and had eight children; five livin and three dead. me and the old woman went to oklahoma. we went in january and come back to biscoe (arkansas) in september. it wasn't no place for farming. i bought acres from mr. aydelott and paid him $ . i sold it and come to mr. joe perry's place, paid $ for acres of timber land. we cleared it and i got way in debt and lost it. clear lost it! ize been working anywhere i could make a little since then. my wife died and i been doing little jobs and stays about with my children. the welfare gives me a little check and some supplies now and then. no maam, i can't read much. i was not learnt. i could figure a little before my eyes got bad. the white folks did send their children to pay schools but we colored children had to stay around the house and about in the field to work. i never got no schoolin. i went with old missus to camp meeting down in georgia one time and got to go to white church sometimes. at the camp meeting there was a big tent and all around it there was brush harbors and tents where people stayed to attend the meetins. they had four meetins a day. lots of folk got converted and shouted. they had a lot of singings they had a lots to eat and a big time. i don't think much about these young folks now. it seems lack everybody is having a hard time to live among us colored folks. some white folks has got a heap and fine cars to get about in. i don't know what go in to become of 'em. people did sing more than i hear them now but i never could sing. they sing a lot of foolish songs and mostly religious songs. i don't recollect of any slave uprising. i never heard of any. we didn't know they was going to have a war till they was fighting. yes maam, they heard lincoln was going to set 'em free, but they didn't know how he was going to do it. everybody wanted freedom. mr. hammond (white) ask me not long ago if i didn't think it best to bring us from africa and be slaves than like wild animals in africa. he said we was taught about god and the gospel over here if we was slaves. i told him i thought dot freedom was de best anywhere. we had a pretty hard time before freedom. my mother was a field woman. when they didn't need her to work they hired her out and they got the pay. the master mated the colored people. i got fed from the white folks table whenever i curried the horses. i was sorter raised up with mr. nealy's children. they didn't mistreat me. on saturday the mistress would blow a cone shell and they knowed to go and get the rations. we got plenty to eat. they had chickens and ducks and geese and plenty milk. they did have hogs. they had seven or eight guineas and a lot of peafowls. i never heard a farm bell till i come to arkansas. the children et from pewter bowls or earthen ware. sometimes they et greens or milk from the same bowl, all jess dip in. the yankees took me to general hood's army and i was captain mccondennen's helper at the camps.[hw: ?] we went down through marietta and atlanta and through kingston. shells come over where we lived. i saw 'em fight all the time. saw the light and heard the roaring of de guns miles away. it looked like a storm where the army went along. they tramped the wheat and oats and cotton down and turned the horses in on the corn. the slaves show did hate to see the yankees waste everything. they promised a lot and wasn't as good as the old masters. all dey wanted was to be waited on too. the colored folks was freed when the yankees took all the stock and cattle and rations. everybody had to leave and let the government issue them rations. everybody was proud to be free. they shouted and sung. they all did pretty well till the war was about to end then they was told to scatter and no whars to go. cabins all tore down or burned. no work to do. there was no money to pay. i wore old uniforms pretty well till i come to arkansas. i been here in hazen since . i come on a boat from memphis to linden. colonel stocker brought a lot of us on the train. the name of the boat was molly hamilton. it was a big boat and we about filled it. i show was glad to get back on a farm. i don't know what is goin to become of the young folks. everything is so different now and when i was growin up i don't know what will become of the younger generation. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: emaline neland, marianna, arkansas age: born "i was born two years before the war. i was born in murray county, tennessee. it was middle tennessee. when i come to remembrance i was in grant county, arkansas. when i remember they raised wheat and corn and tobacco. mother's master was dr. harrison. his son was married and me and my brother anderson was give to him. he come to arkansas 'fore ever i could remember. he was a farmer but i never seen him hit a lick of work in my life. he was good to me and my brother. she was good too. i was the nurse. they had two children. brother was a house boy. me and her girl was about the same size but i was the oldest. being with the other children i called her mother too. i didn't know no other mother till freedom. "freedom! well, here is the very way it all was: old master told her (mother) she was free. he say, 'go get your children, you free as i is now.' ain't i heard her say it many a time? well, mother come in a ox wagon what belong to him and got us. they run me down, caught me and got me in the wagon. they drove twenty-five miles. old dr. harrison had moved to arkansas. being with the other children i soon learnt to call her ma. she had in all ten or eleven children. she was real dark. "pa was a slave too. he was a low man. he was a real bright man. he was brighter than i is. he belong to a widow woman named tedford. he renamed his self after freedom. he took the name brown 'stead of tedford. i never heard him say why he wasn't satisfied with his own name. he was a soldier. he worked for the yankees. "after the war pa and ma got back together and lived together till she died. there was five days' difference in their deaths. they died of pneumonia. he was years old and she was years old. i was at home when pa come from the war. all my sisters was light, one sister had sandy hair like pa. she was real light. ma was a good all 'round woman. she cooked more than anything else. she nursed. dr. harrison told her to stay till her husband come back or all the time if he didn't ever come back. ma never worked in the field. when pa come he moved us on a place to share crop. ma never worked in the field. he was buying a home in grant county. he started to mississippi and stopped close to helena and ten or twelve miles from marianna. he had a soldier friend wouldn't let him go. he told him this was a better country. he decided to stay down in here. "i heard a whole heap about the ku klux. one time when a crowd was going to church, we heard horse's feet coming; sound like they would run over us. we all got clear out of reach so they wouldn't run over us. they had on funny caps was all i could see, they went so fast. we give them the clear road and they went on. that is all i ever seen of the ku klux. "i seen dr. harrison's wife. she was a little old lady but we left after i went there. "i used to sew for the public. yes, white and colored folks. i learnt my own self to sew. i never had but one boy in my life. he died at seven weeks old. i raised a stepson. i married twice. i married at home both times. just a quiet marriage and a colored preacher married me both times. "the present conditions is hard. i want things and can't get 'em. if i had the strength to hold out to work i could get along. "the present generation--young white and black--blinds me. they turns corners too fast. they going so fast they don't have time to take advice. they promise to do better but they don't. they do like they want to do and don't tell nobody till they done it. i say they just running way with their selves. "i get $ and a little help along. i'm thankful for it. it is a blessing i tell you." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: henry nelson e. fifth street, little rock, arkansas age: about "my name is henry nelson. i was born in arkansas--crittenden county near memphis, tennessee. i was born not far from memphis but on this side. "my mother's name was adeline taylor. that was her old slavery folks' name. she was a taylor before she married my father--nelson. my father's first name was green. i don't remember none of my grandparents. my father's mother died before i come to remember and i know my mother's mother died before i could remember. "my father was born in mississippi--sardis, mississippi--and my mother was a tennesseean--_cartersville_[hw:?] tennessee, twenty-five miles above memphis. [hw: carter, in carter county, about m. north of memphis, but no cartersville.] [tr: moved from bottom of following page.] "after peace was declared, they met in tennessee. that was where my mother was born, you know. they fell in love with one another in shelby county, and married there. my mother had been married once before during slavery time. she had been made to marry by her master. her first husband was named eli. he was my oldest sister's father. him and my mother had the same master and missis. she was made to marry him. she was only thirteen years old when she married him. she was fine and stout and her husband was fine and stout, and they wanted more from that stock. i don't know how old he was but he was a lot older than she was. he was a kind of an elderly man. she had just one child by him--my oldest sister, georgia. she was only married a short time before freedom came. "my father farmed. he was always a farmer--raised cotton and corn. my mother was a farmer too. both of them--that is both of her husbands--were farmers. "my mother and father used to go off to places to dance and the pateroles would get after them. you had to have a pass to go off your place and if you didn't have a pass, they would make you warm. some of them would get caught sometimes and the pateroles would whip them. they would sure got whipped if they didn't have a pass. "the old master come out and told them they were free when peace was declared. he said, 'you are free this morning--free as i am.' "right after the war, my mother come further down in tennessee, and that is how she met my father where she was when she was married. they went farming. they farmed on shares--sharecropped. they were on a big place called ensley place. the man that owned the place was called nuck ensley. "my mother and father didn't have no schooling. i never heard that they were bothered by the ku klux. "she didn't live with her first husband after slavery. she left him when she was freed. she never did intend to marry him. she was forced to that." interviewer's comment nelson evidently rents rooms. a yellow sallow-faced, cadaverous, and dissatisfied looking "gentleman" went into the house eyeing me suspiciously as he passed. in a moment he was out again interrupting the old man with pointless remarks. in--out again--standing over me--peering on my paper in the offensive way that ill-bred people have. he straightened up with a disgusted look on his face. he couldn't read shorthand. "what's that you're writin'?" "shorthand." "what's that about?" "history." "history uv whut?" "slavery." "he don't know nothin' about slavery." "thank you. however, if he says he does, i'll just continue to listen to him if you don't mind." "humph," and the "yellow gentleman" passed in. out again--eyeing both the old man and me with disgust that was unconcealed. to him, "you don't know whutchu're doin'." deep silence by all. exit the yellow brother. to the old man, i said, "is that your son?" "lawd, no, that's jus' a roomer." out came the yellow brother again. "see here, uncle, if you want me to fix that fence you'd bettuh come awn out heah now. it's gettin' dark." i closed my notebook and arose. "don't let me interfere with your program, brother nelson." the old man settled back in his chair. his eyes inspected the sky, his jaw "sorta" set. the yellow brother looked at him a minute and passed on. five minutes later. enter, the madam. she also was of the yellow variety with the suspicious and spiteful look of an undersized black belgian police dog. a moment of silence--a word to him. "you don't know whutchu're doin'." silence all around. to me, "you're upsettin' my work." i arose. "madam, i'm sorry." the old man spoke, "you ain't keepin' me from nothin'." "well, i said, you've given me a nice start; i'll come again and get the rest." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: henry nelson, edmondson, arkansas age: [tr: appears to be same as last informant despite different address.] "my mother belong to the taylors close to carterville, tennessee. my father never was sold. he belong to the nelsons. my parents married toreckly after the surrender and come on to this state. i was born ten miles from edmondson. their names was adeline and green nelson. they didn't get nothing after freedom like land or a horse. i'm seventy years old and i would have known. "i was at alton, illinois in the lead works thirteen years ago and i had a stroke. i been cripple ever since. "my folks never spoke of being nothing but field hands. folks used to be proud of their crops, go look over them on sunday when company come. now if they got a garden they hide it and don't mention it. times is changed that way. "clothes ain't as lasty as they used to be. people has a heap more money to spend and don't raise and have much at home as they did when i was a child. times is all turned around and folks too. i always had plenty till i couldn't do hard work. i farmed my early life. we didn't have much money but we had rations and warm clothes. i cleared new ground, hauled wood, big logs. i steamboated on the sun, kate adams, and one arm john. i helped with the freight. i railroaded with pick and shovel and in the lead mines. i worked from memphis to helena on boats a good while. i come back here to farm. time is changed and i'm changed. "it has been so long since i heard my parents tell about slavery i couldn't tell you straight. she told till she died, talked about how the yankees done when they come through. they took axes and busted up good furniture. they et up and wasted the rations, then humor up the black folks like they was in their favor when they was settin' out wasting their living. they done made it to live on. some followed them and some stayed on. they wanted freedom but it wasn't like they thought it would be. they didn't know how it would be. they didn't know it meant _set out_. seem like they left. in some ways times was better and some ways it was worse. they had to work or starve is what they told me. that's the way i found freedom. 'course their owners made them work and he looked out for the ration and in slavery. "i keeps up my own self all i can. i don't get help." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: iran nelson e. fourteenth ave., pine bluff, ark. age: "yes ma'm, they fotch me from mississippi to arkansas on the steamboat--you know they didn't have railroads then. they fotch my mother and they went back after grandfather and grandmother too. "dr. noell was our master and he had us under mortgage to his brother-in-law. they fotched us here till he could get straight from that debt, but fore that could be, we got free. "i knowed slavery times. i member seem' em lash some of the rest but you know i wasn't big enough to put in the fields. old mistress say when i got big enough, she goin' take me for a house girl. when they fotched mama and grandmother here they had eighty some odd head of niggers. they was gwine carry em back home after they got that mortgage paid but the war come. "i member when the yankees come, my white folks would run and hide and hide us colored folks too. boss man had the colored folks get all the meat out of the smokehouse and hide it in the peach orchard in the grass. "i used to play with old mistress daughter addie. we would play in the parlor and after we moved to town some of the little girls would pick up and go home. you know these town folks didn't believe in playin' with the colored folks. "after mama was free she stayed right there on the place and made a crop. raised eight hundred bales and the average was nine. mama plowed and hoed too. i had to work right with her too. "i never went to school but once. i learned my abc's but couldn't read. my next abc's was a hoe in my hand. mama had a switch right under her belt. i worked but i couldn't keep up. just seein' that switch was enough. i had a pretty good time when i was young, but i had to go all the time." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: james henry nelson orange, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: gardener "i member all about the war--why of cose. i saddled many a cavalry hoss. i tell you how i know how old i am. old master, henry stanley of athens, alabama, moved to palaski, tennessee and left me with young mistress to take care of things. one day we was drivin' up some stock and i said, 'miss nannie, how old is you?' and she said, 'i'm seventeen.' i was old enough to have the knowledge she would know how old i was and i said, 'how old am i?' and she said, 'you is seven years old.' that was durin' the war. "i remember the soldiers comin' and stoppin' at our building--yankees and southern soldiers, too. they fit all around our plantation. "the yankees taken me when i was a little fellow. about two years after the war started, young marse henry went to war and took a colored man with him but he ran away--he wouldn't stay with the rebel army. so young marse henry took me. i reckon i was bout ten. i know i was big enough to saddle a cavalry hoss. we carried three horses--his hoss, my hoss and a pack hoss. you know chillun them days, they made em do a man's work. i studied bout my mother durin' the war, so they let me go home. "one day i went to mill. they didn't low the chillun to lay around, and while i was at the mill a yankee soldier ridin' a white hoss captured me and took me to pulaski, tennessee and then i was in the yankee army. i wasn't no size and i don't think he would a took me if it hadn't been for the hoss. "we come back to athens and the rebels captured the whole army. colonel camp was in charge and general forrest captured us and i was carried south. we was marchin' along the line and a rebel soldier said, 'don't you want to go home and stay with my wife?' and so i went there, to millville, alabama. then he bound me to a friend of his and i stayed there till the war bout ended. i was getting along very well but a older boy 'suaded me to run away to decatur, alabama. "oh i seen lots of the war. bof sides was good to me. i've seen many a scout. the captain would say 'by g----, close the ranks.' captains is right crabbed. i stayed back with the hosses. "after the war i worked about for this one and that one. some paid me and some didn't. "i can remember back to breckenridge; and i can remember hearin' em say 'hurrah for buchanan!' i'm just tellin' you to show how fur back i can remember. i used to have a book with a picture of abraham lincoln with an axe on his shoulder and a picture of that log cabin, but somebody stole my book. "i worked for whoever would take me--i had no mother then. if i had had parents to make me go to school, but i got along very well. the white folks taught me not to have no bad talk. they's all dead now and if they wasn't i'd be with them. "i'm a natural born farmer--that's all i know. the big overflow drownded me out and my wife died with pellagra in ' . she was a good woman and nice to white folks. i'm just a bachin' here now. i did stay with my daughter but she is mean to me, so i just picked up my rags and moved into this room where i can live in peace. i'm a christian man, and i can't live right with her. when colored folks is mean, they's meaner than white folks. "i'm gettin' along very well now. i been with white folks all my day--and it's hard for me to get along with my folks. "in one way the world is crueler than they used to be. they don't appreciate things like they used to. they have no feelin's and don't care nothin' bout the olden people. "well, good-bye, i'm proud of you." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: john nelson, holly grove, arkansas age: "my parents was jazz nelson and mahaney nelson. he come from louisiana durin' slavery. she come from richmond, virginia. i think from what they said he come to louisiana from there too. they was plain field hands. "my folks belong to miss mary ann richardson and massa harve richardson. they had five children and every one dead now. they lived at duncan station. "the white folks told em they was free. they had no place to go and they been workin' the crop. white folks glad for em to stay and work on. and the truth is they was glad to git to stay on cause they had no place to go. they kept stayin' on a long time. "i was so small i don't know if the ku klux ever did come bout our place at tall." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: lettie nelson st. marys street, helena, arkansas age: or ? "grandma was patsy smith. she said in slavery they had a certain amount of cotton to pick. if they didn't have that amount they would put their heads between the rails of the fences and whoop them. they whooped them in the ebenin' when they weighed up the cotton. grandma was raised in virginia. she was light. mama was light. they was carried from virginia to louisiana in wagons. they found clothes along the road people had lost. she said several bundles of good clothes. they thought they had dropped off of wagons ahead of them. they washed and wore the clothes. some of 'em fit so they wore them. mama left her husband and brother in virginia. ed smith was her second husband. he was a light man. my grandpa was a field man. i never heard if grandpa was sold. jimmie stansberry was the man that bought or brought mama and grandma to louisiana. mama cooked and worked in the field both. grandma did too. she cooked in louisiana more than mama. they belong to lou and jimmie stansberry and they had two boys. they lived close to minden, louisiana. i don't know so much about my parents and grandma talked but we didn't pay enough attention to remember it all. she was old and got things confused. "they was glad when freedom come but they lived on with jimmie stansberry. i remember them. grandma raised me after my parents died. then she lived with me till she died. she was awful old when she died. they would talk about how different virginia and louisiana was. it took them a long time to make that trip." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: mattie nelson e. fourth street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in chicot county, arkansas in ' . they said i was born on the roadside while we was on our way here from texas. they had to camp they said. some people called it emigrate. now that's the straightest way i can tell it. "our mistress and master was named chapman. i member when i was a child mistress used to be so good to us. after surrender my parents stayed right on there with the chapmans, stayed right on the place till they died. "my mudder and pappy neither one of em could read or write, but i went to school. i always was apt. i am now. i always was one to work--yes ma'm--rolled logs, hope clean up new ground--yes ma'm. when we was totin' logs, i'd say, "put the big end on me" but they'd say, "no, you're a woman." yes ma'm i been here a long time. i do believe in stirrin' work for your livin', yes ma'm, that's what i believe in. "i been workin' ever since i was six years old. my daughter was just like me--she had a gift, but she died. i seen all my folks die and that lets me know i got to die too. "white folks used to come along in buggies, and hoss back too, and stop and watch me plow. seem like the hotter the sun was the better i liked it. "yes ma'm, i done all kinds a work and i feels it now, too." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: dan newborn louisiana, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in . born in knoxville, tennessee. i suppose it was in the country. "solomon walton was my mother's owner and my father belonged to the newborns. my grandmother belonged to the buggs in richmond, virginia and she was sold to the waltons. when my mother died in ' my grandmother raised me. after she was freed she went to the powell clayton place. her daughter lived there and she sent up the river and got her. i went too. me and two more boys. "i never went to school but about thirty days. hardly learned my alphabet. "in ' , my grandmother bound two of us to powell clayton for our 'vittils' and clothes and schoolin', but i didn't get no schoolin'. i waited in the house. stayed there three years, then we come back to the walton place. "my grandmother said the waltons treated her mean. beat her on the head and that was part of her death. every spring her head would run. she said they didn't get much of somethin' to eat. "i was married 'fore my grandmother died--to this wife that died two months ago. we stayed together fifty-seven years. "to my idea, this younger generation is too wild--not near as settled as when i was comin' up. they used to obey. why, i slept in the bed with my grandmother till i was married. she whipped me the day before i was married. it was 'cause i had disobeyed her. children will resist their mothers now. "i think the colored people is better off now 'cause they got more privilege, but the way some of 'em use their privilege, i think they ought to be slaves. "my grandmother taught me not to steal. my white folks here have trusted me with two and three hundred dollars. i don't want nothin' in the world but mine. "i been workin' here for fox brothers thirty-eight years and they'll tell you there's not a black mark against me. "i used to be a mortar maker and used to sample cotton. then i worked at the cotton belt shops eight years. "i've bought me a home that cost $ . "i don't mind tellin' about myself 'cause i've been honest and you can go up the river and get my record. "out of all due respect to everybody, the yankees is the ones i like. "vote? oh yes, republican ticket. i like roosevelt's administration. if i could vote now, i'd vote for him. he has done a whole lot of good." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: sallie newsom brinkley, ark. age ? "miss, i don't know my age, but i know i is old. i'm sick now. "my grandma's mistress and mama's mistress and my mistress was miss jennie brawner at thomasville, georgia. me and my oldest sister was born in atlanta. then freedom come on. my own papa wanted mama to follow him to mississippi. he had a wife there. she wouldn't go. she stayed on a while with mr. acy and miss jennie. they come from virginia. her name was catherine. "grandma toted her big hoop dresses about and carried her trains up off the floor. combed her long glossy hair. mama was a house girl too, but then grandma took to the kitchen. she was the cook then. "old miss jennie wanted mama to give her my oldest sister lulu, so mama gave her to her. then when we started to come to holly grove, mississippi, miss jennie still wanted her. mama didn't want to part from her. she was married again and brought me but my aunts told mama to leave her there, she would have a good home and be educated, so she 'greed to leave her two years. she sent back for her at the end of two years; she wrote and didn't want to come. she was still at miss jennie's. i haben seen her from the day we left atlanta till this very day. a woman, colored woman, was here in brinkley once seen her. said she was so fine and nice. had nice soft skin and was well to do. i have wrote but my letters come back. i know miss jennie is dead, and my sister may be by now. "my papa was abe brooks. his master was mars jonas brooks. old master give him to the young master. he was rich, rich, and traveled all time. his pa give him a servant. he cooked for him, drove his carriage--they called it a brake in them days--followed him to the hotels and bar-rooms. he drink and give him a dram. when he was freed he come to mississippi with the brooks to farm for them. i went to see my papa at waterford, miss. "when we was at holly springs, mississippi my cousin was a railroad man so he helped me run away. he paid my way. i come to clarendon. i cooked, washed and ironed. in two or three years i went back to see mama. they was glad to see me. they had eight children. "i couldn't guarantee you about the eight younger children, but there ain't a speck of no kind of blood about me and lulu violet but african. we are slick black negroes. (she is very black, large and bony.) "miss jennie brawner had one son--gus brawner--and he may be living now in atlanta. "my uncle said he seen the yankees come through thomasville, georgia. i never seen an army of them. i seen soldiers, plenty of em. none of the brooks or brawners went to war that i heard of. i was kept close and too young to know much of what happened. i heard about the ku klux but i never seen them. "i know miss jennie brawner come from virginia but i don't brought grandma with her or bought her. she never did say. "i don't vote. my husband voted, i don't know how he voted. "since i been sick, i get a check and commodities." interviewer: miss sallie c. miller person interviewed: pete newton, clarksville, arkansas age: [tr: ?] occupation: farmer and day laborer "my white folks was as good to me as they could be. i ain't got no kick to make about my white people. the boys was all brave. i was raised on the farm. i staid with my boss till i was nearly grown. when the war got so hot my boss was afraid the 'feds' would get us. he sent my mammy to texas and sent me in the army with col. bashom, to take care of his horses. i was about eleven or twelve years old. col. bashom was always good to me. he always found a place for me to sleep and eat. sometimes after the colonel left the folks would run as off and not let me stay but i never told the colonel. i went to boston, texas with the colonel and his men and when he went on the big raid into missouri he left me in sevier county, arkansas with his horses 'little baldy' and 'orphan boy'. they was race horses. the colonel always had race horses. he was killed at pilot knob, missouri. after the colonel was killed his son george (i shore did think a lot of george) come after me and the horses and brough' us home. "while i was in arkadelphia with col. bashom's horses, i went down to the spring to water the horses. the artillery was there cleaning a big cannon they called 'old tom'. of course i went up to watch them. one of the men saw me and hollered, 'stick his head in the cannon.' it liked to scared me to death. i jumped on that race horse and run. i reconed i would have been killed but my uncle was there and saw me and stopped the horse. "another time we went to a place and me and another colored boy was taking care of the horses while our masters eat dinner. i saw some watermelons in the garden with a paling fence around it. i said if the other boy would pull a paling off i would crawl through and get us a watermelon. he did but the man who owned the place saw me just as i got the melon and whipped us and told us if we hollered he would kill us. we didn't holler and we never told col. bashom either. "after the war my mammie come back from texas and took me over to dover to live but my old boss told her if she would let him have me he would raise and educate me like his own children. when i got back the old boss already had a boy so i went to live with one of his sons. he told me it was time for me to learn how to work. my boss was rough but he was good to me and taught me how to work. the old boss had five sons in the army and all was wounded except one. one of them was shot through and through in the battle of oak hill. he got a furlough and come back and died. i left my white folks in and went to farming for myself up in hartman bottom. i married when i was about seventeen years old. "they though' a house near us was hainted. nobody wanted to live in it so they went to see what the noise was. they found a pet coon with a piece of chain around his neck. the coon would run across the floor and drag the chain. "the children now are bad. no telling that will be in the next twenty or thirty years everything is so changed now. "i learnt to sing the hymns but never sang in the choir. we sang 'dixie', 'john brown's body lies, etc.', 'juanita', 'just before the battle, mother', 'old black joe'." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: charlie norris miller street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "born in slavery times? that's me, i reckon. i was born october , in arkansas in union county. tom murphy was old master's name. "yes ma'am, i remember the first regiment left arkansas--went to virginia. i member our white folks had us packin' grub out in the woods cause they was spectin' the yankees. "i member when the first regiment started out. the music boat come to the landin' and played 'yankee doodle.' they carried all us chillun out there. "after they fit they just come by from daylight till dark to eat. they was death on bread. my mother and susan murphy, that was the old lady herself, cooked bread for em. "i stayed with the murphys--round on the plantation amongst em for five or six years after freedom. andrew norris, my father's old master, was the first sheriff of ouachita county. "my mother belonged to the murphys and my father belonged to the norrises and after freedom they never did go back together. "my mother told me that susan murphy would suckle me when my mother was out workin' and then my mother would suckle her daughter. "i was raised up in the house you might say till i was a big nigger. had plenty to eat. that's one thing they did do. i lived right amongst a settlement of what they called free niggers cause they was treated so well. "sometimes susan murphy got after me and whipped me and old marse tom would tell me to run and not let her whip me. you see, i was worth $ , to him and he thought a lot of us black kids. "old man tom murphy raised me up to a big nigger and never did whip me but twice and that was cause i got drunk on tobacco and turned out his horse. "yes ma'am, i voted till bout two or three years ago. oh lawd, the colored used to hold office down in the country. i've voted for white and black. "some of the colored folks better off free and some not. that's what i think but they don't." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: emma oats (mulatto) holly grove, ark. age: or older "i was born in st. louis. my mother died when i was little. i never knowed no father. (he was probably a white man.) jack oats raised me. jim oats at helena was his son. he is still living. he come through here (holly grove) not long ago. i was raised on the esque place. "i was fraid of my grandma. i wouldn't live with her. i know'd her. she was a big woman, big white eyes, big thick lips, and had 'molly glaspy hair,' long straight soft hair. she was a african woman. she made my clothes. i was fraid of her. i never lived with her. my folks was all free folks. when my mother died my uncle took us--me and brother. he hired us out and we got stole. gene oglesby stole us and brought us to memphis to joe nivers. i recken he sold us then. then they stood me up in the parlor and sold me to jack oats. they said i was 'good pluck.' joe nivers sold me to jack oats for $ , . when i was four years old. my brother was name milton smith. i ain't seen him from that day till this. joe nivers kept him, i recken. i come here on a 'legal tender'--name of the boat i recken. i know that. i recken it was name of a boat. i got off and thornton walls, old colored man, toted me cross every mud hole we come to. he belong to bud walls' (white man at holly grove) daddy. when we got home jack oats and all of em was there. "i slept on a pallet and lounge and took care of their children. i played round. done bout as i pleased. they had a cook they called aunt joe--joe oats. we had plenty to eat and wear. they dressed me like one their children. we had good flannel clothes. when she washed her children she washed me too. when she combed their hair she combed mine too. she kept working with it till i had pretty hair. some of her children died. it hurt me bad as it did them. all i done was play with em and see after em. their names was sam, john, dixie, sallie, jim. i went in the hack to church; if she took the children, she took me. i was a good size girl when she died. the last word she spoke was to me; she said, 'emma, take care of my children.' dr. john chester was her doctor. "oats come here from north alabama. will oats, wyatt oats, and jack oats--all brothers. "when mistress living we took a bath every friday in a sawed-intwo barrel (wooden tub). the cook done our washing. we had clean fresh clothes. we had to dress up every few days. if we get dirty she say she would give us lashes. she never give me none, i never was sassy (saucy). that what most of em got lashes, , lashes for. "when i was bout grown i went to school a little bit to james a. kerr here at holly grove. i was good and grown too. "i was settin' on the gate post--they had a picket fence. i seen some folks coming to our house. i run in the house and says, 'miss mai liza, the yankees coming here!' she told her husband to get in the bed. he says, 'oh god, what she know bout yankees?' miss mai liza say, 'i don't know; she's one of em, i speck she knows em.' one of the officers come in and asked him what was the matter. he said he was sick. he had boils bout on him. he had a masonic pin on his shirt. he showed it to the officer. he asked lou and becky and all the servants if he hadn't been bushwhacking. they all said, 'no.' he said he wanted something to eat. they went to the well house and got him some milk. "they camped below the house. they went to their store house and brought more rations up there in a wagon. lou cooked and she had help. she set a big table and they had the biggest dinner. they had more hams. they had 'lincoln coffee' there that day. it was a jolly day. they never et up there no more or bothered round our house no more. the officer had something on his bare arm he showed. he said, when he went to leave, 'aunt lou, you shall not be hurt.' "mr. oats had taken long before that day all his slaves to texas. he took all but wash martin. they went in wagons and none of them ever come back. "miss callie edwards was older than miss henrietta jackson. they kept wash martin going through the bottoms nearly all time from their houses at golden hill to indian bay. they kept him from one place to the other to keep him out of the war. they hired him out to school miss henrietta. miss callie edwards died then they give him to miss henrietta. "during the war mrs. keeps come up to our house. they heard a gun. she was jes visiting mrs. oats. mrs. keeps went home and the bushwhackers had killed him. he was dead. "i never seen no ku klux in my whole life. "i remember the stage coach that run every two or three days from helena to clarendon. "i don't remember bout freedom. dr. green, hall green's daddy, told his colored folks they was free. they told our folks. i heard em talking bout it. i was kept quiet. it was done freedom, fore i knowed it. i stayed on and done like i been doin'. i stayed on and on. "when i was grown i come here to school and soon married. i washed and ironed and cooked all over holly grove. i was waiting on the table at the boarding house here at holly grove. mr. oats was talking bout naming the town. they had put the railroad through. i ask em why didn't they name the town holly grove. it was thick with holly trees. they named it that, and put it up on the side of the depot. that way i named the town. "my folks give me five acres of land and julia woolfolk give a blind woman on the place five acres. i didn't know what to do wid it. i didn't have no husband. i was young and foolish. i let it be. "my husband farmed. i raised my family, chopped and picked cotton and done other things along with that. i have worked all my life till way after my husband died. "my husband could jump up, knock heels together three times before he come down. he died may , . he was years old february , . "i never voted. i never heard my husband say much bout voting. i know some colored folks sold their voting rights. that was wrong. "i lived at baptist bottoms two years. it lack to killed me." wyatt oats and miss callie edwards owned the husband of emma oats. she was married once and had two girls and two boys--one boy dead now. emma lives at one of her daughters' homes. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: helen odom and mother, sarah odom biscoe, arkansas age: ? "great-grandmother was part african, indian, and caucasian. she had two girls before slavery ended by her own master--master temple. he was also caucasian (white). she was cook and housemaid at his home. he was a bachelor. grandmother's name was rachael and her sister's name was gilly. before freedom master temple had another wife. by her he had one boy and two girls. he never had a caucasian wife. in fact he was always a bachelor. grandmother was a field hand and so was her sister, gilly. "but after freedom grandmother married a union soldier. his took-on name was george washington tomb. he was generally called parson tomb (preacher). he met grandmother rachael in arkansas. "when master temple died his nearest relative was jim mcneilly. he made a will leaving everything he possessed to master mcneilly. the estate had to be settled, so he brought the two sisters to little rock we think to be sold. they rode horseback and walked and brought wagons with bedding and provisions to camp along the road. the blankets were frozen and stood alone. it was so cold. grandmother was put up on the block to be auctioned off and freedom was declared! aunt gilly never got to the block. grandmother married and was separated from her sister. "whether the other three children were brought to arkansas then i don't know but this i know that they went by the name mcneilly. they changed their names or it was done for them. they are all dead now and my own mother is the only one now living. their names were john, tom, and netline. mother says they were sold to johnson, and went by that name too as much as mcneilly. they remained with johnson till freedom, in tennessee. "my mother's name is sarah. "they seem to think they were treated good till master temple died. they nearly froze coming to arkansas to be sold. "i heard this told over and over so many, many times before grandmother died. seemed it was the greatest event of her life. she told other smaller things i can't remember to tell with sense at all. nothing so important as her master and own father's death and being sold. "times are good, very good with me. our african race is advancing with the times." interviewer's comment teacher in biscoe school. father was a graduate doctor of medicine and in about , ' , ' school director at biscoe. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: jane oliver route , near airport, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i'm certainly one of em, cause i was in the big house. when miss liza married they give sister to her and i stayed with miss netta. her name was drunetta rawls. that was in mississippi. we come to arkansas when i was small. "i remember when they run us to texas, and we stayed there till freedom come. i remember hearin' em read the free papers. mama died in texas and they buried her the day they read the free papers. i know. i was out playin' and miss lucy, that was my young mistress, come out and say, 'jane, you go in and see your mother, she wants you.' i was busy playin' and didn't want to go in and i member miss lucy say, 'poor little fool nigger don't know her mother's dyin'.' i went in then and said, 'mama, is you dyin'?' she say, 'no, i ain't; i died when you was a baby.' you know, she meant she had died in sin. she was a christian. "me and lucy played together all the time--round about the house and in the kitchen. little marse henry, that was big old marse henry's son, he was a captain in the army. we all called him little marse henry. old mistress was good to us. us chillun called her miss netta. best woman i ever seed. me and lucy growed up together. looks like i can see just the way the house looked and how we used to go down to the big gate and play. i sits here and studies and wonders if i'd know that place today. that's what i study bout. "i used to hear em say we only stayed in texas nine months and the white folks brought us back. "my uncle simon rawls, he took me after the war. then i worked for mrs. adkins. "i went to school a little and learned to read prints. the teacher tried to get me to write but i wouldn't do it. and since then i have wished so much i had learned to write. oh mercy! old folks would tell me, 'well, when you get up the road, you'll wish you had.' i didn't know what they meant but i know now they meant when i got old. "i was married when i was young--i don't think i was fifteen. "yes ma'am, i've worked hard. i've always lived in the country. "i can remember when the white folks refugeed us to texas. oh we did hate the yankees. if i ever seed a yankee i didn't know it but i heard the white folks talkin' bout em. "i used to hear em talk bout old jeff davis and abe lincoln. "bradley county was where we lived fore we went to texas and afterward. colonel ed hampton's plantation jined the rawls plantation on the arkansas river where it overflowed the land. i loved that better than any place i ever seed in my life. "i couldn't say what i think of the young folks now. they is different from what we was. yes, lord, they is different. sometimes i think they is better and sometimes wuss. i just thanks the lord that i'm here--have come this far. "when i bought this place from mr. r.m. knox he said, 'when i'm in my grave you'll thank me that you took my advice and put your savings in a home.' i do thank him. i been here thirty years and i get along. god bless you." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: ivory osborne route , box , pine bluff, arkansas age: "know about slavery? sho i do--i was born in ' . born in arkansas? no ma'm, born in texas. "oh yes, indeed, i had a good master. good to me, indeed. i was that high when the war started. i member everything. take me from now till dark to tell you everything i know bout slavery. "i put in three years and five months, choppin' cotton and corn. i member the very day, on the th of may, old mistress blowed the conk and told us we was free. "oh lord, i had a good time. "i never was whipped. "ku klux used to run me. run me clear from the plum orchard bout a mile from the house. run to my mistress at the big house. "miss ann had eight darkies and told her stepmother, 'don't you put your hand on em.' she didn't either. "i went to school since 'mancipation in nacitosh. learned to read and write. was in the eighth grade when i left. stood at the head of every class. they couldn't get me down. i done got old and forgot now. "i didn't know the difference between slavery and free, i never was whipped. "did i ever vote? you know i voted, old as i am. ain't voted in over forty years. i ain't nobody. my wife's eighty. i've had her forty years. _cose_ i voted the republican ticket. you never seed a colored person a democrat in your life. "in slavery days we killed seventy-five or eighty hogs every year. and i don't mean shoats, i mean hogs. i ain't lost my membrance." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: jane osbrook e. st avenue, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes ma'm, i was livin' in slavery days. i was borned in arkansas i reckon. i was borned within three, miles of camden but i wasn't raised there. we moved to saline county directly after peace was declared. "i don't know what year i was born because you see i'm not educated but i was ninety the th of this last past may. yes ma'm, i'm a old bondage woman. i can say what a heap of em can't say--i can tell the truth bout it. i believe in the truth. i was brought up to tell the truth. i'm no young girl. "my old master was adkison billingsly. my old mistress treated us just like her own children. she said we had feelin's and tastes. i visited her long after the war. went there and stayed all night. "i member when they had the fight at jenkins ferry. old steele had , and he come down to take little rock, pine bluff and others. captain webb with , rebels was followin' him and when they got to saline river they had a battle. "the next sunday my father carried all us children and some of the white folks to see the battle field. i member the dead was lyin' in graves, just one row after another and hadn't even been covered up. "oh yes, i can tell all bout that. nother time there was four hundred fifty colored and five white yankee soldiers come and ask my father if old mistress treated us right. we told em we had good owners. i never was so scared in my life. them colored soldiers was so tall and so black and had red eyes. oh yes ma'm, they had on the blue uniforms. oh, we sure was fraid of em--you know them eyes. "they said, 'now uncle, we want you to tell the truth, does she feed you well?' my ma did all the cookin' and we had good livin'. i tole my daughter we fared ten thousand times better than now. "i come up in the way of obedience. any time i wanted to go, had to go to old mistress and she say, 'don't let the sun go down on you.' and when we come home the sun was in the trees. if you seed the sun was goin' down on you, you run. "i ain't goin' tell nothin' but the truth. truth better to live with and better to die with. "some of the folks said they never seed a biscuit from christmas to christmas but we had em every day. never seed no sodie till peace was declared--used saleratus. "in my comin' up it was whigs and democrats. never heard of no republicans till after the war. i've seed a man get upon that platform and wipe the sweat from his brow. i've seed em get to fight in' too. that was done at our white folks house--arguin' politics. "i never did go to school. i married right after the war you know. what you talkin' bout--bein' married and goin' to school? i was housekeepin': standin' right in my own light and didn't know it." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: annie page - / pullen street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born , they tell me, on the fifteenth of march. i was workin' a good while 'fore surrender. "bill jimmerson was my old master. he was a captain in marmaduke's army. come home on thirty days furlough once and he and daniel carmack got into some kind of a argument 'bout some whisky and daniel carmack stabbed him with a penknife. stabbed him three times. he was black as tar when they brought him home. the blood had done settled. oh lawd, that was a time. "my eyes been goin' blind 'bout six years till i got so i can't excern (discern) anything. "old miss used to box me over the head mightily and the colored folks used to hit me over the head till seem like i could hear a bell for two or three days. niggers ain't got no sense. put 'em in authority and they gits so uppity. "my brother brought me here and left me here with a colored woman named rachael ross. and oh lawd, she was hard on me. never had to do in slavery times what i had to do then. "but the devil got her and all her chillun now i reckon. they tell me when death struck her, they asked if the lawd called her, and they say she just turned over and over in the bed like a worm in hot ashes." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: annie page block west pullen, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes'm i 'member the war. i never knowed why they called it the civil war though. "i was born in union county, arkansas, 'bout a mile from bear creek, in . that's what my old mistress tole me the morning we was sot free. "my mistress was a democrat. old master was a captain in marmaduke's army. "i used to hope (help) spin the thread to make the soldiers' clothes. old mistress cared for me. lacy jimmerson--the onliest mistress i ever had. she wanted to send us away to texas but old master say it want no use. cause if the yankees won, they have to bring us back, so we didn't go. "did they _whip_ us? why i bet i can show you scars now. old miss whip me when she feel like fightin'. her granddaughter, mary jane, tried to learn me my abc's out of the old blue back speller. we'd be out on the seesaw, but old miss didn't know what we doin'. law, she pull our hair. directly she see us and say 'what you doin'? bring that book here!' "one day old master come home on a thirty-day furlough. he was awful hot-headed and he got into a argument with daniel carmack and old daniel stobbed him right in the heart. fore he die he say to bury him by the side of the road so he can see the niggers goin' to work. "i never seen no ku klux but i heard of 'em 'rectly after the war. "i'se blind. i jest can see enough to get around. the welfare gives me eight dollars a month. "my mother died soon after the war ended and after that i was jest knocked over the head. i went to camblin and worked for mrs. peters. then i runned away and married my first husband mike samson. i been married twice and had two children but they all dead now. "law, i jest scared of these young ones as i can be. i don't have no dealins with 'em." folklore subjects name of interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden subject: apparitions subject: superstitions subject: birthmarks story:--information this information given by: annie page place of residence: - / pullen street, pine bluff, arkansas occupation: none age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] [tr: repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.] "i told 'bout old master's death. mama had done sent me out to feed the chickens soon of a morning. "here was the smokehouse and there was a turkey in a coop. and when i throwed it the feed i heard somethin' sounded just like you was draggin' a brush over leaves. it come around the corner of the smokehouse and look like a tall woman. it kept on goin' toward the house till it got to the hickory nut tree and still sound like draggin' a brush. when it got to the hickory nut tree it changed and look like a man. i looked and i said, 'it's old master.' and the next day he got killed. i run to the house and told mama, 'look at that man.' she said, 'shut your mouth, you don't see no man.' old miss heard and said, 'who do you s'pose it could be?' but mama wouldn't let me talk. "but i know it was a sign that old master was goin' to die." superstitions "i was born with a caul over my face. old miss said it hung from the top of my head half way to my waist. "she kept it and when i got big enough she said, 'now that's your veil, you play with it.' "but i lost it out in the orchard one day. "they said it would keep you from seein' ha'nts." birthmarks "william jimmerson's wife had a daughter was born blind, and she said it was her husband's fault. she was delicate, you know, and one afternoon she was layin' down and i was sittin' there fannin' her with a peafowl fan. her husband was layin' there too and i guess i must a nodded and let the fan drop down in his face. he jumped up and pressed his thumbs on my eyes till they was all bloodshot and when he let loose i fell down on the floor. miss phenie said, 'oh, william, don't do that.' i can remember it just as well. "my eyes like to went out and do you know, when her baby was born it was blind. it's eyes just looked like two balls of blood. it died though, just lived 'bout two weeks." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: fannie parker w. sixth street, pine bluff, arkansas age: ? "yes, honey, this is old fannie. i'se just a poor old nigger waitin' for jesus to come and take me to heaven. "i was just a young strip of a girl when the war come. dr. m.c. comer was my owner. his wife was elizabeth comer. i said marse and mistis in them days and when old mistress called me i went runnin' like a turkey. they called her miss betsy. yes lord, i was in slavery days. master and mistress was bossin' me then. we all come under the rules. we lived in monticello--right in the city of monticello. "all i can tell you is just what i remember. i seed the yankees. i remember a whole host of 'em come to our house and wanted something to eat. they got it too! they cooked it them selves and then they burned everything they could get their hands on. they said plenty to me. they said so much i don't know what they said. i know one thing they said i belonged to the yankees. yes lord, they wanted me to tell 'em if i was free. i told 'em i was free indeed and that i belonged to miss betsy. i didn't know what else to say. we had plenty to eat, plenty of hog meat and buttermilk and cornbread. yes ma'm--don't talk about that now. "don't tell me 'bout old jeff davis--he oughta been killed. abraham lincoln thought what was right was right and what was wrong was wrong. abraham was a great man cause he was the president. when the rebels ceded from the union he made 'em fight the north. abraham lincoln studied that and he had it all in his mind. he wasn't no fighter but he carried his own and the north give 'em the devil. grant was a good man too. they tried to kill him but he was just wrapped up in silver and gold. "i remember when the stars fell. yes, honey, i know i was ironin' and it got so dark i had to light the lamp. yes, i did! "it's been a long time and my mind's not so good now but i remember old comer put us through. good-bye and god bless you!" interviewer: samuel s. taylor subject: ex-slavery story: birth, parents, master. person interviewed: j.m. parker, (dark brown) address: ringo street, little rock, arkansas occupation: formerly a carpenter age: [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] "i was born in south carolina, waterloo, in lawrence county, [hw: laurens co.] in , april th. waterloo is a little town in south carolina. i believe that fellow shot the first gun of the war when i was born. i knew then i was going to be free. of course that is just a lie. i made that up. anyway i was born in . "colonel rice was our master. he was in the war too. the name parker came in by intermarriage, you see. my mother belonged to rice. she could have been a simms before she married. my father's name was edmund parker. he belonged to the rices also. that was his master; colonel rice and him were boys together. he went down there to charleston, south carolina to build breastworks. while down there, he slipped off and brought a hundred men away from charleston back to lawrence county where the men was that owned them. he was a business man, father was. brought 'em all through the swamps. they were slaves and he brought 'em all back home. they all followed his advice. "my mother's name was rowena parker after she married. "colonel rice was a pretty fair man--a pretty good fellow. he was a colonel in the war and stood pretty high. bound to be that way by him being a colonel. seemed like him and my father had about the same number of kids. he thought there was nobody like my mother. he never _whipped the slaves himself_ but his _overseer would sometimes jump on them_. the rice family was very good to our people. the men being gone they were left in the hands of the mistress. she never touched anybody. she never had no reason to. pateroles "patterollers didn't bother us, but we were in that country. during the war, most of the men that amounted to anything were in the war and the patrolers didn't bother you much. the overseer didn't have so much power over me than. that pretty well left the colored people to come up without being abused during the war. the white folks was forced to go to the war. they drafted them just like they do now. they'd shoot a _po'_ white man if he didn't come. breeding "my master didn't force men and women to marry. _he didn't_ put 'em together just to get more slave. some times other people would have women and men just for that purpose. but there wasn't much of it in my country. house, stock, parents' occupations "our house was a frame building, boxed in with one-by-twelve like we have here in the country. that was a good house with regular flooring, tongue and groove. we was raised up in a good house. old colonel rice had to protect his standing. he had good stock. my father was a carriage man. he had to keep those horses clean and they always looked good. that carriage had to shine too. colonel rice was a high stepper. he'd take his handkerchief and rub it over the horses hair to see if they were really clean. he would always find 'em clean though when the old man got through with them. he would drive fine stock. had some fine horses. couldn't trust 'em with just anybody. "my mother was cook. she helped mrs. rice take care of the kids, and cooked around the house. she took care of her kids, too. "the house we was born and bred in was built for a carriage house, but somehow or 'nother they give it to us to live in. my mother being a cook, she got what she wanted. that was a good house too. it was sealed. it had good floors. it had two rooms. it had about three windows and good doors to each room. "we had just common furniture. niggers didn't have much then. my father was a good mechanic though and he would make anything he wanted. we didn't have much, just common things. but all my people were mechanics, harness makers, shoemakers,--they could make anything. young sam parker could make any kind of shoe. he made shoes for the white folks; young jacob was a blacksmith; he made horseshoes and anything else out of iron. he may still be living. in fact, he made anything he could get his hands on. my young uncles on my mother's side, i don't know much about them, because they were all mechanics. my grandfather on my mother's side could make baskets--any kind--could make baskets that would hold water. "my father had thirteen children. three of them are living now. my brother lives here in the city. he was born during the war and his mother was supposed to be free when he was born. right after the war "that's what my mother told me. i can remember a long ways back myself. after the war, it wasn't long before they began to open up schools. they used to run school three or four months a year. both white and colored in the country had about three or four months. that is all they had. there weren't so very many white folks that took an interest in education during slave time. colored people got just about as much as they did right after the war. what time we went to school we went the whole day. we would come home and work in the evening like. we had pretty fair teachers. all white then at first. they didn't have no colored till afterwards. if they did, they had so few, i never heard of them. "the first teacher i had was katie whitefold (white). that was in waterloo. miss richardson was our next teacher. she was white too. we went to school two terms under white women. after that we began to get teachers from columbia, south carolina, where the normal school was. "the white teachers who taught us were people who had been raised right around waterloo. we never had no northern teachers as i knows of. our first colored teacher was murry evans. he a preacher. he was one of our leading preachers too. after him our colored women began to come in and stand examination wasn't so hard at that time, but they made a good showing. there were good scholars. "i went to school too much. i went to school at philander smith college some, too. i went a good piece in school. come pretty near finishing the english course (high school). i finished good[hw: sp.?] brown's 'grammer of grammers'. professor backensto (the spelling is the interviewer's) sent away and got it and sold it to us. we was his students. he was a white man from the north and a good scholar. we got in those grammars and got the same lessons they give him when he was in school--nine pages a lesson and we had to repeat that lesson three times. when my mother died, i was off in the normal school. "right after the war, my parents farmed. he followed his trade. that always gave us something to eat you know. when we farmed, we sharecropped--a third and a fourth--that is, we got a third of the cotton and a fourth of the corn. potatoes and things like that went free. all women got an acre free. my mother always got an acre and she worked it good too. she always had her bale of cotton. and if she didn't have a bale, she laid it next to the white folks' and made it out. they knew it and they didn't care. she stood well with the white people. helped all of 'em raise their children, and they all liked that. "i went along with my father whenever he had a big job and needed help. i got to be as good a carpenter as he was. "i married out here. about eighty-five. people were emigrating to this country. there was a boom to emigrating then. emigrating was a little dangerous when a man was trying to get hands. white folks would lay traps and kill men that were taking away their hands--they would kill white just as quick as they would black. i started out under a white man--i can't remember his name. he turned me over to madden, a colored man who was raised in waterloo. we came from there to greenwood, south carolina where everything was straight. after that we had nothing to do but get on the train and keep coming. we was with our agent then and we had no more trouble after that. "i got off at brinkley over at minor gregory's farm. he needed hands then and was glad to get us. he is dead now. i stayed in brinkley the space of about a year. then he gave us transportation to little rock. the train came from memphis, and we struck out for little rock. i married after i come to little rock. i forget what year. but anyway my wife is dead and gone and all the children. so i'm single now. opinions of the present "i think times are about dead now. things ought to get better. i believe things are going to get better for all of us. people have got to think more. people have got to get together more. war doesn't always make thing better. it didn't after the civil war. and it didn't after the world war. the young people are all right in their way. it would just take another war to learn 'em a lesson. support "i can't do any work now. i get a little help from the welfare. it doesn't come regular. i need a check right now. i think it's due now. but they haven't sent it out yet. that is, i haven't got it. "i'm a christian. all my family were methodists. i belong to wesley. interviewer: mary d. hudgins person interviewed: judy parker home: wade street, hot springs, ark. aged: for location of wade street, see interview with emma sanderson. as the interviewer walked down silver street a saddle colored girl came out on a porch for a load of wood. "i beg your pardon," she began, pausing, "can you tell me where i will find emma sanderson?" "i sure can." the girl left the porch and came out to the street. "i'll walk down with you and show you. that way it'll be easier. kind of cold, ain't it?" "it surely is," this from the interviewer. "isn't it too cold for you, can't you just tell me? i think i can find it." the girl had expected to be only on the porch and didn't have a coat. "no, ma'am. it's all right. now we're far enough for you to see. you see those two houses jam up against one and 'tother? well miz parker lives in the one this way. i goes down to look after her most every day. that's where you'll find her.--no ma'am--'twaren't no bother." the gate sagged slightly at the house "this way" of the "two jam up against one and 'tother." a large slab from an oak log in the front yard near a woodpile bore mute evidence of many an ax blow. (stove wood is generally split in the rural south--one end of the "stick" resting against the ground, the other atop a small log.) up a couple of rickety steps the interviewer climbed. she knocked three times. when she was bade to enter she opened the door to find an old woman sitting near a wood stove combing her long, white hair. mrs. parker was expecting the visit. a few days before the interviewer had had a visit from a couple of colored women who had "heard tell how you is investigating the old people.--been trying to get on old age pension for a long time--glad you come to get us on.----no? oh, i see you is the townsend woman." (an explanation of her true capacity was almost impossible for the interviewer.) mrs. parker, however, seemed to comprehend the idea perfectly. she expected nothing save the chance to tell her story. her joy at the gift of a quarter (the amount the interviewer set aside from her salary for each interviewee) was pitiful. evidently it had been a long time since she had possessed a similar sum to spend exactly as she pleased. "i don't rightly know how old i is. my mother used to tell me that i was a little baby, six months old when our master, joe potts was his name, got ready to clear out of florida. you see he had heard tell of the war scare. so he started drifting out of the way. bet it didn't take him long after he made up his mind. he was a right decided man. mister joe was. "how did we like him? well, he was always good to us. he was well thought of. seemed to be a pretty clever man, mr. joe did." ("clever" in plantation language like "smart" refers more to muscular than mental activity. they might almost be used as synonyms for "hard working" on the labor level.) "so mr. joe got ready to go to texas. law, miss, i don't rightly know whether he had a family or not. never heard my mother say. anyhow he come through arkansas intending to drift on out into texas. but when he got near the border 'twix't and between arkansas and texas he stopped. the talk about war had about settled down. so he stopped. he stopped near where the big bridge is. you know where little river county is don't you? he stopped and he started to work. started to make a crop. 'course i can't remember none about that. just what my mother told me. but i remembers him from later. "he went at it the good way. settled down and tried to open up a home. they put in a crop and got along pretty good. time passed and the war talk started floating again. that time he didn't pay much attention and it got him. it was on a sunday morning when he went away. i never knew whether they made him go or not. but i kind of think they must of. cause he wouldn't have moved off from florida if he had wanted to go to war. "he took my daddy with him! ma'am--did he take him to fight or to wait on him--don't know ma'am, but i sort of think he took him to wait on him. but he didn't bring him back. my daddy got killed in the war. no ma'am. i don't rightly know how he got killed. never heard nobody say. i was just a little girl--nobody bothered to tell me much. "yes, that we did. we stayed on on the farm and we made a crop--the old folks did. mr. joe, when he went off, said "now you stay on here, you make a crop and you use all you need. then you put up the rest and save for me." he was a right good man, mr. joe was. "no, we didn't never see no fighting. there wasn't nothing to be scared of. didn't see no yankees until the war was through. then they started passing. lawsey, i couldn't tell how many of them there was. more than you could count. "we had all stayed on. i was the oldest of my mother's children. but she had two more after me. there was our family and my two uncles and my grandmother. then there was some other colored folks. but we wasn't scared of the yankees. mr. joe was there by that time. they camped all around in the woods near us. they got us to do their washing. lawsey they was as filthy as hogs. i never see such folks. they asked mr. joe if we could do their washing. everything on the place that come near those clothes got lousey. those men was covered with them. i never see nothing like it. we got covered with them. no, ma'am, we got rid of 'em pretty easy. they ain't so hard to get rid of, if you keep clean. "after it was all over master joe got ready to go back to florida. he took warley and jenny with him. they was children he had had by a black woman--you know folks did such things in them days. he asked the rest of us if they wanted to go back too. but my folks made up their minds they didn't. you see, they didn't know how they'd get along and how long it would take them to pay for the trip back, so they stayed right where they was. "lots of 'em went to rondo and some of us worked for herb jeans--he lived farther up red river. after my mother died i was with my grandmother. she washed and cooked for herb jeans's family. i stayed on with her, helped out until i got married. i was about fifteen when that time come. "my man owned his place. sure he did. owned it when i married him. he owned it himself and farmed it good. yes ma'am we stayed with the land. he made good crops--corn and cotton, mostly. course we raised potatoes and the truck we needed--all stuff like that. yes, ma'am we had thirteen children. just three of them's living. all of them is boys. "yes ma'am we got along good. my husband made good crops and we got along just good. but 'bout eight years ago my husband he got sick. so he sold out the farm--sold out everything. then he come here. "before he died he spent every last cent--every last cent--left me to get along the very best way i kin. i stays with my son. he takes care of me. he don't make much, but he does the best he kin. "no ma'am, i likes living down in the country. down there near red river it's soft and sandy. up here in hot springs the rocks tear up your feet. if you's country raised--you like the country. yes ma'am, you like the country." as she left the interviewer handed her a quarter. at first the old woman's face was expressionless. but she moved the coin nearer to her eyes and a smile broke and widened until her whole face was a wrinkle of joy. when she turned in the doorway, the interviewer noticed that the hand jammed into an apron pocket was clutched into a possessive fist, cradling the precious twenty five cents. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: r.f. parker n. hickory, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in ' . i reckon i was born in slavery times. born in ripley county, missouri. old man billy parker was my master, and my young master was jim parker. "they bought my mother in tennessee when she was a child. i wasn't big enough to remember much about slavery but i was big enough to know when they turned my mother loose, and we come to lawrence county, arkansas. "i remember my mother sayin' she had to plow while her young master, jim parker, was off to war, but i don't know what side he was on. "i remember seein' some soldiers ridin' down the road, about seventy-five of 'em. i know i run under a corn pen and hid. i thought they was after me. they stopped right there and turned their horses loose 'round that pen. i can remember that all right. they went in the white folks' house and took a shotgun. i know i remember hearin' mama talk about it. i think they had on blue clothes. "i was goin' on seven when we come to arkansas. i know i'd walk a while and she'd tote me a while. but we was lucky enough to get in with some white people that was movin' to arkansas. we was comin' to a place called 'the promised land.' we stayed there till ' . "i have farmed and done public work. i worked nine years at that heading factory in the east end (of pine bluff). "i used to vote. when i was in north arkansas, i voted in all kinds of elections. but after i come down here to jefferson county, i couldn't vote in nothin' but the presidential elections. "i don't think the young people are goin' to amount to much. they are a heap wilder than when i was young. they got a chance to graduate now--something i didn't get to do. "i never went to school a day in my life, but the white people where i worked learned me to read and write." interviewer's comment this man could easily pass for a white person. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: annie parks pulaski street, little rock, arkansas age: about occupation: formerly house and field work "i was born and raised in mer rouge, louisiana. that is between here and monroe. i have been here in little rock more than twenty-five years. "my mother's name was sarah mitchell. that was her married name. i don't know what her father's name was. my father's name was willis clapp. he was killed in the first war--the civil war. my father went to the war from mer rouge, louisiana. i don't remember him at all. but that is what my mother told me about him. my mother said he had very good people. after he married my mother, old man offord bought him. offord's name was warren offord. they buried him while i was still there in mer rouge. he was a old-time mason. that was my mother's master--in olden days. "his grandmother took my mother across the seas with her. she (his grandmother) died on shipboard, and they throwed her body into the water. there's people denies it, but my mother told me it was so. young davenport is still living. he is a relative of offords. my mother never did get no pension for my father. slave house and occupation "i was born in a log house. there were two doors--a front and a back--and there were two windows. my mother had no furniture 'cept an old-time wooden bed--big bed. she was a nurse all the time in the house. i heard her say she milked and waited on them in the house. my father's occupation was farming during slavery times. "my mother always said she didn't have no master to beat on her. i like to tell the truth. my mother's master never let no overseer beat his slaves around. she didn't say just what we had to eat. but they always give us a plenty, and there wasn't none of us mistreated. "my father could have an extra patch and make a bale of cotton or whatever he wanted to on it. that was so that he could make a little money to buy things for hisself and his family. and if he raised a bale of cotton on his patch and wanted to sell it to the agent, that was all right. family "i have a brother named manuel clayton. if he's living still, he is younger than i am. he is the baby boy. i doesn't remember his father at all. i had five sisters with myself and two brothers. all of them were older than me except manuel. my mother had one brother and two sisters. her brother's name was lin urbin. we always called him big buddy. he hasn't been so long died. my older brother is named willis clayton--if he's still living. willis has a half dozen sons. he is my oldest brother. he lives way out in the country 'round mer rouge. freedom "my mother said they promised to them money when they were freed. some of them gave them something, and some of them didn't. my mother's folks didn't give her nothin'. the government didn't give her nothin' either. i don't know just who told her she was free nor how. i don't remember myself. patrollers and ku klux "i never heard much about pateroles. my mother said they used to whip you if they would catch you out without a pass. i heard her talk about the ku klux after freedom. slave worship "my mother could always go to church on sunday. her slave-time preacher was tom johnson. henry soates and watt taylor were slavery-time preachers too. old man jacob anderson too was a great preacher in slave time. there was a big arbor where they held church. that was outdoors. there was just a wood frame and green leaves laid over it. hundreds of people sat under there and heard the gospel preached. the offords didn't care how much you worshipped. if i was with them, i wouldn't have no trouble. "in the winter time they had a small place to meet in. they built a church after the war. when i went home, eight or nine years ago, i walked all 'round and looked at all the old places. health "you know my remembrance comes and goes. i ain't had no good remembrance since i been sick. i been mighty sick with high blood pressure. i can't work and i can't even go out. i'm 'fraid i'll fall down and get myself hurt or run over. support "i don't get no help 'cept what my daughter gives me. i can't get no old age pension. i never did get nothin' for my father. my mother didn't either. he was killed in the war, but they didn't give nobody nothin' for his death. they told me they'd give me something and then they told me they wouldn't. i'm dependent on what my daughter does for me. if i was back in mer rouge, i wouldn't have no trouble gettin' a pension, nor nothin' else. slave marriages on the offord plantation "my mother said they just read 'em together, slavery times. i think she said that the preacher married them on the offord plantation. they didn't get no license. amusements "they had quiltings and corn shuckings. i don't know what other amusements they had, but i know everything was pleasant on the offord plantation. "if slaves went out without a pass, my mother said her master wouldn't allow them to beat on them when they come in. they had plenty to eat, and they had substantial clothes, and they had a good fire. age "i don't know how old i am. i was born before the war. my father went to the war when it begun. i had another brother that was born before the war. he don't remember nothin' about my father. i don't neither. i was too young." interviewer's comment allowing for a year's difference between the two youngest children, and allowing that the boy was born immediately before the war, the girl could not be younger than seventy-eight. she could be older. she states all facts as through her mother, but she seems to have experienced some of the things she relates. her memory is fading. failure to get pension or old age assistance oppresses her mind. she comes back to it again and again. she carries her card and her commodity order with her in her pocketbook. she had asked me to write some letters for her when her daughter interfered and said that she didn't want it done. she said that she had told the case worker that her husband worked at the missouri pacific shop and that the case worker had asked her if she wouldn't provide for her mother. they live in a neat rented house. the mother weighs about a hundred and ten pounds and is tall. the daughter is about the same height but weighs about two hundred and fifty. time and again, the old lady tried to convey to me a message that she didn't want her daughter to hear, but i could not make it out. the daughter was belligerent, as is sometimes the case, and it was only by walking in the very middle of the straight and narrow path that i managed to get my story. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: austin pen parnell w. seventeenth street, little rock, arkansas age: occupation: carpenter birth and general fact about life "i was born april fifteenth, , the day lincoln was assassinated, in carroll county, mississippi, about ten miles from grenada. it's about half the distance between grenada and carrollton. carrollton is our county seat but we went to grenada more than we went to carrollton. "when i got older, i moved to grenada and i come from there here. i was about thirty-five years old when i moved to grenada. about acres of land in grenada was mine. i bought it, but heirs claimed the place and i had to leave. i had no land then, only a lot here and i came over here to look it over. a lady had come to mississippi selling property and she had a plat which she said was in little rock not far from the capitol. her name was mrs. putman. the place was on the other side of the fourche. but i didn't know that until i came here. she misguided me. i came to arkansas and looked at the lot and didn't want it. i made a trip over here twice before i settled on living in little rock. i told the others who had bought property from her the truth about its location. they asked me and i hate to lie. i didn't knock; i just answered questions and didn't volunteer nothing. they all quit making their payments, just like i did. my land had a rock on it as big as a bale of cotton. "mr. herring thought hard of me because i told the others the truth. i went into the office one day and mr. herring said, 'parnell, i understand you have been knocking on me.' i said, 'well, i'll tell you, mr. herring, if telling the truth about things is knocking on them, i certainly did.' he never said anything more about it, and i didn't either. "i rented a place on twelfth and maple and then rented around there two or three times, and finally bought a place at west twelfth street. i moved to little rock march , . that was twenty-seven years ago. parents "my father was named henry parnell. he died in the year in the time of the great war. he was ninety-five years old when he died. his master had the same name. my mother's name was priscilla parnell. she belonged to the same family as he did. they married before freedom. my father was a farmer and my mother was a housewife and she'd work in the field too. "my grandmother on my mother's side was named hester parnell. i don't know what her husband's name was. my mother, father, and grandmother were all from north carolina. my grandmother did house and field work. house "my mother and father lived in a two-room house hewed out of big logs--great big logs. the logs were about four inches thick and twelve inches wide. it didn't take many of them to build a wall--about ten or twelve of them on a side. they were notched down so as to almost come together. they chinked up the cracks with mud and covered it with a board. "i laid in bed many a night and looked up through the cracks in the roof. snow would come through there when it snowed and cover the bed covers. we thought you couldn't build a roof so that it would keep out rain and snow, but we were mistaken. before you would make a fire in them days, you had to sweep out the snow so that it wouldn't melt up in the house and make a mess. but we kept healthy just the same. didn't have no pneumonia in those days. "the house had two rooms about eight feet apart. the rooms were connected by a hall which we called a gallery in those days. the hall was covered by the same roof as the house and it had the same floor. the house sot east and west and had a chimney in each end. the chimneys were made out of sticks and mud. i can build a chimney now like that. "it was large at the bottom and tapered at the top. it was about six or seven feet square at the bottom. it grew smaller as it went toward the top. you could get a piece of wood three and a half or four feet long in the boddom of it. sometimes the wood would be too large to carry and you would just have to roll it in. "the floors was boards about one by twelve. there were two doors in each room--one leading outside and the other to the hall. if there were any windows, i can't remember them. we didn't need no windows for ventilation. "this was the house that i remember first after freedom. i remember living in it. that was about seven or eight years after freedom. my father rented it from the big man named alf george for whom he worked. mr. george used to come out and eat breakfast with us. we'd get that hoecake out of the ashes and wash it off until it looked like it was as clean as bread cooked in a skillet. i have seen my grandmother cook a many a one in the fire. we didn't use no skillet for corn bread. the bread would have a good firm crust on it. but it didn't get too hard to eat and enjoy. "she'd take a poker before she put the bread in and rake the ashes off the hearth down to the solid stone or earth bottom, and the ashes would be banked in two hills to one side and the other. then she would put the batter down on it; the batter would be about an inch thick and about nine inches across. she'd put down three cakes at a time and let 'em stay there till the cakes were firm--about five minutes on the bare hot hearth. they would almost bake before she covered them up. sometimes she would lay down as many as four at a time. the cakes had to be dry before they were covered up, because if the ashes ever stuck to them while they were wet, there would be ashes in them when you would take them out to eat. she'd take her poker then and rake the ashes back on the top of the cakes and let 'em stay there till the cakes were done. i don't know just how long--maybe about ten or twelve minutes. she knew how long to cook them. then she'd rake down the hearth gently, backward and forward, with the poker till she got down to them and then she'd put the poker under them and lift them out. that poker was a kind of flat iron. it wasn't a round one. then we'd wash 'em off like i told you and they be ready to eat. "mr. george would eat the ash cake and drink sweet milk. 'auntie, i want some of that ash cake and some of that good sweet milk.' we had plenty of cows. "two-thirds of the water used in the ash cake was hot water, and that made the batter stick together like it was biscuit dough. she could put it together and take it in her hand and pat it out flat and lay it on the hearth. it would be just as round! that was the art of it! "when i go back to mississippi, i'm going back to that house again. i don't remember seeing the house i was born in. but i was told it was an ordinary log house just like those all the other slaves had,--just a one-room log house. freedom "my father went to the war. he was on the confederate side. they carried him there as a worker. they cut down all the timber 'round the place where they were to keep the yankee gunboats from shelling them and knocking the logs down on them. but them yankees were sharp. they stayed away till everything got dry as a chip. then they come down and set all that wood afire with their shells, and the wind seemed to be in their favor. the rebels had to get away from there. "he got sick before the war closed and he had to come home. his young master and the other folks stayed there four or five months longer. his young master was named tom. when tom came home, he waited about five or six months before he would tell them they was free. then he said, 'you all free as i am. you can stay here if you want or you can go. you are free.' they all got together and told him that if he would treat them right he wouldn't have to do no work. they would stay and do his work and theirs too. they would work the land and he would give them their part. i don't know just what the agreement was. i think it was about a third. anyway, they worked on shares. when the landlord furnished a team usually it was halves. but when the worker furnished his own team, it was usually two-thirds or three-fourths that the worker got. but none of them owned teams at that time. they were just turned loose. we stayed there with them people a good while. i don't know just how long, but it was several years. catching a hog "one time a slave went to steal a hog. i don't know the name of the man; i just hear my father tell what happened, and i'm repeating it. it was a great big hog and kind of wild. his plan to catch the hog was to climb a tree and carry a yeer of corn up the tree and at the same time he'd carry a long rope. he had put a running noose in the end of the rope and laid it on the ground and shelled the corn into the ring. he had the other end of the rope tied around himself; he was up the tree. about the time he got the noose pulled up around the hog so that he could tighten up on it, he dropped his hat and scared the hog. the hog didn't know he was around until the hat fell, and the falling of the hat scared it so that it made a big jump and ran a little ways off. that jerked the man out of the tree. him falling scared the hog a second time and got him to running right. he was a big stout hog, and the man's weight didn't hold him back much. the man didn't know what to do to stop the hog. the hog was running draggin' him along, snatching him over logs. there was nothin' else he could do, so he tried prayer. but the hog didn't stop. seemed like even the lord couldn't stop him. then he questioned the lord; he said, 'lawd, what sawt [hw: sort] of a lawd is you? you can stop the wind; you can stop the rain; you can stop the ocean; but you can't stop this hog.' "the hog ran till he came to a big ditch. he jumped the ditch, but the man fell in it, and that compelled the hog to stop. the man's hollering made somebody hear him and come and git him loose from the hog. he was so glad to git loose, he didn't mind losing the hog and gettin' punished. he didn't get the hog. he just got a lot of bruises. i don't remember just how they punished him. ku klux klan "once after the war there was a lot of colored people at a prayer meeting. it was in the winter and they had a fire. the ku klux come up. they just stood outside the door, but the people thought they were coming in and they got scared. they didn't know hardly how to get out. one man got a big shovelful of hot coals and ashes out of the fireplace and threw it out over them, and while they was dusting off the ashes and coals, the niggers all got away. patrollers "i remember my father telling tales about the patrollers, but i can't remember them just now. there was an old song about them. part of it went like this: 'run, nigger, run the pateroles'll get you. that nigger run that nigger flew that nigger bust his sunday shoe. run, nigger, run the pateroles'll get you.' that's all i know of that. there is more to it. i used to hear the boys sing it, and i used to hear 'em pick it out on the banjo and the guitar. old massa goes 'way "old massa went off one time and left the niggers. he told 'em that he was goin' to new york. he jus' wanted to see what they would do if they thought he was away. the niggers couldn't call the name new york, and they said, 'old massa's gone to philameyawk.' "they went in the pantry and got everything they wanted to eat. and they had a big feast. while they were feasting, the old man came in disguised as a tramp--face smutty and clothes all dirty and raggedy. they couldn't tell who he was. he walked up just as though he wanted to eat and begged the boys for something to eat. the boys said to him, 'stan' back, you shabby rascal, you; _if'n_ they's anything left, you get some; _if'n_ they ain't none left, you get none. this is our time. old massa done gone to philameyawk and we're having a big time.' "after they were through, they did give him a little something but they still didn't know him. i never did learn the details about what happened after they found out who the tramp was. my father told me about it. whipping a slave "i heard my father say his old master give him two licks with a whip once. him and another man had been off and they came in. master drove up in a double surrey. he had been to town and had bought the boys a pair of boots apiece. he told them as he got out of the surrey to take his horses out and feed them. my father's friend was there with him and he said: 'le's get our boots before we feed the horses.' after that the master walked out on the porch and he had on crying boots. the horses heard them squeaking and they nickered. "master said, 'henry, i thought i told you to feed them horses. henry was so taken aback that he couldn't say a thing. henry was my father, you know. master went and got his cowhide. he said, 'are you going to obey my orders?' about the time he said that, he hit my father twice with the cowhide, and my father said, 'oh pray, master, oh pray,' and he let him go. he beat the other fellow pretty bad because he told him to 'le's get the boots first.' "old master would get drunk sometimes and get on the niggers and beat them up. he would have them stark naked and would be beating them. then old missis would come right out there and stop him. she would say, 'i didn't come all the way here from north carolina to have my niggers beat up for nothin'.' she'd take hold of the cowhide, and he would have to quit. my father had both her picture and the old man's. prayer "i can remember how my mother used to pray out in the field. we'd be picking cotton. she would go off out there in the ditch a little ways. it wouldn't be far, and i would listen to her. she would say to me: 'pray, son,' and i would say, 'mother, i don't know how to pray,' and she would say, 'well, just say lord have mercy.' that gave me religious inclinations. i cultivated religion from that time on. i would try to pray and finally i learned. one day i was out in the field and it was pouring down rain, and i was standing up with tears in my eyes trying to pray as she taught me to. we weren't picking cotton then. i was just walking out. my mother was dead. i would be walking out and whenever i would get the notion i would stop right there and go to praying. "in slave times, they would have a prayer meeting out in some of the places and they would turn a pot down out in front of the door. it would be on a stick or something and raised up a short distance from the ground so that it wouldn't set flat on the ground. it seems that that would catch the sound and keep it right around there. they would sing that old song: 'we will camp awhile in the wilderness and then i'm going home.' i don't know any more of the words of that song. early schooling "i started to school when i was about six or seven years old. i didn't get to school regular because my father had plenty of work and he had a habit of taking me out to help him when he needed me in his work. "my first teacher was a white man named jones. i don't remember his first name. he was a northerner and a republican. he taught in the public school with us. his boy, john, and his girl, louisa, went to the same school, and were in classes with us. the kids would beat them up sometimes but he didn't cut up about it. he was pretty good man. "after him, i had a colored man named m.e. davis as a teacher. he would say to my father, 'henry, that is a bright boy; he will be a credit to you if you will keep him at school and give him a chance. don't make him lose so much time.' my father would say, 'yes, that is right.' but as soon as another job came up, he would keep me out again. "i soon got so my learning was a help to him in his work. whenever any figuring was to be done, i had to do it if it was done right. he never had a chance to get any schooling and he couldn't figure well. so they used to beat him out of plenty when he would work for them. one day we had picked cotton for a white man and when the time came to pay off, the man paid father, but i noticed that he didn't give him all he should have. i didn't say anything while we was standing there but after we got away i said, 'papa, he didn't give you the right money.' "papa said, 'how much should he have given me?' "i told him, and he said to me, 'will you say that to him?' "i said, 'yes, papa.' "he turned 'round and we went on back to the place and pa said, 'my boy says you didn't pay me all that was comin' to me.' "the white man turned to me at once and said, 'how much was coming to him?' "i told him. "he said, 'what makes you think that?' "i said, 'we picked so many pounds of cotton at so much per hundred pounds, and that would amount to so many dollars and so many cents.' "when i said that, he fell over on the ground and like to killed his self laughing. he counted out the right money to my father and said, 'henry, you better watch that little skinny-eyed nigger; he knows something.' present support "i don't got anything from the government. i live by what little i make at odd jobs." note: in this interview this man used correct english most of the time and the interview is given in his own words. lapses into dialect will be noticed. interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: ben parr, brinkley, arkansas age: next march ( ) "i was born in tennessee close to ripley. my master was charles warpoo and catherine warpoo. they had three boys and two girls. they owned my mama and me and gentry was the oldest child. he died last year. my mama raised twelve children. my papa belong to people over on the mississippi river. their name was parr but i couldn't tell a thing about them. when i come to know about them was after freedom. there was jim parr, dick parr, columbus parr. we lived on their place. both my parents was farm hands, and all twelve children wid them. "well, the first i recollect is that we lived on the five acre lot, the big house, and some of the slaves lived in houses around the big yard all fenced with pailings and nice pickett fence in front of charlie warpoo's house. we played around under the trees all day. the soldiers come nearly every day and nearly et us out of house and home. the blue coats seemed the hungriest or greediest pear lack. they both come. master didn't go to war; his boys was too young to go, so we was all at home. my papa shunned the war. he said he didn't give a pickayune whether he be free or not, it wouldn't do no good if he be dead nohow. he didn't live with us doe (though). they kept papa pretty well hid out with stock in the mississippi river bottoms. he wasn't scared ceptin' when he come over to see my mama and us. when we come to know anything we was free. "i never seen nobody sold. none of my folks was sold. the folks raised my mama and they didn't want her to leave. the folks raised papa what had him at freedom. he said him and mama was married long before the war sprung up. i don't know how they married nor where. she was young when they married. "i remember hearing mama say when you went to preaching you sit in the back of the church and sit still till the preaching was all over. they had no leaving. "i know when i was a child people raised children, now they let them grow up. children was sent off or out to play, not sit and listen to what grown folks had to say. now the children is educated and too smart to listen to good advice. they are going to ruination. mama used to have our girls knit at night and she spin, weave, sew. they would tell us how to be polite and honest and how to work. young folks too smart to take advice now. "mama was cooking at the warpoo's house; she cooked breakfast. one morning i woke up and here was a yard full of 'feds.' i was hungry. i went through the whole regiment--a yard full--to mama hard as i could split. they didn't bother me. i was afraid they would carry me off sometimes. they was great hands to tease and worry the little negro children. "over at dyersburg, tennessee the ku klux was bad. jefferie segress was pretty prosperous, owned his own home. john carson whooped him, cut his ear off, treated him bad. high sheriff they said was a 'fed.' he put twenty-four buck shots in john carson. that was the last of the ku klux at dyersburg. the negroes all left dyersburg. they kept leaving. the 'feds' was meaner to them than the owners. in , three weeks before christmas, one hundred head of negroes got off the train here at brinkley. the ku klux was the tail end of the war, whooping around. it was a fight between the 'feds' and the old owners--both sides telling the negroes what to do. the best way was stay at home and work to keep out of trouble. "the bushwhackers killed raymond jones (black man) before the war closed. well, i don't know what they ambushed for. "i paid my own way to arkansas. i brought my wife. mama was dead. "if the negro is a taxpayer he ought to vote like white folks. but they can't run the government. that was tried out after that war we been talking about. our color has faith in white folks and this is their country. i vote some. we got a good right to vote. we helped clear out the country. it is our home now. "the present times is too fast. i can't place this young generation. "this is my second wife i'm living wid now. she's got children. i never had a child. we gets $ off of the welfare and i work around at pick-up jobs. i farmed all my whole life." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: frank a. patterson chester street, little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in raleigh, north carolina in . my father was born in baltimore, maryland. my mother and father was sold into bibb county, georgia. i don't know how much they sold for. i don't know how much they paid for them. i don't know how much the speculator asked for them. used to have them in droves and you would go in and pick 'em out and pay different amounts for them. "i was never sold. my old boss didn't believe in selling slaves. he would buy 'em but he wouldn't sell 'em. i'll say that much for him. master "i belonged to a man named thomas johnson cater. houses "they lived in log houses. some of them had weatherboard houses but the majority of them was log houses. two doors and one window. some of them had plank floors. some of them had floors what was hewed, you know, sills. they had stick and dirt chimneys. some of them had brick chimneys. it depended on the master--on the situation of the master. furniture "they just had bunks built up side the wall. the best experienced colored people had these teester beds. didn't have no slats. had ropes. they called 'em cord beds sometimes. they had tables just like we have now what they made themselves. chairs were long benches made out of planks. little kids had big blocks to sit on where they sawed off timber. "they had what they called a cupboard to keep the food in. some of them had chests made out of planks, you know. that is the way they kept it. they put a hasp and steeple on it so as to keep the children out when they was gone to the field. food "they give 'em three pounds of meat a week, peck of meal, pint of molasses; some of them give 'em three to five pounds of flour on a sunday morning according to the size of the family. the majority of them had shorts from the wheat. some of the slaves would clean up a flat in the bottoms and plant rice in it. that was where they would allow the slaves to have truck patches. "some few of them had chickens that was allowed to have them. same of them had owners that wouldn't allow their slaves to own chickens. they never allowed them to have hogs or cows. wherever there was a family that had a whole lot of children they would allow them to have a cow to milk for to get milk for their children. they claimed the cow, but the master was the owner of it. it belonged to him. he would just let them milk it. he would just let them raise their children off of the milk it gave. clothes "there was no child ever had a pair of shoes until he got old enough to go in the field. that was when he was twelve years old. that is about all i know about it. schooling "i never went to school in my life. i got hold of one of them old blue back spelling books. my young boss gave it to me after i was free. he told me that i was free now and i had to think and act for myself. signs of war "before the war i saw the elements all red as blood and i saw after that a great comet; and they said there was going to be a war. memories of the pre-war campaign "when fillmore, buchanan, and lincoln ran for president one of my old bosses said, 'hurrah for buchanan,' and i said, 'hurrah for lincoln.' one of my mistresses said, 'why do you say, 'hurrah for lincoln?' and i said, 'because he's goin' to set me free.' "during that campaign, lincoln came to north carolina and ate breakfast with my master. in those days, the kitchen was off from the house. they had for breakfast ham with cream gravy made out of sweet milk and they had biscuits, poached eggs on toast, coffee and tea, and grits. they had waffles and honey and maple syrup. that was what they had for breakfast. "he told my old boss that our sons are 'ceivin' children by slaves and buyin' and sellin' our own blood and it will have to be stopped. and that is what i know about that. refugeeing "at the close of the war, we had refugeed down in houston county in georgia. war memories "sherman's army came through there looking for jeff davis, and they told me that they wasn't fightin' any more,--that i was free. "they said, 'you ain't got no master and no mistress.' they et dinner there. all the old folks went upstairs and turned the house over to me and the cook. and they et dinner. one of them said, 'my little man, bring your hat 'round now and we are going to pay you,' and they passed the hat 'round and give me a hat full of money. i thought it wasn't no good and i carried it and give it to my old mistress, but it was good. "they asked me if i had ever seen jeff davis. i said 'no.' then they said, 'that's him sittin' there.' he had on a black dress and a pair of boots and a mantilla over his shoulders and a quaker bonnet and a black veil. "they got up from the dining table and sherman ordered them to 'recover arms.' he had on a big black hat full of eagles and he had stars and stripes all over him. that was sherman's artillery. they had mules with pots and skillets, and frying pans, and axes, and picks, grubbing hoes, and spades, and so on, all strapped on those mules. and the mules didn't have no bridles but they went on just as though they had bridles. one of the yanks started a song when he picked up his gun. 'here's my little gun his name is number one four and five rebels we'll slay 'em as they come join the ban' the rebels understan' give up all the lan' to my brother abraham old gen'l lee who is he? he's not such a man as our gen'l grant snap poo, snap peter real rebel eater i left my ply stock standin' in the mould i left my family and silver and gold snap poo, snap peter real rebel eater snap poo, snap peter.' "and general sherman gave the comman', 'silence', and 'silence' roared one man, and it rolled all down the line, 'silence, silence, silence, silence.' and they all got silent. how freedom came "they had a notification for a big speaking and that was in perry, georgia. everybody that was able throughout the state went to that convention where that speaking was. and that is where peace was declared. every man was his own free agent. 'no more master, no more mistress. you are your own free moral agent. think and act for yourself.' that is how it was declared. i didn't go to the meeting. i was right there in the town. there was too many people there. you couldn't stir them with hot fire. but my mother and father went. what the slaves expected "they didn't expect anything but freedom. some of them didn't have sense enough to secure a home for themselves. they didn't have no sense. some of them wasn't eligible to speak for themselves. they wanted somebody to speak for them. what they got "i don't know that they got anything. immediately after the war "right after the war, i stayed with the people that owned me and worked. they give me two dollars a month and my food and clothes. i stayed with them five years and then i quit. i had sense enough to quit and i went to work for wages. i got five dollars a month. and i thought that was a big salary. i didn't know no better. i learnt better by experience. negroes in politics "just after the war, the republicans used to have representatives at the state convention. after the democrats got in power, they knocked all that in the head. colored people used to be on juries. but they won't let them serve now. (negroes served on local grand jury last year.) "i knew one nigger politician in georgia named i.b. simons. he was a school-teacher. he never held any office. i knowed a nigger politician here by the name of john bush. he had the united states land office. when the democrats got in power they put him out. i knowed another fellow used to be here named crockett brown. he lived in lee county, arkansas. he was a congressman. i don't know whether he ever got to the white house or not. i ain't never seen no account of it. i can't tell you all any more now. memories of fred douglass "i knowed fred douglass. i shook hands with him and talked with him here in little rock. they give him the opera house. we had the first floor. the white folks had the gallery. that was when the republicans were in power. "he said: 'they all seem to be amazed and dumbfounded over me having a white woman for a wife.' he said, 'you all don't know that my father was my mother's master and she was as black as a crow. don't it seem natural that history should repeat itself? have often wondered why he liked such a black woman as my mother. i was jus' a chip off the old block.' voting "i voted for u.s. grant. he was the first president we had after the civil war. i shook hands with him twice in little rock. he put up at the capitol hotel and i was a-cooking there. "i voted for mckinley. i saw him too. i had a walking cane with his head on it. that is about all i remember right now. he was the one that got up this gold standard. he liked to put this state under bayonet laws when he was working under that gold standard. the south was bitterly against him. occupation "i followed cooking all my life. i have had the white peoples' lives in my hand all my life. i worked on the government boat, _wichita_. it went out of season and they built a boat called the _arkansas_. i cooked on it. captain griffin was the master of it. when it went out of service, captain newcome from the war department transferred me over to the mississippi river on the _arthur hider_ (?). my headquarters were in greenville, mississippi. it was far from home, so after nine months i quit and came home (little rock). captain van frank give me a position on a dredge boat and the people were so bad on there i wouldn't stay. i came away. i wouldn't stay 'mongst 'em. religion "i want you to know that i am a christian and i want you to know i ain't got no compromise with nobody on god's word. i ain't got but one way and that is the way jesus said: come unto me all ye that are heavy laden, and i will give you rest. he that believeth on me shall be saved. you all fix anything anyway you want. i ain't bothered 'bout you. "my people were good christian people." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: john patterson, helena, arkansas age: "i was born near paducah, kentucky. mother was never sold. she belong to master arthur patterson. mother was what folks called black folks. i never seen a father to know. i never heard mother say a thing about my father if i had one. he never was no use to me nor her neither. mother brought me here in time of the civil war. i was four years old. we come here to be kept from the yankee soldiers. we was sent with some of the pattersons. at the end of the war mother cooked for nick rightor (?) and his wife here in north helena. he was a farmer but his son is a ear, eye, nose specialist. "i farmed, cleaned house and yards for these helena people. i was janitor at the episcopal church in helena sixteen years and four months. they paid me forty-five dollars a month. "yes ma'am, i have heard about the ku klux. heard talk but never seen one. "i never been in jail. i never been drunk. folks in helena will tell you john patterson can be trusted. "i saved up one thousand dollars, just let it slip. the present times are hard. times are hard. i get ten dollars and comissary helps. i got one in family. "i think mother said she was treated very good in slavery. she didn't tell me much about it. "i own a home. it come through a will from my aunt. my uncle was a drayman here in helena and a close liver. i want to hold to it if i can. "if you'd ask me what all ain't took place since i been here i could come nigh telling you. we had colored officers here. austin barrer was sheriff. half of the officers was colored at one time. john jones was police. no, they wasn't friends of mine. i seen these levies built. one was here in . it was rebuilt then. "it seems to me the country is going down. when they put in the stock law people had to sell so much stock. milch cows sold for six dollars a head. people that want and need stock have no place to raise it. people are not as industrious as they was and they accumolate more it seems to me. we used to make our living at home. i think that is the best way. "i voted a republican ticket years ago. i don't believe in women voting. the lord don't believe in that. i belong to the baptist church. "young folks don't act on education principles. folks used to fight with fist. now one shoots the other down. times are not improving morally. folks don't even think it is wrong to take things; that is stealing. they drink up all the money they can get. i don't see no colored folks ever save a dollar. they did long time ago. thaes worse in some ways. "i forgot our plough songs: 'i wonder where my darling is.' 'nigger makes de cotton and de white man gets the money.' "everybody used to sing. we worked from sun to sun; we courted and was happy. people not happy now. they are craving now. about four o'clock we all start up singing. sing till dark." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: sarah jane patterson orange street, north little rock, arkansas age: "i was born in bartow county, georgia, january , . you can go there and look in that bible over there and you will find it all written down. my mama kept a record of all our ages. her old mistress kept the record and gave it to my mother after freedom. parents "my parents were joe patterson and mary adeline patterson. my mother's name before she married was mary adeline huff. my grandfather on my mother's side was named huff. my mother's sisters were mahala, and sallie. and them's the onliest two i remember. she had two brothers but i don't remember their names. how freedom came "i was living in bartow county in north georgia when freedom came. i don't remember how the slaves found it out. i remember them saying, 'well, they's all free.' and that is all i remember. and i remember some one saying--asking a question, 'you got to say master?' and somebody answered and said, 'naw.' but they said it all the same. they said it for a long time. but they learned better though. family "i have brother willis, lizzie, mary, maud, and myself. there was four sisters and one brother. i had just one child--a boy. he lived to be a grown man and raised a family. his wife had three children and all of them is gone. the father, the mother, and the children. i was a woman. i wasn't no man. i just had one child, but the lord blessed me. i have three sisters and a brother dead. master "my old master's name was john patterson and my old mistress was named lucy patterson. she had a son named bill and a son named tommy and a son named charles, and a boy named bob, and a girl named marion. we are so for apart they can't help me none. i know bob's boys are dead because they got killed in a fight in texas. crippled in slave time "i been crippled all my life. we was on the lawn playing and the white boy had been to the pond to water the horses. he came back and said he was going to run over us. we all ran and climbed up on the top of a ten rail fence. the fence gave 'way and broke and fell down with us. i caught the load. they all fell on me. it knocked the knee out of place. they carried me to stilesboro to dr. jeffrey, a white doctor in slavery time. i don't know what he did, but he left me with my knee out of joint after he treated it. i can't work my toes and i have to walk with that stick. soldiers "i was a tot when i seen the soldiers coming dressed in blue, and i run. they was very nice to the colored people, never beat 'em or nothin'. i was in bartow county when they come through. they took a lot of things, but i can't remember exactly what it was. i 'tended to the children then--both the white and colored children, but mostly the white. good masters "my old master, john patterson, never beat up the women and men he bossed. patrollers "i have heard people talk about the pateroles raising sand with the niggers. some of the niggers would say they got whipped. i was small. i would hear 'em say, 'the pateroles is out tonight.' ku klux klan "i have seed the old ku klux. that was after freedom. they came 'round to my old master where my mama stayed. they were just after whipping folks. some of them they couldn't whip. support "i used to get a little money from mr. dent long as he was living. i would go over there and he would give me a dollar or two. since he's been dead, his wife don't have much to give me. she gives me something to eat sometimes but she doesn't have any money now that her husband is dead. "i can't get up to the welfare. crippled as i am, i can't walk up and down those stairs, and i can't git there nohow. i been tryin' to git some one to take me up there. "mr. pratt helps me from time to time, but he ain't sent me nothin' now in a good while. he's right smart busy, but if i go to him, i spect he'll stir up somethin' for me. travels "i wouldn't never a left bartow county, but the white people made out that this was a rich country and you could make so much out here, and we moved out here. we was young then. we came out on the train. it was a long time back but it was too far to came on a wagon. i don't remember just how long ago it was. occupation "i used to quilt until my fingers got too stiff. i got some patterns in there now if you want to see them." interviewer's comment the old lady took me in the house and showed me about a dozen quilts, beautifully patterned and made. she had also some unfinished tops. she says that she does not have much of a sale for them now because the "quality of folks" who liked such things well enough to buy them "is just about gone." she is crippled and unable to walk with facility. she has a great deal of difficulty in getting off and on her porch. still she does not impress one as feeble so much as just disabled in one or two particulars. she has a crippled knee, and both of her hands are peculiarly stiff in the finger joints, one more so than the other. if it were not for the disabilities, as old as she is, i believe that she could give a good account of herself. i didn't have the heart to tell the old lady that her bible record is not what she thinks it is. it is not the old original record which her mistress possessed. neither is it the copy of the record of her mistress which her mother kept. from questioning, i gather that the old mistress dictated the original record to some one connected with her mother, might have written it out herself on a sheet of paper. from time to time, as new deaths and births occurred, scraps of paper containing them were added to the first paper, and as the papers got worn, blurred, and dog-eared, they were copied--probably not without errors. time came when the grandchildren up in the grades and with _semi-modern_[hw:?] ideas copied the scraps into the family bible. by that time aging and blurring of the original lead pencil notes, together with recopying, had invalidated the record till it is no longer altogether reliable. the births recorded in the bible are as follows and in the exact order given below: mary patterson - - harris donesson - - lilley donesson - - pearly donesson - - silvay williams - - beney williams - - millia a. williams - - joe patterson - - h. patterson - - maria e. patterson - - jennie patterson - - alex patterson - - james patterson - - janie patterson - - amanda patterson - - james rafield walker - - cornelius walker - - willie walker - - elias walker - - emmet brown - - leon harris - - the following marriages were given: may lee brown - - james walker brown - - jennie walker - - lillie jean walker - - the name of sarah jane patterson is not in the list. the list itself is not chronological. it is written in ink but in the stiff cramped hand to be expected of a school child not yet thoroughly familiar with the pen. the eye fixes on the name of janie patterson, - - . it does not seem probable that this is correct if it is meant to be sarah jane. sarah jane could give no help except to answer questions about the manner in which the record was made. these considerations led me to set the record aside in my own mind so far as sarah jane patterson's age is concerned and to take her word. she has a very clear conception of the change from slavery to freedom. her memories are blurred and indistinct, but she recollects that this matter was during slavery times and that during freedom. it seems that she had the care of the smaller children during slavery time--at the time she saw the soldiers marching through. this was not during the time of freedom, because she distinguished clearly the ku klux time. she would have to be at least eighty to have cared for children. her tenacious memory of ninety may have some foundation, therefore. moreover where writing is done in lead pencil and hurriedly, six is often made to look like four and a part of eight may become blurred till it looks like a zero. that would account for being transcribed as . there would be nothing unusual, however, in a sarah jane and a jane. i neglected to cover that point in a question. interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: solomon p. pattillo martin street, little rock, arkansas age: occupation: formerly farmer, teacher, and small dealer--now blind "i was born november . i was three years old at the time of the surrender. i was born right here in arkansas--right down here in tulip, dallas county, arkansas. i have never been out of the state but twice. refugeeing "my daddy carried me out once when they took him to texas during the war to keep the yanks from setting him free. "then i went out once long after slavery to get a load of sand. on the way back, my boat nearly sank. those are the only two times i ever left the state. parents "my father's name was thomas smith, but the pattillos bought him and he took the name of pattillo. i don't know how much he sold for. that was the only time he was ever sold. i believe that my father was born in north carolina. it seems like to me i recollect that is where he said he was born. "my mother was born in virginia. i don't know how she got here unless she was sold like my father was. i don't know her name before she got married. yes, i do; her name was fannie smith, i believe. houses "we lived in old log cabins. we had bedsteads nailed to the wall. then we had them old fashioned cordboard springs. they had ropes made into springs. that was a high class bed. people who had those cord springs felt themselves. they made good sleeping. my father had one. ropes were woven back and forth across the bed frame. "we had those old spinning wheels. three cuts was a day's work. a cut was so many threads. it was quite a day to make them. they had hanks too. the threads were all linked together. "my mother was a spinner. my father was a farmer. both of them worked for their master,--old massa, they called him, or massa, mass tom, mass john or massta. war recollections "i remember during the war when i was in texas with a family of moody's how old mistiss had me packing rocks out of the yard in a basket and cleaning the yard. i didn't know it then, but my daddy told me later that that was when i was in texas,--during the war. i remember that i used to work in my shirt tail. "the soldiers used to come in the house somewhere and take anything they could get or wanted to take. pateroles "when i was a boy they had a song, 'run, nigger, run; the pateroles will get you.' they would run you in and i have been told they would whip you. if you overstayed your time when your master had let you go out, he would notify the pateroles and they would hunt you up and turn you over to him. church meetings "way long then, my father and mother used to say that man doesn't serve the lord--the true and living god and let it be known. a bunch of them got together and resolved to serve him any way. first they sang in a whisper, 'come ye that love the lord.' finally they got bold and began to sing in tones that could be heard everywhere, 'oh for a thousand tongues to sing my great redeemer's praise.' after the war "after the war my father fanned--made share crops. i remember once how some one took his horse and left an old tired horse in the stable. she looked like a nag. when she got rested up she was better than the one that was took. "his first farm was down here in dallas county. he made a share crop with his former master, pattillo. he never had no trouble with him. ku klux "i heard a good deal of talk about the ku klux klan, but i don't know anything much about it. they never bothered my father and mother. my father was given the name of being an obedient servant--among the best help they had. "my father farmed all his life. he died at the age of seventy-two in tulip, near the year , just before cleveland's inauguration. he died of typhoid pneumonia. my mother was ninety-six years old when she died in . little rock "i came to little rock in . i came up here to teach in fourche dam. then i moved here. i taught my first school in this county at cato. i quit teaching because my salary was so poor and then i went into the butcher's business, and in the wood business. i farmed all the while. "i taught school for twenty-one years. i always was a successful teacher. i did my best. if you contract to do a job for ten dollars, do as much as though you were getting a hundred. that will always help you to get a better job. "i have farmed all my life in connection with my teaching. i went into other businesses like i said a moment ago. i was a caretaker at the haven of rest cemetery for sometime. "i was postmaster from to at sweet home. at one time i was employed on the united states census. "i get a little blind pension now. i have no other means of support. loss of eyes "the doctor says i lost my eyesight on account of cataracts. i had an operation and when i came home, i got to stirring around and it caused me to have a hemorrhage of the eye. you see i couldn't stay at the hospital because it was costing me $ a day and i didn't have it. they had to take one eye clean out. nothing can be done for them, but somehow i feel that the lord's going to let me see again. that's the way i feel about it. "i have lived here in this world this long and never had a fight in my life. i have never been mistreated by a white man in my life. i always knew my place. some fellows get mistreated because they get out of their place. "i was told i couldn't stay in benton because that was a white man's town. i went there and they treated me white. i tried to stay with a colored family way out. they were scared to take me. i had gone there to attend to some business. then i went to the sheriff and he told me that if they were scared to have me stay at their home, i could stay at the hotel and put my horse in the livery stable. i stayed out in the wagon yard. but i was invited into the hotel. they took care of my horse and fed it and they brought me my meals. the next morning, they cleaned and curried and hitched my horse for me. "i have voted all my life. i never had any trouble about it. "the ku klux never bothered me. nobody else ever did. if we live so that everybody will respect us, the better class will always try to help us." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: carry allen patton forrest city, arkansas age: "i was born in shelby county, tennessee. my parents was tillie watts and pierce allen. he come from louisiana reckly (directly) after the surrender. my mother come from virginia. she was sold in virginia and brought to middle tennessee close to murfreesboro and then brought to memphis and sold. she was dark and my father was too. they was living close to wilmar, arkansas when the yellow fever was so bad. i don't remember it. heard them talk about it. "i heard my mother say how mr. jake watts saved his money from the yankees. they had a great big rock flat on both sides. they put on the joints of big meat to weight it down when they salted it down in a barrel. they didn't unjoint the meat and in the joint is where it started to spoil. well, he put his silver and gold in a pot. it was a big round pot and was smaller around the top. he dug a hole after midnight. he and his two boys james and dock put the money in this hole in the back yard. they covered the pot with the big flat rock and put dirt on that and next morning they planted a good big cedar tree over the rock, money and all. "old master jake died during the war and their house was burned but james lived in one of the cabins in the yard. dock went to the war. my mother said when they left, that tree was standing. "my mother run off. she thought she would go cook for the men in the camps but before she got to the camps a wagon overtook her and they stole her. they brought her to memphis and sold her on a block. they guarded her. she never did know who they was nor what become of them. they kept her in the wagon on the outskirts of the city nearly a month. one man always stayed to watch her. she was scared to death of both of them. one of the men kept a jug of whiskey in the wagon and drunk it but he never would get dead drunk so she could slip off. "mr. johnson bought her and when the surrender come on, master johnson took his family and went to texas. she begged him to take her to nurse but he said if it wasn't freedom he would send her back to master james watts and he would let her go back then. he give her some money but she never went back. she was afraid to start walking and before her money give clear out she met up with my father and he talked her out of going back. "she had a baby pretty soon. it was by them men that stole her. he was light. he died when he got nearly grown. i recollect him good. i was born close to memphis, the boy died of dysentery. "when my mother was sold in virginia she was carried in a wagon to the block and thought she was going to market. she never seen her folks no more. they let them go along to market sometimes and set in the wagon. she had a little pair of gloves she wore when she was sold her grandma had knit for her. they was white, had half thumb and no fingers. when she died i put them in her coffin. she had twins born dead besides me. they was born close to wilmar, arkansas. "we farmed all my life in arkansas and mississippi. i married in mississippi and we come back here before joe died. i live out here and in memphis. my son is a janitor at the sellers brothers store in memphis. my daughter cooks about here in town and i keep her children. i rather farm if i was able. "i think young folks, both colors, shuns work. times is running away with itself. folks is living too fast. they ride too fast and drinks and do all kinds of meanness. "my father was a mighty poor hand at talking. he said he was sold in a gang shipped to memphis from new orleans. master allen bought him. he was a boy. i don't know how big. he cleaned fish--scaled them. he butchered and in a few months mr. allen set him free. it was surrender when he was sold but mr. allen didn't know it or else he meant to keep him on a few years. when he got loose he started farming and farmed till he died. he farmed in tennessee, mississippi, and arkansas. he owned a place but a drouth come along. he got in debt and white folks took it. "i married in mississippi. my husband immigrated from south carolina. he was joe patton. i washed and ironed and farmed. i rather farm now if i was able. "i never got no gov'ment help. i ain't posing it. it is a fine thing. i was in tennessee when it come on. they said i'd have to stay here six months. i never do stay." interviewer: mrs. annie l. lacotts person interviewed: harriett mcfarlin payne dewitt, arkansas age: "aunt harriett, were you born in slavery time?" "yes, mam! i was big enough to remember well, us coming back from texas after we refugeed there when the fighting of the war was so bad at st. charles. we stayed in texas till the surrender, then we all come back in lots of wagons. i was sick but they put me on a little bed and me and all the little chillun rode in a 'jersey' that one of the old negro mammies drove, along behind the wagons, and our young master, colonel bob chaney rode a great big black horse. oh! he nice-looking on dat horse! every once and awhile he'd ride back to the last wagon to see if everything was all right. i remember how scared us chillun was when we crossed the red river. aunt mandy said, 'we crossin' you old red river today, but we not going to cross you any more, cause we are going home now, back to arkansas.' that day when we stopped to cook our dinner i picked up a lot little blackjack acorns and when my mammy saw them she said, 'throw them things down, chile. they'll make you wormy.' (i cried because i thought they were chinquapins.) i begged my daddy to let's go back to texas, but he said, 'no! no! we going with our white folks.' my mama and daddy belonged to col. jesse chaney, much of a gentleman, and his wife miss sallie was the best mistress anybody ever had. she was a christian. i can hear her praying yet! she wouldn't let one of her slaves hit a tap on sunday. they must rest and go to church. they had preaching at the cabin of some one of the slaves, and in the summertime sometimes they had it out in the shade under the trees. yes, and the slaves on each plantation had their own church. they didn't go galavanting over the neighborhood or country like niggers do now. col. chaney had lots and lots of slaves and all their houses were in a row, all one-room cabins. everything happened in that one room,--birth, sickness, death and everything, but in them days niggers kept their houses clean and their door yards too. these houses where they lived was called 'the quarters'. i used to love to walk down by that row of houses. it looked like a town and late of an evening as you'd go by the doors you could smell meat a frying, coffee making and good things cooking. we were fed good and had plenty clothes to keep us dry and warm. "along about time for de surrender, col. jesse, our master, took sick and died with some kind of head trouble. then col. bob, our young master, took care of his mama and the slaves. all the grown folks went to the field to work and the little chillun would be left at a big room called the nursing home. all us little ones would be nursed and fed by an old mammy, aunt mandy. she was too old to go to the field, you know. we wouldn't see our mammy and daddy from early in the morning till night when their work was done, then they'd go by aunt mandy's and get their chillun and go home till work time in the morning. "some of the slaves were house negroes. they didn't go to work in the fields, they each one had their own job around the house, barn, orchard, milk house, and things like that. "when washday come, lord, the pretty white clothes! it would take three or four women a washing all day. "when two of de slaves wanted to get married, they'd dress up nice as they could and go up to the big house and the master would marry them. they'd stand up before him and he'd read out of a book called the 'discipline' and say, 'thou shalt love the lord thy god with all thy heart, all thy strength, with all thy might and thy neighbor as thyself.' then he'd say they were man and wife and tell them to live right and be honest and kind to each other. all the slaves would be there too, seeing the 'wedden'. "our miss sallie was the sweetest best thing in the world! she was so good and kind to everybody and she loved her slaves, too. i can remember when uncle tony died how she cried! uncle tony wadd was miss sallie's favorite servant. he stayed in a little house in the yard and made fires for her, brought in wood and water and just waited on the house. he was a little black man and white-headed as cotton, when he died. miss sallie told the niggers when they come to take him to the grave yard, to let her know when they got him in his coffin, and when they sent and told her she come out with all the little white chillun, her little grandchillun, to see uncle tony. she just cried and stood for a long time looking at him, then she said, 'tony, you have been a good and faithful servant.' then the negro men walked and carried him to the graveyard out in a big grove in de field. every plantation had its own graveyard and buried its own folks, and slaves right on the place. "if all slaves had belonged to white folks like ours, there wouldn't been any freedom wanted." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: john payne brinkley, ark. age: "i was born in georgia, close to bowles spring, in franklin county. my mama's master was reverend david payne. he was a baptist preacher. my mama said my father was monroe glassby. he was a youngster on a neighboring plantation. he was white. his father was a landowner. i think she said it was miles east of atlanta where they went to trade. they went to town two or three times a year. it took about a week to go and come. "from what mama said they didn't know it was freedom for a long time. they worked on i know till that crop was made and gathered. somebody sent word to the master, rev. david, he better turn them slaves loose. some of the hands heard the message. that was the first they knowed it was freedom. my mama said she seen soldiers and heard fighting. she had heard that if the yankees won the war all the slaves be free. she set to studyin' what she would do. she didn't know what to do. so when she heard it she asked if she had to be free. she told rev. david she wanted to stay like she had been staying. after i was up a good size boy we went to banks county. she done house work and field work too and i done farm work. all kinds and from sun-up till dark every day. sometimes i get in so late i have to make a torch light to see how to put the feed in the troughs. we had plenty litard--pine knots--they was rich to burn. "i used to vote but i quit since i come to arkansas. i come in . i paid my own way and wrote back for my family. i paid their way too. i got one little grandaughter, years old. she is off trying to make her way through college. my wife had a stroke and she can't do much no more. i got a piece of a house. it need repairs. i can't hardly pay my taxes. i can't work much. i got two cows and six little pigs. i got eighty acres land. i worked fourteen years for john gazolla and that is when i made enough to buy my place. i am in debt but i am still working. seems like one old man can't make much." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: larkin payne brinkley, ark. age: "i was born in north carolina. i don't recall my moster's name. my parents was sarah hadyn and john payne. they had seven children. none of them was sold. my pa was sold. he had three sons in the civil war. none of em was killed. one was in the war four years, the others a good portion of two years. they was helpers. "grandma bought grandpa's, freedom. my great grandma was an indian woman. my mother was dark brown. my father was tolerable light. when i was small child they come in and tell bout people being sold. i heard a whole lot about it that way. it was great grandma hadyn that was the indian. my folks worked in the field or anywhere as well as i recollect. "when freedom come on my folks moved to east tennessee. i don't know whether they got good treatment or not. they was freedom loving folks. the ku klux never bothered us at home. i heard a lot of em. they was pretty hot further south. i had two brothers scared pretty bad. they went wid some white men to south carolina and drove hogs. the white men come back in buggies or on the train--left them to walk back. the ku klux got after them. they had a hard time getting home. i heard the ku klux was bad down in alabama. they had settled down fore i went to alabama. i owned a home in alabama. i took stock for it. sold the stock and come to arkansas. i had seven children. we raised three. "when my folks was set free they never got nothing. the mountain folks raised corn and made whiskey. they made red corn cob molasses; it was good. they put lye in the whiskey; it would kill you. they raised hogs plenty. my folks raised hogs and corn. they didn't make no whiskey. i seen em make it and sell it too. "i heard folks say they rather be under the home men overseers than northern overseers. they was kinder to em it seem like. i was jes beginnin' to go to the field when freedom come on. i helped pile brush to be burned before freedom. i farmed when i was a boy; pulled fodder and bundled it. i shucked corn, slopped pigs, milked, plowed a mule over them rocks, thinned out corn. i worked twenty days in east tennessee on the section. i cut and haul wood all winter. "my parents both died in arkansas. we come here to get to a fine farmin' country. we did like it fine. i'm still here. "i have voted. i vote if i'm needed. the white folks country and they been runnin' it. i don't want no enemies. they been good to me. i got no egercation much. i sorter follows bout votin'. we look to the white folks to look after our welfare. "i get $ . and commodities. i work all i can git to do." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: cella perkins marvell and palestine, arkansas age: "i was born close to macon, georgia. mama's old mistress, miss mari (maree) beth woods, brung her there from fifteen miles outer atlanta. "after emancipation miss mari beth's husband got killed. a horse kicked him to death. it shyed at something and it run in front of the horse. he held the horse so it couldn't run. it kicked the foot board clean off, kicked him in the stomach. his boy crawled out of the buggy. that's the way we knowed how it happened. she didn't hurt the boy. his name was benjamin woods. "pa went to war with his master and he never come back to mama. she never heard from him after freedom. he got captured and got to be a soldier and went 'way off. she didn't never know if he got killed or lost his way back home. "mama cooked and kept up the house. miss mari beth kept a boarding house in macon till way after i was a big girl. i stood on a box and washed dishes and dried them for mama. "mr. ben was grown when we come to arkansas. he got his ma to go to kentucky with him and i heard about arkansas. me and mama come to palestine. we come in a crowd. a man give us tickets and we come by our lone selves till we got to tennessee. a big crowd come from dyersburg, tennessee. ma got to talking and found out we was headed fo' the same place in arkansas. "ma talked a whole heap at tines more 'an others (times) about slavery times. her master didn't take on over her much when he found out she was a barren woman. the old man crumpton give her to his youngest daughter, miss mari beth. she always had to do all kinds of work and house turns. "after mama's slavery husband didn't come back and she was living in macon, she fell in love with another man and i was a picked-up baby. mama said miss mari beth lost faith in her when i was born but she needed her and kept her on. said seem like she thought she was too old to start up when she never had children when her papa owned her. they didn't like me. she said she could trust mama but she didn't know my stock. he was a black man. mama was black as i is. "miss mari beth had a round double table. the top table turned with the victuals on it. i knocked flies three times a day over that table. "i never had a store-bought dress in my life till mama bought me one at madison, arkansas. i wanted a pure white dress. she said if we made a good crop she was going to give me a dress. all the dresses i ever had was made out of miss mari beth's dresses but i never had a pure white one. i never had one bought for me till i was nearly grown. i was so proud of it. when i would go and come back, i would pull it off and put it away. i wore it one summer white and the next summer i blued it and had a new dress. i had a white dress nearly every year till i got too old to dress up gay now. i got a white bonnet and apron i wears right now. "mama said master crumpton bought up babies to raise. she was taken away from her folks so soon she never heard of them. aunt mat raised her up in atlanta and out on his place. he had a place in town but kept them on a place in the country. he had a drove of them. he hired them out. he hired mama once to a doctor, dr. willbanks. mama said old master thought she would learn how to have children from him the reason he sent her there so much. when they had big to-dos old master sent mama over there. she never seen no money till about freedom. she loved to get hired out to be off from him. they all had young babies about but her. he was cross and her husband was cross. she had pleasure hired out. she said he didn't whoop much. he stamped his foot. they left right now. "i hab three girls living; one here (palestine), one at marvell, and one in st. louis. my youngest girl teaches music at a big colored school. she sends me my money and i lives with these girls. i been up there and i sure don't aim to live in no city old as i is. it's too dangerous slow as i got to be and so much racket i never slept a night i was there. i was there a month. she brung me home and i didn't go back. "i cooked and washed and ironed and worked in the field. i do some work yet. i helps out where i am. "the times is better i think from accounts i hear. this generation all living too fast er lives. they don't never be still a minute." pine bluff district folklore subjects name of interviewer: martin & barker subject: ex-slaves--slavery times this information given by: maggie perkins place of residence: w. th. st. [tr: information moved from bottom of first page.] my folks lived in s. carolina and belonged to col. bob baty and his family. if i should lay down tonight i could tell when my folks were going to die, because the lawd would tell me in a vision. just before my grandmother died, i got up one morning and told my aunt that granma was dead. aunt said she did not want me telling lies. then i saw another aunt laying on the bed, and she had her hand under her jaw. she was smiling. the house was full of people. after awhile they heard that her aunt was dead too, and after that they paid attention to me when i told them somebody was going to die. i'se a member of the holiness church. i believes step up right and keep the faith. i seen my aunt walking up and down on a glass. the lawd tells me in a vision to step right up and see the faith. i am living in jesus. he is coming to pine bluff soon. he is going to separate the lions from the sheep. i was born in slavery times. i member folks riding around on horses. them days i used to wash my mistis feet and legs, and sometimes i would fall asleep against my mistis knees. i tells the young fry to give honor to the white folks, and my preacher tell 'em to obey the white folks, dat dey are our best friends, dey is our dependence and it would be hard getting on if we didn't have em to help us. spirits--me and my husband moved into a house that a man, "uncle bill" hearn died in, and we wanted dat house so bad we moved right in as soon as he was taken out, we ate supper and went to bed. by the time we got to sleep we heard sounds like someone was emptying shelled corn, and i hunched up under my husband scared to death and then moved out the next day. the dead haven't gone to heaven. when death comes, he comes to your heart. he has your number and knows where to find you. he won't let you off, he has the key. death comes and unlocks the heart and twists the breath out of that heart and carries it back to god. nobody has gone to heaven, no one can get pass jesus until the day of his redemption, which is judgement day. we can't pass the door without being judged. on the day of ressurection the trumpet will sound and us will wake up out of he graveyard, and come forth to be judged. the sea shall give up its dead. every nation will have to appear before god and be judged in a twinklin of an eye. if you aren't prepared before jesus comes, it will be too late. god is everywhere, he is the almight. god is a nice god, he is a clean god, he is a good god. i would be afraid to tell you a lie for god would strike me down. eight years ago i couldn't see, i wore specs years. i forgot my specs one morning, i prayed for my eyesight and it was restored that morning. our marster was a good man. de overseers sometimes wuz bad, but dey did not let marsters know how dey treated their girl slaves. my grandmother was whipped by de overseers one time, it made welts on her back. my sister mary had a child by a white man. to get joy in de morning, get up and pray and ask him to bless you. god will feed all alike, he is no respector of persons. he shows no extra favors twixt de rich and de poor. interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: marguerite perkins west sixth and catalpa streets, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born in slavery times, miss. i was born in south carolina, union county. i was born in may. "i know i 'member old missy. i just been washin' her feet and legs when they said the yankees was comin. old miss' name was miss sally. her husband was a colonel. what is a colonel? "i got some white cousins. they tell me they was the boss man's chillun. "yes'm, i reckon miss sally was good to me. i'm a old nigger. all us niggers belonged to colonel beatty. i went to school a little while but i didn't learn nothin'. "i use to be a nurse girl and sleep right upstairs. "missus, you know people just walkin along the street droppin dead with heart trouble and white women killin men. i tell you lady it's awful. "i been married just once. the lord took him out o' my house one sunday morning 'fore day. "the thing about it is i got that high blood pressure. well, missus, i had it five years ago and i went to memphis and the lord healed me. all we got to do is believe in the lord and he will put you on your feet. "i had four sisters and three brothers and all of 'em dead but me, darlin. "now let me tell you somethin'. old as i is, i ain't never been to but one picture show in my life. old as i is, i never was on a base ball ground in my life. the onliest place i go now is to church." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: rachel perkins, goodwin, arkansas age: ? baby during the civil war "i was born in greensboro, alabama. sallie houston and peter houston was my parents. they had two girls and a boy. they died when they was small, but me. they always told me mother died when i was three days old in the cradle. i don't fur a fact know much about my own people. miss agnes took me to raise me fur a house girl. she nursed me wid her mary. my mother's and father's owners was alonso brown and miss agnes brown. their two girls was mary and lucy and their three boys was bobby, jesse, and frank. miss agnes rocked the babies to sleep in a big chair out on the gallery. we slept there all night. company come and say, 'where the babies?' miss agnes take them back and show us off. they say, 'where the little black chile?' they'd try to get me to come go live wid them. they say they be good to me. i'd tell 'em, 'no, i stay here.' it was good a home as i wanted. we slept on the front gallery till lucy come on, then we had sheep skin pallets. she got the big chair. she put us out there because it was cool. "i left miss agnes when i got to be my own woman. didn't nobody toll me off. i knowed i ought to go to my own race of people. they come after me once. then they sent the baby boy after me what i had nursed. i wanted to go but i never went. miss lucy and miss mary both in college. it was lonesome for me. i wanted to go to my color. i jus' picked up and walked on off. "my girl is half indian. i'm fifteen years older than my girl. then i married wesley perkins, my husband. he is black fur a fact. he died last fall. i married at my husband's brother's by a colored preacher. tom screws was his name. he was a baptist preacher. "i never went to school a day in my life. i can't read. i can count money. seem lack it jus' come natural. i never learned it at no one time. it jus' come to me. "in warm weather i slept on the gallery and in cold weather i slept by the fire. i made down my own bed. i cleaned the house. i took the cows off to the pasture. i nursed the babies, washed and dried the dishes. i made up the beds and cleaned the yards. "master brown owned two farms. he had plenty hands on his farms. i did never go down to the farms much but i knowed the hands. on saturday little later than other days they brought the stock to the house and fed. then they went to the smokehouse for their rations. he had a great big garden, strawberries, and grape arbors. "one thing i had to do was worm the plants. i put the worms in a bottle and leave it in the row where the sun would dry the worms up. when a light frost come i would water the plants that would wilt before the sun riz and ag'in at night. then the plants never felt the frost. certainly it didn't kill 'em. it didn't hurt 'em. "julane was the regular milk woman. she milked and strained the milk. i churned and 'tended to the chickens. miss agnes sot the hens her own self. she marked the eggs with a piece of charcoal to see if other hens laid by the setting hen. if they did she'd take the new egg out of the nest. "we had flower gardens. we had mint, rosemary, tansy, sage, mullen, catnip, horseradish, artichokes, hoarhound--all good home remedies. "i never knowed when we moved to that farm. i was so small. i heard miss agnes brown say i was a baby when they moved to boldan depot, not fur from clinton, mississippi. "when i left miss agnes i went to some folks my own color on another farm 'joining to their farm. of course i took my baby. i took anna and i been living with anna ever since. what i'd do now without her. (anna is an indian and very proud of being half indian.) my husband done dead. "i get eight dollars welfare help. and i do get some commodities. anna does all right but she got hit on the shoulder and about lost use of her arm. one of the railroad hands up here got mad and hit her. i had doctors. they done it a little good. it's been hurt three years or more now. "i wisht i knowd where to find a bed of mullen. boil it down to a syrup and add some molasses, boil that down. it makes a good syrup for coughs and colds. "i never went to white folks' church none hardly. miss agnes sent me along with her cook to my own color's church. "my husband sure was good to me. we never had but one fight. neither one whooped. "this young generation is going backward. they tired of training. they don't want no advice. they don't want to work out no more. they don't know what they want. i think folks is trifling than they was when i come on. the times is all right and some of the people. i'm talking about mine and yo' color both." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: dinah perry ohio street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes ma'am, i lived in slavery times. they brought me from alabama, a baby, right here to this place where i am at, mr. sterling cockril. "i don't know zackly when i was born but i member bout the slave times. yes ma'am, i do. after i growed up some, i member the overseer--i do. i can remember mr. burns. i member when he took the hands to texas. left the chillun and the old folks here. "oh lord, this was a big plantation. had bout four or five hundred head of niggers. "my mother done the milkin' and the weavin'. after free times, i wove me a dross. my mother fixed it for me and i wove it. they'd knit stockin's too. but now they wear silk. don't keep my legs warm. "i member when they fit here in pine bluff. i member when 'marmajuke' sent word he was gain' to take breakfast with clayton that mornin' and they just fit. i can remember that was 'marmajuke.' it certainly was 'marmajuke.' the rebels tried to carry me away but the wagon was so full i didn't get in and i was glad they didn't. my mother was runnin' from the rebels and she hid under the cotehouse. after the battle was over she come back hero to the plantation. "i had three brothers and three sisters went to texas and i know i didn't know em when they come back. "i member when they fit here a bum shell fell right in the yard. it was big around as this stovepipe and was all full of chains and things. "after free time my folks stayed right here and worked on the shares. i was the baby chile and never done no work till i married when i was fifteen. "after the war i went to school to white teachers from the north. i never went to nothin' but them. i went till i was in the fifth grade. "my daddy learned me to spell 'lady' and 'baker' and 'shady' fore i went to school. i learned all my abc's too. i got out of the first reader the second day. i could just read it right on through. i could spell and just stand at the head of the class till the teacher sent me to the foot all the time. "my daddy was his old mistress' pet. he used to carry her to school all the time and i guess that's where he got his learnin'. "after i was married i worked in the field. rolled logs, cut brush, chopped and picked cotton. "i member when they had that 'bachelor' (brooks-baxter) war up here at little rock. "after my chillun died, i never went to the field no more. i just stayed round mongst the white folks nussin'. all the chillun i nussed is married and grown now. "all this younger generation--white and colored--i don't know what's gwine come of em. the poet says: 'each gwine a different way and all the downward road.'" interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: dinah perry indiana, pine bluff, arkansas age: [tr: appears to be same as last informant despite different address.] "i'se bawn in alabama and brought here to arkansas a baby. i couldn't tell what year i was bawn 'cause i was a baby. a chile can't tell what year he was bawn 'less they tells him and they sure didn't tell me. "when i'd wake up in the mawnin' my mother would be gone to the field. "some things i can remember good but you know old folks didn't 'low chillun to stand around when they was talkin' in dem days. they had to go play. they had to be mighty particular or they'd get a whippin'. "chillun was better in them days 'cause the old folks was strict on 'em. chillun is raisin' theirselves today. "i 'member one song they used to sing 'we'll land over shore we'll land over shore; and we'll live forever more.' "they called it a hymn. they'd sing it in church, then they'd all get to shoutin'. "superstitions? well, i seen a engineer goin' to work the other day and a black cat run in front of him, and he went back 'cause he said he would have a wreck with his train if he didn't. so you see, the white folks believes in things like that too. "i never was any hand to play any games 'cept 'chick. chick.' you'd ketch 'hold a hands and ring up. had one outside was the hawk and some inside was the hen and chickens. the old mother hen would say 'chick-a-ma, chick-a-ma, craney crow, went to the well to wash my toe; when i come back my chicken was gone, what time is it, old witch?' one chicken was s'posed to get out and then the hawk would try to ketch him. "we was more 'ligious than the chillun nowadays. we used to play preachin' and baptisin'. we'd put 'em down in the water and souse 'em and we'd shout just like the old folk. yes ma'am." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: alfred peters, bell street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was born seven miles from camden. "i was 'leven months old when they carried us to texas. first thing i remember i was in texas. "lucius grimm was old master. he's been dead a long time. his wife died 'bout two years after the civil war and he died twenty-five years after. "i 'member durin' of the war he buried his stuff---silverware and stuff--and he never took it up. and after he died his brother's son lived in california, and he come back and dug it up. "the yankees burned up four hundred bales of cotton and taken the meat and two cribs of corn. "i heard 'em talk 'bout the ku klux but i never did see 'em. "my mother said old mars lucius was good to his folks. she said he first bought her and then she worried so 'bout my father, he paid twenty-five hundred dollars for him. "biggest part of my life i farmed, and then i done carpenter work. "i been blind four years. the doctor says it's cataracts. "i think the younger generation goin' to cause another war. they ain't studyin' nothin' but pleasure." interviewer: s.s. taylor person interviewed: mary estes peters, w. th street, little rock, arkansas age: biographical mary estes peters was born a slave january , in missouri somewhere. her mother was colored and her father white, the white parentage being very evident in her color and features and hair. she is very reticent about the facts of her birth. the subject had to be approached from many angles and in many ways and by two different persons before that part of the story could be gotten. although she was born in missouri, she was "refugeed" first to mississippi and then here, arkansas. she is convinced that her mother was sold at least twice after freedom,--once into mississippi, one into helena, and probably once more after reaching arkansas, mary herself being still a very small child. i think she is mistaken on this point. i did not debate with her but i cross-examined her carefully and it appears to me that there was probably in her mother's mind a confused knowledge of the issuance of the emancipation proclamation in . lincoln's compensation emancipation plan advocated in march , the abolition in the district of columbia in in april, the announcement of lincoln's emancipation intention in july , the prohibition of slavery in present and future territories, june , , together with the actual issuance of the emancipation in september , and the effectiveness of the proclamation in january , , would well give rise to an impression among many slaves that emancipation had been completed. as a matter of fact, missouri did not secede; the civil war which nevertheless ensued would find some slaveholders exposed to the full force of the proclamation in at the time of its first effectiveness. naturally it did not become effective in many other places till . it would very naturally happen then that a sale in missouri in the latter part of or any time thereafter might be well construed by ex-slaves as a sale after emancipation, especially since they do not as a rule pay as much attention to the dates of occurrences as to their sequence. this interpretation accords with the story. only such an explanation could make probable a narrative which places the subject as a newborn babe in and sold after slavery had ceased while still too young to remember. her earliest recollections are recollections of arkansas. she has lived in arkansas ever since the civil war and in little rock ever since . she made a living as a seamstress for awhile but is now unable to sew because of fading eyesight. she married in and led a long and contented married life until the recent death of her husband. she lives with her husband's nephew and ekes out a living by fragmentary jobs. she has a good memory and a clear mind for her age. slave after freedom "my mother was sold after freedom. it was the young folks did all that devilment. they found they could get some money out of her and they did it. she was put on the block in st. louis and sold down into vicksburg, mississippi. then they sold her into helena, arkansas. after that they carried her down into trenton (?), arkansas. i don't know whether they sold her that time or not, but i reckon they did. leastways, they carried her down there. all this was done after freedom. my mother was only fifteen years old when she was sold the first time, and i was a baby in her arms. i don't know nothing about it myself, but i have heard her tell about it many and many a time. it was after freedom. of course, she didn't know she was free. "it was a good while before my mother realized she was free. she noticed the other colored people going to and fro and she wondered about it. they didn't allow you to go round in slave times. she asked them about it and they told her, 'don't you know you are free?' some of the white people too told her that she was free. after that, from the way she talked, i guess she stayed around there until she could go some place and get wages for her work. she was a good cook. mean mistress "i have seen many a scar on my mother. she had mean white folks. she had one big scar on the side of her head. the hair never did grow back on that place. she used to comb her hair over it so that it wouldn't show. the way she got it was this: "one day her mistress went to high mass and left a lot of work for my mother to do. she was only a girl and it was too much. there was more work than she could get done. she had too big a task for a child to get done. when her old mistress came back and her work was not all done, she beat my mother down to the ground, and then she took one of the skillets and bust her over the head with it--trying to kill her, i reckon. i have seen the scar with my own eyes. it was an awful thing. "my mother was a house servant in missouri and mississippi. never done no hard work till she came here (arkansas). when they brought her here they tried to make a field hand out of her. she hadn't been used to chopping cotton. when she didn't chop it fast as the others did, they would beat her. she didn't know nothing about no farmwork. she had all kinds of trouble. they just didn't treat her good. she used to have good times in missouri and mississippi but not in arkansas. they just didn't treat her good. in them days, they'd whip anybody. they'd tie you to the bed or have somebody hold you down on the floor and whip you till the blood ran. "but, lawd, my mother never had no use for catholics because it was a catholic that hit her over the head with that skillet--right after she come from mass. food "my mother said that they used to pour the food into troughs and give it to the slaves. they'd give them an old, wooden spoon or something and they all eat out of the same dish or trough. they wouldn't let the slaves eat out of the things they et out of. fed them just like they would hogs. "when i was little, she used to come to feed me about twelve o'clock every day. she hurry in, give me a little bowl of something, and then hurry right on out because she had to go right back to her work. she didn't have time to stay and see how i et. if i had enough, it was all right. if i didn't have enough, it was all right. it might be pot liquor or it might be just anything. "one day she left me alone and i was lying on the floor in front of the fireplace asleep. i didn't have no bed nor nothing then. the fire must have popped out and set me on fire. you see they done a whole lot of weaving in them days. and they put some sort of lint on the children. "i don't reckon children them days knowed what a biscuit was. they just raked up whatever was left off the table and brung it to you. children have a good time nowadays. "people goin' to work heard me hollering and came in and put out the fire. i got scars all round my waist today i could show you. "another time my mother had to go off and leave me. i was older then. i guess i must have gotten hungry and wanted to get somethin' to eat. so i got up and wandered off into the woods. there weren't many people living round there then. (this was in trenton (?), arkansas, a small place not far from helena.) and the place was [hw: not] built up much then and they had lots of wolves. wolves make a lot of noise when they get to trailin' anything. i got about a half mile from the road and the wolves got after me. i guess they would have eat me up but a man heard them howling, and he knew there wasn't no house around there but ours, and he came to see what was up, and he beat off the wolves and carried me back home. there wasn't nare another house round there but ours and he knew i must have come from there. "mother was working then. it was night though. they brung the news to her and they wouldn't let her come to me. mother said she felt like getting a gun and killin' them. her child out like that and they wouldn't let her go home. "that must have happened after freedom, because it was the last mistress she had. almost all her beatings and trouble came from her last mistress. that woman sure gave her a lot of trouble. age, good masters "all i know about my age is what my mother told me. "the first people that raised my mother had her age in the bible. she said she was about fifteen years old when i was born. from what she told me, i must be about seventy-eight years old. she taught me that i was born on sunday, on the thirtieth of january, in the year before the war. "my mother's name was myles. i don't know what her first master's name was. she told me i was born in phelps county, missouri; i guess you'd call it st. louis now. i am giving you the straight truth just as she gave it to me. "from the way she talked, the people what raised her from a child were good to her. they raised her with their children. them people fed her just like they fed their own children. color and birth "there was a light brownskin boy around there and they give him anything that he wanted. but they didn't like my mother and me--on account of my color. they would talk about it. they tell their children that when i got big enough, i would think i was good as they was. i couldn't help my color. my mother couldn't either. "my mother's mistress had three boys, one twenty-one, one nineteen, and one seventeen. old mistress had gone away to spend the day one day. mother always worked in the house. she didn't work on the farm in missouri. while she was alone, the boys came in and threw her down on the floor and tied her down so she couldn't struggle, and one after the other used her as long as they wanted for the whole afternoon. mother was sick when her mistress came home. when old mistress wanted to know what was the matter with her, she told her what the boys had done. she whipped them and that's the way i came to be here. sales and separations "my mother was separated from her mother when she was three years old. they sold my mother away from my grandmother. she don't know nothing about her people. she never did see her mother's folks. she heard from them. it must have been after freedom. but she never did get no full understanding about them. some of them was in kansas city, kansas. my grandmother, i don't know what became of her. "when my mother was sold into st. louis, they would have sold me away from her but she cried and went on so that they bought me too. i don't know nothing about it myself, but my mother told me. i was just nine months old then. they would call it refugeeing. these people that had raised her wanted to get something out of her because they found out that the colored people was going to be free. those white people in missouri didn't have many slaves. they just had four slaves--my mother, myself, another woman and an old colored man called uncle joe. they didn't get to sell him because he bought hisself. he made a little money working on people with rheumatism. they would ran the niggers from state to state about that time to keep them from getting free and to get something out of them. my mother was sold into mississippi after freedom. then she was refugeed from one place to another through helena to trenton (?), arkansas. marriages "my mother used to laugh at that. the master would do all the marryin'. i have heard her say that many a time. they would call themselves jumpin' the broom. i don't know what they did. whatever the master said put them together. i don't know just how it was fixed up, but they helt the broom and master would say, 'i pronounce you man and wife' or something like that. ku klux "my mother talked about the ku klux but i don't know much about them. she talked about how they would ride and how they would go in and destroy different people's things. go in the smoke house and eat the people's stuff. she said that they didn't give the colored people much trouble. sometimes they would give them something to eat. "when they went to a place where they didn't give the colored people much to eat, what they didn't destroy they would say, 'go get it.' i don't know how it was but the ku klux didn't have much use for certain white people and they would destroy everything they had. "i have lived in arkansas about all my life. i have been in little rock ever since january , . i don't know how i happened to move on my birthday. my husband brought me here for my rheumatism. "i married in and moved here from marianna. i had lived in helena before marianna. voting "the niggers voted in marianna and in helena. they voted in little rock too. i didn't know any of them. it seems like some of the people didn't make so much talk about it. they did, i guess, though. many of the farmers would tell their hands who they wanted them to vote for, and they would do it. "them was critical times. a man would kill you if he got beat. they would say, 'so and so lost the lection,' and then somebody would go to judgment. i remember once they had a big barbecue in helena just after the 'lection. they had it for the white and for the colored alike. we didn't know there was any trouble. the shooting started on a hill where everybody could see. first thing you know, one man fell dead. another dropped down on all fours bleeding, but he retch in under him and dragged out a pistol and shot down the man that shot him. that was a sad time. niggers and white folks were all mixed up together and shooting. it was the first time i had ever been out. my mother never would let me go out before that. seamstress "i ain't able to do much of anything now. i used to make a good living as a dressmaker. i can't sew now because of my eyes. i used to make many a dollar before my eyes got to failing me. make pants, dresses, anything. when you get old, you fail in what you been doing. i don't get anything from the government. they don't give me any kind of help." interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: john peterson, eureka street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i was small but i can remember some 'bout slavery days. i was born down here in louisiana. "i seed dem yankees come through. dey stopped dere and broke up all de bee gums. just tore 'em up. and took what dey could eat and went on. dey was doin' all dey _could_ do. no tellin' what dey _didn't_ do. people what owned de place just run off and left. yankees come dere in de night. i 'member dat. had ever'thing excited, so my white folks just skipped out. oh, yes, dey come back after the yankees had gwine on. "you could hear dem guns shootin' around. i heered my mother and father say de yankees was fightin' to free slavery. "run off? oh lawd, yes ma'am, i heered 'em say dey was plenty of 'em run off. "george swapsy was our owner. i know one thing, dey beat me enough. had me watchin' de garden to keep de chickens out. and sometimes i'd git to playin' and fergit and de chickens would git in de garden, and i'd pay for it too. i can 'member dat. yes'm, dat was before freedom. dey was whippin' all de colored people--and me too. "yes'm, dey give us plenty to eat, but dey didn't give us no clothes. i was naked half my time. dat was when i was a little fellow. "we all belonged to de same man. dey never did 'part us. but my mother was sold away from her people--and my father, too. he come from virginia. "no ma'am, dey didn't have a big plantation--just a little place cleared up in the woods. "he didn't have no wife--just two grown sons and dey bof went to the war. "mars george died 'fore peace declared. he was a old fellow--and mean as he could be. "i never went to school till i was sixteen or seventeen years old. dere was a colored fellow had a little learnin' and we hired him two nights in de week for three dollars a month. did it for three years. i can read a little and write my own name and sort of 'tend to my own business. "yes'm, i used to vote after i got grown. yes'm, i did vote republican. but de white people stopped us from votin'. dat was when seymour and blair was runnin', and i ain't voted none since--i just quit. i've known white people to go to the polls wif der guns and keep de colored folks from votin'. "oh, dey was plenty of ku klux. i've known 'em to ketch people and whip 'em and kill 'em. dey didn't bother me--i didn't give 'em a chance. ku klux--i sure 'member dem. "younger generation? well, miss, you're a little too hard for me. hard to tell what'll become of 'em. i know one thing--dey is wiser. oh, my lawd! a chile a year old know more'n i did when i was ten. we didn't have no chance. didn't have nobody to learn us nothin'. people is just gittin' wuss ever' day. killin' 'em up ever' day. wuss now than dey was ten years ago." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: louise pettis, brinkley, arkansas age: "my mama was born at aiken, south carolina. she was frances rotan. i was born at elba, south carolina, forty miles below augusta, georgia. my papa was born at macon, georgia. both my parents was slaves. he farmed and was a baptist preacher. mama was a cook. "mama was owned by some of the willis. there was three; mike, bill, and logie willis, all brothers, and she lived with them all but who owned her i don't know. she never was sold. papa wasn't either. mama lived at aiken till papa married her. she belong to some of the willis. they married after freedom. she had three husbands and fifteen children. "mama had a soldier husband. he took her to james island. she runned off from him. got back across the sea to charleston to aunt anette's. she was mama's sister. mama sent back to aiken and they got her back to her folks. aunt anette had been sold to folks at charleston. "grandma was rachel willis. she suckled some of the willis children. mama suckled me and mike willis together. his mama got sick and my mama took him and raised him. she got well but their names have left me. when we got sick the willis women would send a hamper basket full of provisions, some cooked and some to be cooked. i used to sweep their yards. they was white sand and not a sprig of grass nor a weed in there. "mama and papa was both slavery niggers and they spoke mighty well of their owners. "papa said in slavery times about two nights in a week they would have a dance. he would slip off and go. sometimes he would get a pass. he was a figger caller till he 'fessed religion. one time the pattyrollers come in. they said, 'all got passes tonight.' when they had about danced down my daddy got a shovelful of live coals and run about scattering it on the floor. all the niggers run out and he was gone too. it was a dark night. a crowd went up the road and here come the pattyrollers. one run into grapevines across the road and tumbled off his horse. the niggers took to the woods then. pa tole us about how he studied up a way to get himself and several others outer showing their passes that night. master never found that out on him. "during the war they sent a lot of the meat to feed the soldiers on and kept the skins and sides. they tole them if the yankees ask them if they had enough to eat say, 'see how greasy and slick i is.' they greased their legs and arms to make them shine and look fat. the dust made the chaps look rusty. "papa saved his young mistress' life. his master was gone to war. he had promised with others to take care of her. the yankees come and didn't find meat. it was buried. they couldn't find much. they got mad and burned the house. pa was a boy. he run up there and begged folks not to burn the house; they promised to take care of everything. papa begged to let him get his mistress and three-day-old baby. they cursed him but he run in and got her and the baby. the house fell in before they got out of the yard. he took her to the quarters. papa was overstrained carrying a log and limped as long as he lived. "pa was hired out and they was goner whoop him and he run off and got back to the master. ma nor pa was never sold. "we had a reason to come out here to arkansas. a woman had a white husband and a black one too. the black husband told the white husband not come about there no more. he come on. the black man killed the white man at his door. they lynched six or seven niggers. they sure did kill him. that dissatisfied all the niggers. that took place in barnwell county, south carolina. three train loads of us left. there was fifteen in our family. we was doing well. my pa had cattle and money. they stopped the train befo' and behind us--the train we was on. put the arkansas white man in augusta jail. they stopped us all there. we got to come on. we was headed for pine bluff. we got down there 'bout altheimer and they was living in tents. pa said he wasn't goiner tent, he didn't run away from south carolina and he'd go straight back. mr. aydelott got eight families on track at rob roy to come to biscoe. we got a house here. pa was old and they would listen at what he said. he made a speech at rob roy and told them let's come to biscoe. eleven families come. he had two hundred or three hundred dollars then in his pocket to rattle. he could get more. he grieved for south carolina, so he went back and took us but ma wanted to coma back. they stayed back there a year or two. we made a crop. pa was the oldest boss in his crowd. we all come back. there was more room out here and so many of us. "the schools was better out there. i went to miss scofield's college. all the teachers but three was colored. there was eight or ten colored teachers. it was at aiken, south carolina. miss criley was our sewing mistress. miss criley was white and miss scofield was too. i didn't have to pay. rich folks in the north run the school. no white children went there. i think the teachers was sent there. "i taught school out here at blackton and moro and in prairie county about. i got tired of it. i married and settled down. "we owns my home here. my husband was a railroad man. we lives by the hardest. "i don't know what becoming of the young generation. they shuns the field work. times is faster than i ever seen them. i liked the way times was before that last war (world war). reckon when will they get back like that?" interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: henry c. pettus, marianna, arkansas age: "i was born in wilkes county, near washington, georgia. my mother's owners was dr. palmer and sarah palmer. they had three boys; steve, george, and johnie. they lived in washington and the farm i lived on was five miles southeast of town. it was fifty miles from augusta, georgia. he had another farm on the augusta road. he had a white man overseer. his name was tom newsom and his nephew, jimmie newsom, helped. he was pretty smooth most of the time. he got rough sometimes. tom's wife was named susie newsom. "dick gilbert had a place over back of ours. they sent things to the still at dick gilbert's. sent peaches and apples and surplus corn. the still was across the hill from dr. palmer's farm. he didn't seem to drink much but the boys did. all three did. dr. palmer died in . people kept brandy and whiskey in a closet and some had fancy bottles they kept, one brandy, one whiskey, on their mantel. some owners passed drinks around like on sunday morning. dr. palmer didn't do that but it was done on some places before the civil war. it wasn't against the law to make spirits for their own use. that is the way it was made. meal and flour was made the same way then. "mother lived in dr. palmer's office in warren county. it was a very nice log house and had a fence to make the front on the road and the back enclosed like. inside the fence was a tanyard and house at some distance and a very nice log house where mr. hudson lived. dr. palmer and mr. hudson had that place together. the shoemaker lived in washington in dr. palmer's back yard. he had his office and home all in the same. mr. anthony made all the shoes for dr. palmer's slaves and for white folks in town. he made fine nice shoes. he was considered a high class shoemaker. "mother was a field hand. she wasn't real black. my father never did do much. he was a sort of a foreman. he rode around. he was lighter than i am. he was old man pettus' son. old man pettus had a great big farm--land! land! land! wiley and milton roberts had farms between dr. palmer and old man pettus' farm. mother originally belong to old man pettus. he give miss sarah palmer her place on the augusta road and his son the place on which his own home was. they was his white children. he had two. mother was hired by her young mistress, dr. palmer's wife, miss sarah. father rode around, upheld by the old man pettus. he never worked hard. i don't know if old man pettus raised grandma or not; he never grandpa. he was a terral. he died when i was small. grandpa was a field hand. he was the only colored man on the place allowed to have a dog. he was dr. palmer's stock man. they raised their own stock; sheep, goats, cows, hogs, mules, and horses. "none of us was ever sold that i know of. mother had three boys and three girls. one sister died in infancy. one sister was married and remained in georgia. two of my brothers and one sister come to arkansas. mother brought us boys to a new country. father got shot and died from the womb. he was a captain in the war. he was shot accidentally. some of them was drinking and pranking with the guns. we lived on at dr. palmer's place till . that was our first year in arkansas. that was nearly two years. we never was abused. my early life was very favorable. "the quarters was houses built on each side of the road. some set off in the field. they must have had stock law. we had pastures. the houses was joining the pasture. mr. pope had a sawmill on his place. the saw run perpendicularly up and down. he had a grist mill there too. i like to go to mill. it was dangerous for young boys. mr. pope's farm joined us on one side. oxen was used as team for heavy loads. such a contrast in less than a century as trucks are in use now. i learned about oxen. they didn't go fast 'ceptin' when they ran away. they would run at the sight of water in hot weather. they was dangerous if they saw the river and had to go down a steep bank, load or no load the way they went. if it was shallow they would wade but if it was deep they would swim unless the load was heavy enough to pull them down. oxen was interesting to me always. "children didn't stay in town like they do now. they was left to think more for themselves. they hardly ever got to go to town. "we raised a pet pig. nearly every year we raised a pet pig. when mother would be out that pig would get my supper in spite of all i could do. the pig was nearly as large as i was. i couldn't do anything. we had a watermelon patch and sometimes sold dr. palmer melons. he let us have a melon patch and a cotton patch our own to work. mother worked in moonlight and at odd times. they give that to her extra. we helped her work it. they give old people potato patches and let the children have goober rows. land was plentiful. dr. palmer wasn't stingy with his slaves--very liberal. he was a man willing to live and let live so far as i can know of him. "during the civil war things was quiet like where i was. the soldiers didn't come through till after the war was over. then the union soldiers took washington. they come there after the surrender. freedom "the union soldiers came in a gang out from washington all over the surrounding country, scouting about, and notified all the black folks of freedom. my folks made arrangements to stay on. two colored men went through the country getting folks to move to southwest georgia but before mother decided to move anywhere along come two men and they had a helper, mr. allen. it was mr. william h. wood and mr. peters over here on cat island. they worked from washington, georgia. we consented to leave and come to arkansas. we started and went to barnetts station to augusta, to atlanta. there was so many tracks out of order, bridges been burnt. we crossed the river at chattanooga, then to nashville, then to johnsonville. we took a boat to cairo, then to memphis, then on to some landing out here. well, i never heard. we went to the woods' place and made a crop here in arkansas in . i worked with john i. foreman till and went back to the woods' farm till . then i went to the bush place (now mccullough farm). i farmed all along through life till the last twelve years. i started preaching in . i preach yet occasionally. i preached here thirty-six years in the marianna baptist church. i quit last year. my health broke down. "chills was my worst worry in these swamps. we made fine crops. in yellow fever come on. black folks didn't have yellow fever at first but they later come to have it. some died of it. white folks had died in piles. it was hard times for some reason then. it was hard to get something to eat. we couldn't get nothing from memphis. arrangements was made to get supplies from st. louis to little rock and we could go get them and send boats out here. "in was the tightest, hardest time in all my life, a chew of tobacco cost ten cents. in -' hard times struck me again. cotton was four and five cents a pound, flour three dollars a barrel, and meat four and five cents a pound. we raised so much of our meat that didn't make much difference. money was so scarce. "ku klux--i never was in the midst of them. they was pretty bad in georgia and in northeast part of this county. they was bad so i heard. they sent for troops at helena to settle things up at about marion, arkansas now. i heard more of the ku klux in georgia than i heard after we come here. and as time went on and law was organized the ku klux disbanded everywhere. "traveling conditions was bad when we came to arkansas. we rode in box cars, shabby passenger coaches. the boats was the best riding. as i told you we went way around on account of burnt out and torn up bridges. the south looked shabby. "i haven't voted since except i voted in favor of the cotton control saturday before last. "times has come up to a most deplorable condition. craving exists. ungratefulness. people want more than they can make. some don't work hard and some won't work at all. i don't know how to improve conditions except by work except economical living. some would work if they could. some can work but won't. some do work hard. i believe in bread by the sweat of the brow, and all work. "the slaves didn't expect anything. they didn't expect war. it was going on a while before my parents heard of it. i was a little boy. they didn't know what it was for except their freedom. they didn't know what freedom was. they couldn't read. they never seen a newspaper like i take the commercial appeal now. i went to school a little in arkansas. my father being old man pettus' son as he was may have been given something by miss sarah or dr. palmer or by his white son, but the old man was dead and i doubt that. father was killed and mother left. mother knew she had a home on dr. palmer's land as long as she needed one but she left to do better. in some ways we have done better but it was hard to live in these bottoms. it is a fine country now. "i own eighty acres of land and this house. (good house and furnished well.) we made six bales of cotton last year. my son lives here and his wife--a chicago reared mulatto, a cook. he runs my farm. i live very well." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: dolly phillips, clarendon, arkansas age: "i ain't no ex-slave. i am years old. i was born out here on the mullins place. my mother's master was mr. ricks and miss emma ricks. "my mother named diana and my father henry mullins. i never saw my grand fathers and i seen one grandma i remembers. my mother had ten children. my father said he never owned nuthin' in his life but six horses. when they was freed they got off to their selves and started farming. see they belong to different folks. my father's master was a captain of a mixed regiment. they was in the war four years. i heard 'em say they went to galveston, texas. the yankees was after 'em. but i don't know how it was. "i heard 'em say they put their heads under big black pot to pray. they say sing easy, pray easy. i forgot whut all she say. "i lives wid my daughter. i gets commodities from the welfare some. the young folks drinks a heap now. it look lack a waste of money to me." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: tony piggy brinkley, ark. age: "i was born near selma, alabama, but i was raised in mississippi. my grandpa was sold from south carolina to moster alexander piggy. he didn't talk plain but my papa didn't nother. moster piggy bought a gang of black folks in south carolina and brought em into the state of alabama. my papa was mighty near full-blood african, i'll tell you. now ma was mixed. "i'm most too young to recollect the war. right after the war we had small pox. my uncle died and there was seven children had em at one time. the bushwhackers come in and kicked us around--kicked my uncle around. we lived at union town, alabama then. "aunt connie used to whip us. mama had no time; she was a chambermaid (housewoman). the only thing i recollect bout slavery time to tell is old mistress pour out a bushell of penders (peanuts) on the grass to see us pick em up and set out eating em. when they went to town they would bring back things like cheese good to eat. we got some of what they had most generally. she wasn't so good; she whoop me with a cow whip. she'd make pull candy for us too. i got a right smart of raisin' in a way but i growed up to be a wild young man. i been converted since then. "well, one day pa come to our house and told mama, 'we free, don't have to go to the house no more, git ready, we all goin' to mississippi. moster piggy goiner go. he goner rent us twenty acres and we goner take two cows and a mule.' we was all happy to be free and goin' off somewhere. moster piggy bought land in mississippi and put families renters on it. moster piggy was rough on the grown folks but good to the children. the work didn't let up. we railly had more clearin' and fences to make. his place in alabama was pore and that was new ground. "there was all toll nine children in my family. ma was named matty piggy. papa was named ezra piggy. moster alexander piggy's wife named harriett. i knowed ed, charley, bowls, ells, and liza. that's all i ever knowd. "i have done so many things. i run on a steamboat from cairo to new orleans--kate adams and may f. carter. they called me a rouster--that means a working man. i run on a boat from newport to memphis. then i farmed, done track work on the railroad, and farmed some more. "the young generation ain't got respect for old people and they tryin' to live without work. i ain't got no fault to find with the times if i was bout forty years younger than i is now i could work right ahead." interviewer: bernice bowden person interviewed: ella pittman west eleventh street, pine bluff, arkansas age: "yes ma'm, i was born in slavery days. i tell you i never had no name. my old master named me--just called me 'puss? and said i could name myself when i got big enough. "my old master was named mac williams. but where i got free at was at stricklands. mac williams' daughter married a strickland and she drawed me. she was tollable good to me but her husband wa'nt. "in slavery times i cleaned up the house and worked in the house. i worked in the field a little but she kept me busy in the house. i was busy night and day. "no ma'm, i never did go to school--never did go to school. "after i got grown i worked in the farm. when i wasn't farmin' i was doin' other kinds of work. i used to cut and sew and knit and crochet. i stayed around the white folks so much they learned me to do all kinds of work. i never did buy my children any stockins--i knit 'em myself. "after old master died old miss hired us out to ben deans, but he was so cruel mama run away and went back to old miss. i know we stayed at ben deans till they was layin the crop by and i think he whipped mama that morning so she run away. "yes ma'm, i sho do member bout the klu klux--sho do. they looked dreadful--nearly scare you to death. the klu klux was bad, and the paddyrollers too. "i can't think of nothin' much to tell you now but i know all about slavery. they used to build 'little hell', made something like a barbecue pit and when the niggers didn't do like they wanted they'd lay him over that 'little hell'. "i've done ever kind of work--maulin rails, clearin up new ground. they was just one kind of work i didn't do and that was workin' with a grubbin' hoe. i tell you i just worked myself to death till now i ain't able to do nothin'." interviewer's comment ella pittman's son, almira pittman was present when i interviewed his mother. he was born in . he added this information to what ella told me: "she is the mother of nine children--three living. i use to hear mama tell about how they did in slavery times. if she could hear good now she could map it out to you." i asked him why he didn't teach his mother to read and write and he said, "well, i tell you, mama is high strung. she didn't have no real name till she went to louisiana." these people live in a well-furnished home. the living room had a rug, overstuffed furniture and an organ. ella was clean. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: ella pittman w. eleventh street, pine bluff, arkansas age: [tr: appears to be same as last informant despite different address.] "here's one that lived then. i can remember fore the civil war started. that was in the state of north carolina where i was bred and born in march . mac williams, he was my first owner and john strickland was my last owner. that was durin' of the war. my white folks told me i was thirteen when peace was declared. they told me in april if i make no mistake. that was in north carolina. i grewed up there and found my childun there. that is--seven of them. and then i found two since i been down in here. i been in arkansas about forty years. "when the war come i heard em say they was after freein' the people. "my mother worked in the field and old mistress kep' me in the house. she married a widow-man and he had four childun and then she had one so there was plenty for me to do. yes ma'm! "i ain't never been to school a day in my life. they didn't try to send me after freedom. i had a very, very bad, cruel stepfather and he sent all his childun to school but wouldn't send me. i stayed there till i was grown. i sho did. then i married. been married just once. never had but that one man in my life. he was a very good man, too. cose he was a poor man but he was good to me. "yes ma'm, i sho did see the ku klux and the paddyrollers, too. they done em bad i tell you. "i know they was a white man they called old man ford. he dug a pit just like a barbecue pit, and he would burn coals just like you was goin' to barbecue. then he put sticks across the top and when any of his niggers didn't do right, he laid em across that pit. i member they called it old ford's hell. "i had a bad time fore freedom and a bad time after freedom till after i married. i'm doin' tollably well now. i lives with my son and his wife and she treats me very well. i can't live alone cause i'se subject to inagestin' and i takes sick right sudden. "i'm just as thankful as i can be that i'm gettin' along as well as i is. "i stayed in the north in detroit one year. i liked it very well. i liked the white people very well. they was so sociable. my son lives there and works for henry ford. my oldest son stays in indiana. "it was so cold i come back down here. i'se gettin' old and i needs to be warm. good-bye." interviewer: samuel s. taylor person interviewed: sarah pittman w. twentieth street, little rock, arkansas age: about "i never saw nothing between white folks and colored folks. my white folks were good to us. my daddy's white folks were named jordan--jim jordan--and my mama's folks were jim underwood. and they were good. my mama's and father's folks both were good to the colored folks. as the song goes, 'i can tell it everywhere i go.' and thank the lord, i'm here to tell it too. i raised children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren you see there. that is my great-grandson playing there. he is having the time of his life. i raised him right too. you see how good he minds me. he better not do nothin' different. he's about two years old. "i was born in union parish, louisiana way up yonder in them hills, me and my folks, and they come down here. "jim jordan married one of the taylor girls--jim taylor's daughter. the old folks gave mama to them to do their housework. my father and mama didn't belong to the same masters. he died the first year of the surrender. he was a wonderful man. he was a jackson. on saturday night he would stay with us till sunday. on sunday night he would go home. he would play with us. now he and mama both are dead. they are gone home and i am waiting to go. they're waiting for me in the kingdom there. as the song says, 'i am waiting on the promises of god.' "my mama did housework in slave time. i don't know what my father did. in them days you done some working from plantation to plantation. them folks is all gone in now near about. guess mine will be the next time. early childhood "first thing i remember is staying at the house. we et at the white folks' house. we would go there in the evening before sundown and git our supper. one time jim underwood made me mad. mama said something he didn't like. and he tied her thumbs together and tied them to a limb. her feet could touch the ground--they weren't off the ground. he said she could stay there till she thought better of it. "before the surrender i didn't do nothing in the line of work 'cept 'tend to my mother's children. i didn't do no work at all 'cept that. my white folks were good to me. all my folks 'cept me are gone. my grandmas and uncles and things all settin' up yonder. all my children what is dead, they're up yonder. i ain't got but three living, and they're on their way. minnie and mamie and annie, that is all i got. mamie's the youngest and she's got grandchildren. how freedom came "the way we learned that freedom had come, my uncle come to the fence and told my mama we were free and i went with her. sure he'd been to the war. he come back with his budget. don't you know what a budget is? you ain't never been to war, have you? well, you oughter know what a budget is. that's a knapsack. it had a pocket on each side and a water can on each shoulder. he come home with his budget on his back, and he come to the fence and told mama we was free and i heered him. right after freedom "right after freedom my mama and them stayed with the same people they had been with. the rest of the people scattered wherever they wanted to but my uncle come there and got mama. they moved back to the taylors then where my grandma was. wouldn't care if i had some of that good old spring water now where my grandma lived! "none of my people were ever bothered by the pateroles or the ku klux. "we come to arkansas because we had kinfolks down here. just picked up and come on. i been here a long time. i don't know how long, i don't keep up with nothing like that. when my husband was living i just followed him. he said that this was a good place and we could make a good living. so i just come on. when he died, those gravediggers dug his grave deep enough to put another man on top of him. but that don't hurt him none. he's settin' in the kingdom. he was a deacon in the church and his word went. the whole plantation would listen to him and do what he said. everybody respected him because he was right. i was just married once and no man can take his place. he was the first one and the best one and the last one. he was heaven bound and he went on there. i don't know just how long i was married. it is in the bible. it is in there in big letters. i can't get that right now. it's so big and heavy. but it's in there. i think we left it in detroit when i was there, and it ain't come back here yet. but i know we lived together a long time. "i remember the old slave-time songs but i can't think of them just now. 'come to jesus' is one of them. 'where shall i be when the first trumpet sounds?', that's another one. another one is: 'if i could, i surely would; set on the rock where moses stood--first verse or stanza. all of my sins been taken away, taken away--chorus. mary wept and martha moaned, mary's gone to a world unknown--second verse or stanza. all of my sins are taken away, taken away--chorus." "i don't think nothing 'bout these young folks. when they was turned loose a lot of them went wild and the young folks followed their leaders. but mine followed me and my daddy. "my grandmother had a big old bay horse and she was midwife for the white and the colored folks. she would put her side saddle on the old horse and get up and go, bless her heart; and me and my cousin had to stay there and take care of things. she's gone now. the lord left me here for some reason. and i'm enjoyin' it too. i have got my first cussin' to do. i don't like to hear nobody cuss. i belong to the church. i belong to the baptist church and i go to the arch street church." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: mary poe, forrest city, arkansas age: "my papa used to tell about two men he knowd stealing a hog. he was wyatt alexander. he was feeding one evening and the master was out there too that evening. they overheard two colored men inside the crib lot house. they was looking at the hogs. they planned to come back after dark and get a hog. the way it turned out master dressed up ragged and got inside that night. the first man come. they got a shoat and killed it, knocked it in the head. the master took it on his back to the log cabin. when he knocked, his wife opened the door. she seen who it was. she nearly fell out and when he seen who it was he run off. the master throwed the hog down. they all got the hot water and went to work. he left a third there and took part to the other man. he done gone to bed and he took a third on home. he said he wanted to see if they needed meat or wanted to keep in stealing practice. he didn't want them to waste his big hog meat neither. said that man never come home for two weeks, 'fraid he'd get a whooping. no, they said he never got a whooping but the meat was near by gone. "seem lack hog stealing was common in north carolina in them days from the way he talked. "papa said he went down in the pasture one night to get a shoat. he said they had a fine big drove. he got one knocked over an' was carrying it out across the fence to the field. he seen another man. he couldn't see. it was dark. he throwed the hog over on him. the man took the shoat on to his house and papa was afraid to say much about it. he said way 'long towards day this man come bringing about half of that hog cleaned and ready to salt away. they got up and packed it away out of sight. "my mother was named lucy alexander, too." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: w.l. pollacks brinkley, arkansas age: "i was born in shelby county tennessee. my folks all come from richmond, virginia. they come to kentucky and then on to tennessee. i am years old. my father's master was joe rollacks and mrs. chicky they called his wife. my mother's master was joe ricks and they all called his wife miss fee. i guess it was pheobe or josephine but they never called her by them names. seemed like they was all kin folks. i heard my mother say she dress up in some of the white folks dresses and hitch up the buggy, take dinner and carry two girls nearly grown out to church and to big picnics. she liked that. the servants would set the table and help the white folks plates at the table. said they had a heap good eating. she had a plenty work to do but she got to take the girls places where the parents didn't want to go. she said they didn't know what to do wid freedom. she said it was like weening a child what never learned to eat yet. i forgot what they did do. she said work was hard to find and money scarce. they find some white folks feed em to do a little work. she said a nickle looked big as a dollar now. they couldn't buy a little bit. they like never get nough money to buy a barrel of flour. it was so high. seem like she say i was walking when they got a barrel of flour. so many colored folks died right after freedom. they caught consumption. my mother said they was exposed mo than they been used to and mixing up in living quarters too much what caused it. my father voted a republican ticket. i ain't voted much since i come to arkansas. i been here years. my farm failed over in tennessee. i was out lookin' round for farmin' land, lookin' round for good work. i farmed then i worked seven or eight years on the section, then i helped do brick work till now i can't do but a mighty little. i had three children but they all dead. i got sugar dibeates. "the present times are tough on sick people. it is hard for me to get a living. i find the young folks all for their own selves. if i was well i could get by easy. if a man is strong he can get a little work along. "the times and young generation both bout to run away wid themselves, and the rest of the folks can't stop em 'pears to me like." interviewer: miss irene robertson person interviewed: "doc" john pope, biscoe, arkansas age: i am years old for a fact. i was born in de soto county, mississippi, eight miles south of memphis, tennessee. no i didn't serve in de war but my father gus pope did. he served in de war three years and never came home. he served in rd regiment infantry of de yankee army. he died right at the surrender. i stayed on de farm till the surrender. we scattered around den. my father was promised $ . bounty and acres of land. dey was promised dat by the constitution of the united states. every soldier was promised dat. no he never got nary penny nor nary acre of land. we ain't got nuthin. de masters down in mississippi did help 'em where they stayed on. i never stayed on. i left soon as de fightin was gone. i was roamin round in memphis and man asked me if i wanted to go to college. he sent a train load to fitz (fisk) university. i stayed there till i graduated. i studied medicine generally. sandy odom, the preacher at brinkley, was there same time as i was. he show is old. he's up in ninety now. he had a brother here till he died. he was a fine doctor. he got more practice around here than any white doctor in this portion of de county. fitz university was a fine college. it was run by rich folks up north. i don't know how long i stayed there. it was a good while. i went to isaac pope, my uncle. he was farming. briscoe owned the pope niggers at my first recollection. he brought my uncle and a lot more over here where he owned a heap of dis land. it was all woods. dats how i come here. after de civil war? dey had to "root hog or die". from - the times was mighty hard. people rode through the county and killed both white and black. de carpet bagger was bout as bad as de ku kluck. i came here i said wid john briscoe. they all called him jack briscoe, in . i been here ever since cept w.t. edmonds and p.h. conn sent me back home to get hands. i wrote 'em how many i had. they wired tickets to memphis. i fetched families back. i been farmin and practicin all my life put near. i show do vote. i voted the last time for president hoover. the first time i voted was at the general grant election. i am a republican, because it is handed down to me. that's the party of my race. i ain't going to change. that's my party till i dies. we has our leader what instructs us how to vote. dey say dey goiner pay cents a hundred but i ain't able to pick no cotton. no i don't get no help from de relief. i think the pore class of folks in a mighty bad fix. is what i think. the nigger is hard hit and the pore trash dey call 'em is too. i don't know what de cause is. it's been jess this way ever since i can recollect. no times show ain't one bit better. i owns dis house and dats all. i got one daughter. i went to fitz (fisk) university in . the folks i told you about was there then too. their names was dr. e.b. odom of biscoe and his brother sandy odom. he preaches at brinkley now. doc odom is dead. he served on the biscoe school board a long time wid two white men. i don't know much about the young generation. they done got too smart for me to advise. the young ones is gettin fine educations but it ain't doin 'em no good. some go north and cook. it don't do the balance of 'em no good. if they got education they don't lack de farm. de sun too hot. no times ain't no better an de nigger ain't no better off en he used to be. a little salary dun run 'em wild. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: william porter louisiana street, pine bluff, arkansas age: occupation: janitor of church "yes'm i lived in slavery times. i was born in . i was borned in tennessee but the most of my life has been in arkansas. "i remember when hood's raid was. that was the last fight of the war. i recollect seein' the soldiers marchin' night and day for two days. i saw the cavalry men and the infant men walking. i heard em say the north was fightin' the south. they called the north yankees and the south rebels. "some of the tennessee niggers was called free niggers. there was a colored man in pulaski, tennessee who owned slaves. "my father was workin' to buy his freedom and had just one more year to work when peace come. his master gave him a chance to buy his freedom. he worked for old master in the daytime and at night he worked for himself. he split rails and raised watermelons. "my father's master was named tom gray at that time. considering the times he was a very fair man. "when the war broke up i was workin' around a barber shop in nashville, tennessee. "the queen of england offered to buy the slaves and raise them till they were grown, then give them a horse, a plow and so many acres of ground but the south wouldn't accept this offer. "it was the rule of the south to keep the people as ignorant as possible, but my mother had a little advantage over some. the white children learned her to read and write, and when freedom came she could write her name and even scribble out a letter. she gave me my first lesson, and i started to school in ' . the north sent teachers down here after the war. they were government schools. "i was pretty apt in figgers--studied bay's arithmetic through the third book. i was getting along in school, but i slipped away from my people and was goin' to get a pocket full of money and then go back. first man i worked for was a colored man and i kept his books for him and was to get one-fourth of the crop. the first year he settled with me i had $ clear after i paid all my debts. i done very well. i farmed one more year, then i come to pine bluff and did government work along the arkansas river. "i've done carpenter work and concrete work. i learned it by doing it. i followed concrete work for a long time. i've hoped to build several houses here in pine bluff and a lot of these streets. "i have a brother and sister who graduated from fisk university. "i think one thing about the younger generation is they need to be more educated in the way of manners and to have race pride and to be subject to the laws." interviewer: thomas elmore lacy person interviewed: bob potter, russellville, arkansas age: "sure, you oughter remember me--bob potter. used to know you when you was a boy passin' de house every day go in' down to de old democrat printin' office. knowed yo' brother and all yo' folks. knowed yo' pappy mighty well. is yo' ma and pa livin' now? no suh, i reckin not. "i was born de seventeenth of september, right here in russellville. daddy's name was dick, and mudder's was ann potter. daddy died before i was born, and i never seed him. mudder's been dead about eighteen years. dey master was named hale, and he lived up around dover somewheres on his farm, but i dunno how dey come by de name potter. well, now, lemme see--oh, yes, dey was freed at dover after dey come dere from north ca'liny. i think my ma was born in west virginia, and den dey went to north ca'liny and den to south ca'liny, and den come to arkansas. "i raised seven boys and lost five chillen. dere was three girls and nine boys. all dat's livin' is here except one in fresno, california. my old woman here, she tells fortunes for de white folks and belongs to de holiness church but i don't belong to none; i let her look after de religion for de fambly." (interjection from mrs. potter: "yes suh, you bet i belongs to de holiness chu'ch. you got to walk in de light to be saved, and if you do walk in de light you can't sin. i been saved for a good many yeahs and am goin' on in de faith. praise de lawd!") "my mudder was sold once for a hundud dollahs and once ag'in for thirty-eight hundud dollahs. perhaps dis was jist before dey left west virginia and was shipped to north ca'liny. de master put her upon a box, she said, made her jump up and pop her heels together three times and den turn around and pop her heels again to show how strong she was. she sure was strong and a hard worker. she could cut wood, tote logs, plow, hoe cotton, and do ever'thing on de place, and lived to be about ninety-five yeahs old. yas suh, she was as old or older dan aunt joan is when she died. "no suh, i used to vote but i quit votin', for votin' never did git me nothin'; i quit two yeahs ago. you see, my politics didn't suit em. maybe i shouldn't be tellin' you but i was a socialist, and i was runnin' a mine and wo'kin' fifteen men, and dey was all socialists, and de republicans and democrats sure put me out of business--dey put me to de bad. "dat was about twelve yeahs ago when i run de mine. i been tryin' to git me a pension but maybe dat's one reason i can't git it. oh yes, i owns my home--dat is, i did own it, but---- "oh lawd, yes, i knows a lot of dem old songs like 'let our light shine,' and 'de good old gospel way,' and 'hark from de tomb.' listen, you oughter hear elder beam sing dat one. he's de pastor of de baptis' chu'ch at fort smith. he can sure make it ring! "de young folks of today compa'ed to dem when we was boys? huh! you jist can't compaih em--can't be done. why, a fo'-yeah-old young'un knows mo' today dan our grandmammies knowed. and in dem days de boys and gals could go out and play and swing togedder and behave deyselves. we went in our shu'ttails and hit was all right; we had two shu'ts to weah--one for every day and one for sunday--and went in our shu'ttails both every day and sunday and was respected. and if you didn't behave you sure got whupped. dey didn't put dey arms around you and hug you and den put you off to sleep. dey whupped you, and it was real whuppin'. "used to hear my mudder talk about de ku klux klan puttin' cotton between her toes and whuppin' her, and dat's de way dey done us young'uns when we didn't behave. and we used to have manners den, both whites and blacks. i wish times was like dem days, but dey's gone. "yes, we used to have our tasks to do befo' goin' to bed. we'd have a little basket of cotton and had to pick de seeds all out of dat cotton befo' we went to bed. and we could all ca'd and spin--yes suh--make dat old spinnin' wheel go z-z-z-z as you walked back and fo'f a-drawin' out de spool of ya'n. and you could weave cloth and make all yo' own britches, too. (here his wife interpolated a homely illustration of the movement of "de shettle" in the loom weaving--ed.) "yes, i mind my mudder tellin' many a time about dem klan-men, and how dey whupped white women to make em give up de money dey had hid, and how dey used to burn dey feet. yes suh, ain't no times like dem old days, and i wish we had times like em now. yes suh, i'll sure come to see you in town one of dese days. good mornin'." note: bob potter is a most interesting negro character--one of the most genial personalities of the old south that the interviewer has met anywhere. his humor is infectious, his voice boisterous, but delightful, and his uproarious laugh just such as one delights to listen to. and his narrations seem to ring with veracity. interviewer: mrs. bernice bowden person interviewed: louise prayer short west third, pine bluff, arkansas age: "i can member seein' the yankees. my mother died when i was a baby and my grandmother raised me. i'se goin' on eighty. "when the yankees come we piled boxes and trunks in front of the doors and windows. she'd say, 'you chillun get in the house; the yankees are comin'.' i didn't know what 'twas about--i sure didn't. "i'm honest in mind. you know the yankees used to come in and whip the folks. i know they come in and whipped my grandma and when they come in we chillun went under the bed. didn't know no better. why did they whip her? oh my god, i don't know bout dat. you know when we chillun saw em ridin' in a hurry we went in the house and under the bed. i specks they'd a killed me if they come up to me cause they'd a scared me to death. "we lived on the williams' place. all belonged to the same people. they give us plenty to eat such as 'twas. but in them days they fed the chillun mostly on bread and syrup. sometimes we had greens and dumplin's. jus' scald some meal and roll up in a ball and drop in with the greens. just a very few chickens we had. i don't love chicken though. if i can jus' get the liver i'm through with the chicken. "when i got big enough my grandmother had me in the field. i went to school a little bit but i didn't learn nothin'. didn't go long enough. that i didn't cause the old man had us in the field. "if we chillun in them days had had the sense these got now, i could remember more bout things. "i was a young missy when i married. "i told you the best i could--that's all i know. i been treated pretty good." [illustration: potosi _alias mine à burlon_.] scenes and adventures in the semi-alpine region of the ozark mountains of missouri and arkansas, which were first traversed by de soto, in . by henry rowe schoolcraft. philadelphia: lippincott, grambo & co. . entered, according to act of congress, in the year , by henry rowe schoolcraft, in the office of the clerk of the district court for the district of columbia. dedication. ~~~~~~~~~~~ _to the memory_ of de witt clinton, late governor of the state of new york, &c. &c. &c., an early friend, during the years devoted to these excursions into the great area of the west;-- a man who was eminent in various walks of life;-- who, by his exalted forecast, wise counsels, and steady policy, contributed to the highest benefits and renown of his native state;-- these records of incidents of exploratory travel, are dedicated with the sincerest sentiments of respect and regard for his character and name, which i ever entertained for him while living, and continue to cherish now that he is dead. henry r. schoolcraft. preface. these early adventures in the ozarks comprehend my first exploratory effort in the great area of the west. to traverse the plains and mountain elevations west of the mississippi, which had once echoed the tramp of the squadrons of de soto--to range over hills, and through rugged defiles, which he had once searched in the hope of finding mines of gold and silver rivalling those of mexico and peru; and this, too, coming as a climax to the panorama of a long, long journey from the east--constituted an attainment of youthful exultation and self-felicitation, which might have been forgotten with its termination. but the incidents are perceived to have had a value of a different kind. they supply the first attempt to trace the track of the spanish cavaliers west of the mississippi. the name of de soto is inseparably connected with the territorial area of missouri and arkansas, which he was the first european to penetrate, and in the latter of which he died. four-and-thirty years have passed away, since the travels here brought to view, were terminated. they comprise a period of exciting and startling events in our history, social and political. with the occupancy of oregon, the annexation of texas, the discoveries in california, and the acquisition of new mexico, the very ends of the union appear to have been turned about. and the lone scenes and adventures of a man on a then remote frontier, may be thought to have lost their interest. but they are believed to possess a more permanent character. it is the first and _only_ attempt to identify de soto's march west of the mississippi; and it recalls reminiscences of scenes and observations which belong to the history of the discovery and settlement of the country. little, it is conceived, need be said, to enable the reader to determine the author's position on the frontiers of missouri and arkansas in . he had passed the summer and fall of that year in investigating the geological structure and mineral resources of the lead-mine district of missouri. he had discovered the isolated primitive tract on the sources of the st. francis and grand rivers--the "coligoa" of the spanish adventurer--and he felt a strong impulse to explore the regions west of it, to determine the extent of this formation, and fix its geological relations between the primitive ranges of the alleghany and rocky mountains. reports represented it as an alpine tract, abounding in picturesque valleys and caves, and replete with varied mineral resources, but difficult to penetrate on account of the hostile character of the osage and pawnee indians. he recrossed the mississippi to the american bottom of illinois, to lay his plan before a friend and fellow-traveller in an earlier part of his explorations, mr. ebenezer brigham, of massachusetts, who agreed to unite in the enterprise. he then proceeded to st. louis, where mr. pettibone, a connecticut man, and a fellow-voyager on the alleghany river, determined also to unite in this interior journey. the place of rendezvous was appointed at potosi, about forty miles west of the mississippi. each one was to share in the preparations, and some experienced hunters and frontiersmen were to join in the expedition. but it turned out, when the day of starting arrived, that each one of the latter persons found some easy and good excuse for declining to go, principally on the ground that they were poor men, and could not leave supplies for their families during so long a period of absence. both the other gentlemen came promptly to the point, though one of them was compelled by sickness to return; and my remaining companion and myself plunged into the wilderness with a gust of adventure and determination, which made amends for whatever else we lacked. it is only necessary to add, that the following journal narrates the incidents of the tour. the narrative is drawn up from the original manuscript journal in my possession. outlines of parts of it, were inserted in the pages of the belles-lettres repository, by mr. van winkle, soon after my return to new york, in ; from whence they were transferred by sir richard phillips to his collection of voyages and travels, london, . this latter work has never been republished in the united states. in preparing the present volume, after so considerable a lapse of time, it has been thought proper to omit all such topics as are not deemed of permanent or historical value. the scientific facts embraced in the appendix, on the mines and mineralogy of missouri, are taken from my publication on these subjects. in making selections and revisions from a work which was at first hastily prepared, i have availed myself of the advantage of subsequent observation on the spot, as well as of the suggestions and critical remarks made by men of judgment and science. a single further remark may be made: the term ozark is applied to a broad, elevated district of highlands, running from north to south, centrally, through the states of missouri and arkansas. it has on its east the striking and deep alluvial tract of the mississippi river, and, on its west, the woodless buffalo plains or deserts which stretch below the rocky mountains. the osage indians, who probably furnish origin for the term, have occupied all its most remarkable gorges and eminences, north of the arkansas, from the earliest historical times; and this tribe, with the pawnees ("apana"), are supposed to have held this position ever since the days of de soto. washington, january , . contents. introduction page chapter i. junction of the ohio with the mississippi--difficulty of ascending the latter with a barge--its turbid and rapid character--incidents of the voyage--physical impediments to its navigation--falling-in banks--tiawapati--animals--floating trees--river at night--needless and laughable alarm--character of the shores--men give out--reach the first fast lands--mineral products--cape girardeau--moccasin spring--non-poetic geographical names--grand tower--struggle to pass cape garlic. chapter ii. pass cape garlic--obrazo river--cliffs--emigrants--cape st. comb --bois brule bottom--paroquet--fort chartres--kaskaskia--st. genevieve--m. breton--the mississippi deficient in fish-- antiquities--geology--steamer--herculaneum--m. austin, esq., the pioneer to texas--journey on foot to st. louis--misadventures on the maramec--its indian name--carondelet--st. louis, its fine site and probable future importance--st. louis mounds not artificial-- downward pressure of the diluvial drift of the mississippi. chapter iii. resolve to proceed further west--night voyage on the mississippi in a skiff--an adventure--proceed on foot west to the missouri mines--incidents by the way--miners' village of shibboleth-- compelled by a storm to pass the night at old mines--reach potosi --favourable reception by the mining gentry--pass several months in examining the mines--organize an expedition to explore westward --its composition--discouragements on setting out--proceed, notwithstanding--incidents of the journey to the valley of leaves. chapter iv. horses elope--desertion of our guide--encamp on one of the sources of black river--head-waters of the river currents--enter a romantic sub-valley--saltpetre caves--description of ashley's cave --encampment there--enter an elevated summit--calamarca, an unknown stream--encounter four bears--north fork of white river. chapter v. descend the valley--its difficulties--horse rolls down a precipice --purity of the water--accident caused thereby--elkhorn spring-- tower creek--horse plunges over his depth in fording, and destroys whatever is deliquescent in his pack--absence of antiquities, or evidences of ancient habitation--a remarkable cavern--pinched for food--old indian lodges--the beaver--a deserted pioneer's camp-- incident of the pumpkin. chapter vi. abandon our camp and horse in search of settlements--incidents of the first day--hear a shot--camp in an old indian lodge--acorns for supper--kill a woodpecker--incidents of the second day-- sterile ridges--want of water--camp at night in a deep gorge-- incidents of the third day--find a horse-path, and pursue it-- discover a man on horseback--reach a hunter's cabin--incidents there--he conducts us back to our old camp--deserted there without provisions--deplorable state--shifts--taking of a turkey. chapter vii. proceed west--bog our horse--cross the knife hills--reach the unica, or white river--abandon the horse at a hunter's, and proceed with packs--objects of pity--sugar-loaf prairie--camp under a cliff--ford the unica twice--descend into a cavern-- reach beaver river, the highest point of occupancy by a hunter population. chapter viii. obstacle produced by the fear of osage hostility--means pursued to overcome it--natural monuments of denudation in the limestone cliffs--purity of the water--pebbles of yellow jasper--complete the hunters' cabins--a job in jewellery--construct a blowpipe from cane--what is thought of religion. chapter ix. proceed into the hunting-country of the osages--diluvial hills and plains--bald hill--swan creek--osage encampments--form of the osage lodge--the habits of the beaver--discover a remarkable cavern in the limestone rock, having natural vases of pure water--its geological and metalliferous character--reach the summit of the ozark range, which is found to display a broad region of fertile soil, overlying a mineral deposit. chapter x. depart from the cave--character of the hunters who guided the author--incidents of the route--a beautiful and fertile country, abounding in game--reach the extreme north-western source of white river--discoveries of lead-ore in a part of its bed--encamp, and investigate its mineralogy--character, value, and history of the country--probability of its having been traversed by de soto in . chapter xi. severe winter weather on the summit of the ozarks--false alarm of indians--danger of my furnace, etc., being hereafter taken for antiquities--proceed south--animal tracks in the snow--winoca or spirit valley--honey and the honey-bee--buffalo-bull creek--robe of snow--mehausca valley--superstitious experiment of the hunters --arrive at beaver creek. chapter xii. descend white river in a canoe--its pure water, character, and scenery--places of stopping--bear creek--sugar-loaf prairie--big creek--a river pedlar--pot shoals--mouth of little north fork-- descend formidable rapids, called the bull shoals--stranded on rocks--a patriarch pioneer--mineralogy--antique pottery and bones --some trace of de soto--a trip by land--reach the mouth of the great north fork. chapter xiii. detention at the mouth of the great north fork--natural history of the vicinity--great blocks of quartz--imposing precipices of the calico rock--a characteristic of american scenery--cherokee occupancy of the country between the white and arkansas rivers-- its effects on the pioneers--question of the fate of the indian races--iron-ore--descent to the arkansas ferries--leave the river at this point--remarks on its character and productions. chapter xiv. ancient spot of de soto's crossing white river in --lameness produced by a former injury--incidents of the journey to the st. francis river--de soto's ancient marches and adventures on this river in the search after gold--fossil salt--copper--the ancient ranges of the buffalo. chapter xv. proceed north--incidents of the route--a severe tempest of rain, which swells the stream--change in the geology of the country-- the ancient coligoa of de soto--a primitive and mineral region-- st. michael--mine a la motte--wade through wolf creek--a deserted house--cross grand river--return to potosi. physical geography of the west. two letters, addressed to the hon. j. b. thomas, u. s. senate, washington. appendix. mineralogy, geology, and mines. . a view of the lead-mines of missouri. . a catalogue of the minerals of the mississippi valley. . mineral resources of the western country. a letter to gen. c. g. haines. geography. . missouri. . hot springs of washita. . memoir of white river. . list of steamboats on the mississippi river in . antiquities and indian history. . articles of curious workmanship found in ancient indian graves. . ancient indian cemetery found in the maramec valley. introduction. de soto, in , was the true discoverer of the mississippi river, and the first person who crossed it, who has left a narrative of that fact; although it is evident that cabaca de vaca, the noted survivor of the ill-fated expedition of narvaez in , must, in his extraordinary pilgrimage between florida and the eastern coasts of the gulf of california, have crossed this river, perhaps before him; but he has not distinctly mentioned it in his memoir. narvaez himself was not the discoverer of the mouth of the mississippi, as some persons have conjectured, inasmuch as he was blown off the coast and lost, east of that point. the most careful tracing of the narrative of his voyage in boats along the florida shore, as given by de vaca, does not carry him beyond mobile bay, or, at farthest, perdido bay.[ ] de soto's death frustrated his plan of founding a colony of spain in the mississippi valley; and that stream was allowed to roll its vast volume into the gulf a hundred and thirty-two years longer, before it attracted practical notice. precisely at the end of this time, namely, in , mons. jolliet, accompanied by james marquette, the celebrated enterprising missionary of new france, entered the stream at the confluence of the wisconsin, in accordance with the policy, and a plan of exploration, of the able, brave, and efficient governor-general of canada, the count frontenac. marquette and his companion, who was the chief of the expedition, but whose name has become secondary to his own, descended it to the mouth of the arkansas, the identical spot of de soto's demise. la salle, some five or six years later, continued the discovery to the gulf; and hennepin extended it upward, from the point where marquette had entered it, to the falls of st. anthony, and the river st. francis. and it is from this era of la salle, the narrators of whose enlarged plans, civic and ecclesiastical, recognised the indian geographical terminology, that it has retained its algonquin name of mississippi. it is by no means intended to follow these initial facts by recitals of the progress of the subsequent local discoveries in the mississippi valley, which were made respectively under french, british, and american rule. sufficient is it, for the present purpose, to say, that the thread of the discovery of the mississippi, north and west of the points named, was not taken up effectively, till the acquisition of louisiana. mr. jefferson determined to explore the newly acquired territories, and directed the several expeditions of discovery under lewis and clark, and lieut. z. m. pike. the former traced out the missouri to its sources, and followed the columbia to the pacific; while the latter continued the discovery of the mississippi river above st. anthony's falls where hennepin, and perhaps carver, had respectively left it. the map which pike published in contained, however, an error of a capital geographical point, in regard to the actual source of the mississippi. he placed it in turtle lake, at the source of turtle river of upper _lac cedre rouge_, or cass lake, which lies in the portage to red lake of the great red river of the north, being in the ordinary route of the fur trade to that region. in , mr. calhoun, who determined to erect a cordon of military posts to cover the remotest of the western settlements, at the same time that he despatched major long to ascend to the yellowstone of the missouri, directed the extreme upper mississippi to be examined and traced out to its source. this expedition, led by gov. cass, through the upper lakes, reached the mouth of turtle river of the large lake beyond the upper cataract of the mississippi, which has since borne the name of the intrepid leader of the party. it was satisfactorily determined that turtle lake was not the source, nor even one of the main sources, of the mississippi; but that this river was discharged, in the integrity of its volume, into the western end of cass lake. to determine this point more positively, and trace the river to its source, another expedition was organized by the department of war in , and committed to me. taking up the line of discovery where it had been left in , the river was ascended up a series of rapids about forty miles north, to a large lake called the amigegoma; a few miles above which, it is constituted by two forks, having a southern and western origin, the largest and longest of which was found[ ] to originate in itasca lake, in north latitude ° '--a position not far north of ottertail lake, in the highlands of hauteur des terres. so far as the fact of de soto's exploration of the country west of the mississippi, in the present area of missouri and arkansas, is concerned, it is apprehended that the author of these incidents of travel has been the first person to identify and explore this hitherto confused part of the celebrated spanish explorer's route. this has been traced from the narrative, with the aid of the indian lexicography, in the third volume of his indian history (p. ), just published, accompanied by a map of the entire route, from his first landing on the western head of tampa bay. prior to the recital of these personal incidents, it may serve a useful purpose to recall the state of geographical information at this period. the enlarged and improved map of the british colonies, with the geographical and historical analysis, accompanying it, of lewis evans, which was published by b. franklin in , had a controlling effect on all geographers and statesmen of the day, and was an important element in diffusing a correct geographical knowledge of the colonies at large, and particularly of the great valley of the mississippi, agreeably to modern ideas of its physical extent. it was a great work for the time, and for many years remained the standard of reference. in some of its features, it was never excelled. mr. jefferson quotes it, in his notes on virginia, and draws from it some interesting opinions concerning indian history, as in the allusion to the locality and place of final refuge of the eries. it was from the period of the publication of this memoir that the plan of an "ohio colony," in which dr. franklin had an active agency, appears to have had its origin. lewis evans was not only an eminent geographer himself, but his map and memoir, as will appear on reference to them, embrace the discoveries of his predecessors and contemporary explorers, as conrad wiser and others, in the west. the adventurous military reconnoissance of washington to fort le boeuf, on lake erie, was subsequent to this publication. evans's map and analysis, being the best extant, served as the basis of the published materials used for the topographical guidance of general braddock on his march over the alleghany mountains. washington, himself an eminent geographer, was present in that memorable march; and so judicious and well selected were its movements, through defiles and over eminences, found to be, that the best results of engineering skill, when the commissioners came to lay out the great cumberland road, could not mend them. such continued also to be the basis of our general geographical knowledge of the west, at the period of the final capture of fort du quesne by general forbes, and the change of its name in compliment to the eminent british statesman, pitt. the massacre of the british garrison of michilimackinac in , the investment of the fort of detroit in the same year by a combined force of indian tribes, and the development of an extensive conspiracy, as it has been termed, against the western british posts under pontiac, constituted a new feature in american history; and the military expeditions of cols. bouquet and bradstreet, towards the west and north-west, were the consequence. these movements became the means of a more perfect geographical knowledge respecting the west than had before prevailed. hutchinson's astronomical observations, which were made under the auspices of bouquet, fixed accurately many important points in the mississippi valley, and furnished a framework for the military narrative of the expedition. in fact, the triumphant march of bouquet into the very strongholds of the indians west of the ohio, first brought them effectually to terms; and this expedition had the effect to open the region to private enterprise. the defeat of the indians by major gladwyn at detroit had tended to the same end; and the more formal march of colonel bradstreet, in , still further contributed to show the aborigines the impossibility of their recovering the rule in the west. both these expeditions, at distant points, had a very decided tendency to enlarge the boundaries of geographical discovery in the west, and to stimulate commercial enterprise. the indian trade had been carried to fort pitt the very year of its capture by the english forces; and it may serve to give an idea of the commercial daring and enterprise of the colonists to add, that, so early as , only two years after bouquet's expedition, the leading house of baynton, wharton & morgan, of philadelphia, had carried that branch of trade through the immense lines of forest and river wilderness to fort chartres, the military capital of the illinois, on the mississippi.[ ] its fertile lands were even then an object of scarcely less avidity.[ ] mr. alexander henry had, even a year or two earlier, carried this trade to michilimackinac; and the english flag, the symbol of authority with the tribes, soon began to succeed that of france, far and wide. the indians, finding the french flag had really been struck finally, submitted, and the trade soon fell, in every quarter, into english hands. the american revolution, beginning within ten years of this time, was chiefly confined to the regions east of the alleghanies. the war for territory west of this line was principally carried on by virginia, whose royal governors had more than once marched to maintain her chartered rights on the ohio. her blood had often freely flowed on this border, and, while the great and vital contest still raged in the atlantic colonies, she ceased not with a high hand to defend it, attacked as it was by the fiercest and most deadly onsets of the indians. in , general george rogers clark, the commander of the virginia forces, visited the vicinity of the mouth of the ohio, by order of the governor of virginia, for the purpose of selecting the site for a fort, which resulted in the erection of fort jefferson, some few miles (i think) below the influx of the ohio, on the eastern bank of the mississippi. the united states were then in the fifth year of the war of independence. all its energies were taxed to the utmost extent in this contest; and not the least of its cares arose from the indian tribes who hovered with deadly hostility on its western borders. it fell to the lot of clark, who was a man of the greatest energy of character, chivalric courage, and sound judgment, to capture the posts of kaskaskia and vincennes, in the illinois, with inadequate forces at his command, and through a series of almost superhuman toils. and we are indebted to these conquests for the enlarged western boundary inserted in the definitive treaty of peace, signed at paris in . dr. franklin, who was the ablest geographer among the commissioners, made a triumphant use of these conquests; and we are thus indebted to george rogers clark for the acquisition of the mississippi valley. american enterprise in exploring the country may be said to date from the time of the building of fort jefferson; but it was not till the close of the revolutionary war, in , that the west became the favorite theatre of action of a class of bold, energetic, and patriotic men, whose biographies would form a very interesting addition to our literature. it is to be hoped that such a work may be undertaken and completed before the materials for it, are beyond our reach. how numerous this class of men were, and how quickly they were followed by a hardy and enterprising population, who pressed westward from the atlantic borders, may be inferred from the fact that the first state formed west of the ohio river, required but twenty years from the treaty of peace for its complete organization. local histories and cyclical memoirs have been published in some parts of the west, which, though scarcely known beyond the precincts of their origin, possess their chief value as affording a species of historical material for this investigation. pioneer life in the west must, indeed, hereafter constitute a prolific source of american reminiscence; but it may be doubted whether any comprehensive work on the subject will be effectively undertaken, while any of this noble band of public benefactors are yet on the stage of life. the acquisition of louisiana, in , became the period from which may be dated the first efforts of the united states' government to explore the public domain. the great extent of the territory purchased from france, stretching west to the pacific ocean--its unknown boundaries on the south, west, and north--and the importance and variety of its reputed resources, furnished the subjects which led the executive, mr. jefferson, to direct its early exploration. the expeditions named of lewis and clark to oregon, and of pike to the sources of the mississippi, were the consequence. pike did not publish the results of his search till . owing to the death of governor meriwether lewis, a still greater delay attended the publication of the details of the former expedition, which did not appear till . no books had been before published, which diffused so much local geographical knowledge. the united states were then engaged in the second war with great britain, during which the hostility of the western tribes precluded explorations, except such as could be made under arms. the treaty of ghent brought the belligerent parties to terms; but the intelligence did not reach the country in season to prevent the battle of new orleans, which occurred in january . letters from correspondents in the west, which were often published by the diurnal press, and the lectures of mr. w. darby on western and general geography, together with verbal accounts and local publications, now poured a flood of information respecting the fertility and resources of that region, and produced an extensive current of emigration. thousands were congregated at single points, waiting to embark on its waters. the successful termination of the war had taken away all fear of indian hostility. the tribes had suffered a total defeat at all points, their great leader tecumseh had fallen, and there was no longer a basis for any new combinations to oppose the advances of civilization. military posts were erected to cover the vast line of frontiers on the west and north, and thus fully to occupy the lines originally secured by the treaty of . in , mr. j. j. astor, having purchased the north-west company's posts, lying south of latitude °, established the central point of his trade at michilimackinac. a military post was erected by the government at the falls of st. anthony, and another at council bluffs on the missouri. the knowledge of the geography and resources of the western country was thus practically extended, although no publication, so far as i am aware, was made on this subject. in the fall of , i determined to visit the mississippi valley--a resolution which brought me into the situations narrated in the succeeding volume. in the three ensuing years i visited a large part of the west, and explored a considerable portion of missouri and arkansas, in which de soto alone, i believe, had, in , preceded me. my first publication on the results of these explorations was made at new york, in . de witt clinton was then on the stage of action, and mr. calhoun, with his grasping intellect, directed the energies of the government in exploring the western domain, which, he foresaw, as he told me, must exercise a controlling influence on the destinies of america. in the spring of , major s. h. long, u. s. a., was selected by the war office to explore the missouri as high as the yellowstone, and, accompanied by a corps of naturalists from philadelphia, set out from pittsburgh in a small steamer. the results of this expedition were in the highest degree auspicious to our knowledge of the actual topography and natural history of the far west, and mark a period in their progress. it was about this time that colonel h. leavenworth was directed to ascend the mississippi, and establish a garrison at the mouth of the st. peter's or minnesota river. early in , the war department directed an exploratory expedition to be organized at detroit, under the direction of lewis cass, esq., governor of michigan territory, for the purpose of surveying the upper lakes, and determining the area at the sources of the mississippi--its physical character, topography, and indian population. in the scientific corps of this expedition, i received from the secretary of war the situation of mineralogist and geologist, and published a narrative of it. this species of public employment was repeated in , during which i explored the miami of the lakes, and the wabash and illinois; and my position assumed a permanent form, in another department of the service, in , when i took up my residence in the great area of the upper lakes. it is unnecessary to the purposes of this sketch to pursue these details further than to say, that the position i occupied was favorable to the investigation of the mineral constitution and natural history of the country, and also of the history, antiquities, and languages and customs, of the indian tribes. for a series of years, the name of the author has been connected with the progress of discovery and research on these subjects. events controlled him in the publication of separate volumes of travels, some of which were, confessedly, incomplete in their character, and hasty in their preparation. had he never trespassed on public attention in this manner, he would not venture, with his present years, and more matured conceptions of a species of labor, where the difficulties are very great, the chances of applause doubtful, and the rewards, under the most favorable auspices, very slender. as it is, there is a natural desire that what has been done, and may be quoted when he has left this feverish scene and gone to his account, should be put in the least exceptionable form. hence the revision of these travels. footnotes: [ ] vide narr. of cabaca de vaca, smith's tr., . [ ] years after de soto's discovery, and after marquette's. [ ] ms. journal of matthew clarkson, in the possession of wm. duane, esq., philadelphia. [ ] ibid. incidents of travel. chapter i. junction of the ohio with the mississippi--difficulty of ascending the latter with a barge--its turbid and rapid character--incidents of the voyage--physical impediments to its navigation--falling-in banks--tiawapati--animals --floating trees--river at night--needless and laughable alarm--character of the shores--men give out--reach the first fast lands--mineral products--cape girardeau-- moccasin spring--non-poetic geographical names--grand tower--struggle to pass cape garlic. i reached the junction of the ohio with the mississippi on the last day of june, , with feelings somewhat akin to those of one who performs a pilgrimage;--for that algonquin name of mississippi had been floating through my mind ever since boyhood, as if it had been invested with a talismanic power. the reading of books of geography, however, makes but a feeble impression on the mind, compared to the actual objects. born on one of the tributaries of the hudson--a stream whose whole length, from the junction of the mohawk, is less than two hundred miles--i had never figured to myself rivers of such magnificent length and velocity. i had now followed down the ohio, in all its windings, one thousand miles; it was not only the longest, but the most beautiful river which i had ever seen; and i felt something like regret to find it at last swallowed up, as it were, by the turbid and repulsive mississippi. the latter was at its summer flood, and rushed by like a torrent, which seemed to be overcharged with the broken-down materials of half a continent. de soto had been the first european to gaze upon this heady mass of waters, urging downward everything that comes within their influence, and threatening to carry even their own banks into the gulf. we came, in a large, heavily-manned barge, to the very point of the influx of the ohio, where cairo is now located. it was early in the afternoon; but the captain of our craft, who was a stout-hearted fellow, of decision of character and a full-toned voice, deemed it best to come-to here, and wait till morning to grapple with the mississippi. there were some old arks on the point, which had been landed in high water, and were now used as houses; but i retained my berth in the barge, and, after looking around the vicinity, amused myself by angling from the sides of the vessel. the only fish i caught was a gar--that almost single variety of the voracious species in these waters, which has a long bill, with sharp teeth, for arousing its prey, apparently, from a muddy bottom. the junction of two such streams as the ohio and mississippi, exhibits a remarkable struggle. for miles, along the eastern shores of the mississippi, the clear blue waters of the ohio are crowded to the banks; while the furious current of the former, like some monster, finally gulps it down, though the mastery is not obtained, i am told, till near the chickasaw bluffs. early in the morning ( st july), the voice of the captain was heard, and the men paraded the sides of the deck, with their long poles shod with iron; and we were soon in the gurgling, muddy channel, struggling along its eastern shore. the men plied their poles with the skill of veterans, planting them as near the margin of the channel as possible, and placing the head of the pole against the shoulder, while they kept their footing by means of slats nailed across the footway. with every exertion, we made but five miles the first day. this slowness of ascent was, however, very favorable to observation. i was the only passenger on board, except two adventurers from the youghioghany, in western pennsylvania, who had freighted the barge, and were in the position of supercargoes. such tugging and toiling i had never before seen. it seemed to me that no set of men could long stand it. the current ran as if it were charged with power to sweep everything down its course. its banks were not proof against this impetuosity, and frequently fell in, with a noise and power which threatened to overwhelm us. this danger was often increased by the floating trees, which had fallen into the stream at higher points. and when, after a severe day's toil, the captain ordered the boat to be moored for the night, we felt an insecurity from the fear that the bank itself might prove treacherous before morning. nothing in the structure of the country appeared to present a very fixed character. the banks of the river were elevated from ten to fifteen feet above the water, and consisted of a dark alluvium, bearing a dense forest. when they became too precipitous, which was an indication that the water at these points was too deep for the men to reach bottom with their poles, they took their oars, and crossed to the other bank. when night came on, in these damp alluvions, and darkness was added to our danger, the scene was indeed gloomy. i remember, this evening, we tried most perseveringly to drink our tea by a feeble light, which appeared to be a signal for the collection of insects far and near, who, by their numbers and the fierceness of their attacks, made it impossible to bring our cups to our mouths without stopping to brush away the fierce and greedy hordes of mosquitoes. amongst the growth, cane and cotton-wood were most conspicuous. i had a specimen of boatman manners to-day, which should not certainly be a subject of surprise, considering the rough-and-ready life and character of that class. having laid down on the top deck of the barge a mineralogical specimen to which i attached value, and gone temporarily away, i found, on my return, that it had been knocked to pieces by one of the men, who acted, probably, like the boy who broke the fiddle, "to get the music out" of it. on expressing my disapproval of this, to one who evidently had not the most distant idea of the scientific value of "a stone," he made some trite remark, that "there was more where this came from," and then, stretching himself up at his full length of six feet, with sinews which had plainly become tense and hard from the use of the setting-pole, he exclaimed, "help yourself!" july d. the toils of this day were similar to those of the last. it was a perpetual struggle to overcome the force of the current by poles placed in the bed, and, when that became too deep, we sought for shallower shores. we encountered the same growth of trees along the banks. the land became somewhat more elevated. the insects were in such hordes, that it was amazing. we proceeded but about six miles to-day, and they were miles of incessant toil. july d. to the ordinary dangers and efforts of this day, were added the frequent occurrence of snags and sawyers, or planters--terms which denote some of the peculiar impediments of mississippi navigation. the captain of our craft, who was a courageous and vigilant man, was continually on the look-out to avoid these dangers, and put-to, at night, at the foot of a large cane-covered island, by which he avoided, in some measure, the sweep of the current, but was yet in jeopardy from falling-in banks. he requested me, in this exigency, to take a pole, and, from the bow, sound for bottom, as we crossed the river, to avoid shoals. this i did successfully. we estimated our ascent this day at seven miles. july th. the perils and toils of the crew did not prevent their remembrance of the national anniversary; and the captain acknowledged their appeal in the morning by an extra measure of "old monongahela." we then set forward against the wild, raging current. from the appearance of the wild turkey and large grey squirrel ashore, it is probable that we are passing out of the inundated region. in other respects, the face of the country and its productions appear the same. after ascending about six miles, when the time approached for looking out for a place to moor for the night, a storm of wind suddenly arose, which dashed the water into the barge. we put ashore in haste, at a precipitous bank of an island, which fell in during the night very near to us, and put us in momentary peril. to leave our position in the dark, would be to take the risk of running afoul of snags, or encountering floating trees; but as early as the light appeared on the morning of the th, we left the spot immediately, crossing to the western bank. by diligence we made eight miles this day, which brought us to the first settlement at tiawapeta bottom, on the missouri shore. this is the first land that appears sufficiently elevated for cultivation. the settlement consists of six or eight farms, where corn, flax, hemp, potatoes, and tobacco, are abundantly raised. the peach and apple-tree also thrive. i observed the papaw and persimmon among the wild fruits. july th. the downward movement of the water, and its gurgling and rush as it meets with obstacles, is very audible after the barge has been fastened to the shore for the night, when its fearful impetuosity, surcharged as it is with floating wrecks of forest life, is impressive to the listener, while night has thrown her dark pall over the scene. early in the morning, the oarsmen and polemen were at their masculine toils. i had feared that such intense application of muscle, in pushing forward the boat, would exhaust their strength; and we had not gone over three miles this day, when we were obliged to lay-by for the want of more competent hands. the complaining men were promptly paid, and furnished with provisions to return. while detained by this circumstance, we were passed by a boat of similar construction to our own, laden with planks from olean, on the sources of the alleghany river, in new york. this article had been transported already more than thirteen hundred miles, on its way to a market at st. louis, where it was estimated to be worth sixty dollars per thousand feet. while moored along this coast, the day after we had thus escaped from the treacherous island, we seemed to have taken shelter along a shore infested by wild beasts. "grizzly bear!" was the cry at night. we were all alarmed by a snorting and disturbance at the water's edge, a short distance below us, which, it was soon evident, proceeded from a _large_, light-colored, and furious animal. so far, all agreed. one of our pennsylvanians, who had a choice rifle, prepared himself for the attack. the captain, who had no lack of resolution, and would, at any rate, have become bold by battling the mississippi river for six or seven days, had some missiles; and all prepared to be useful on the occasion. as i carried nothing more deadly than a silver crucible and some acids, i remained on the upper deck of the barge. from this elevation i soon saw, by the dim moonlight, the whole party return, without having fired a gun. it turned out that the cause of this unusual disturbance was a large white hog, which had been shot in the head and snout with swan-shot, by some cruel fellows, the preceding day, and came at night to mitigate its burning and festering wounds by bathing in the river. july th. having procured some additional hands, our invincible captain pressed stoutly forward, and, at an early hour, we reached the head of tiawapeta bottom, where a short stop was made. at this point, the bed of the mississippi appears to be crossed by a chain of rocks, which oppose, however, no obstruction to its navigation. such masses of it as appear on shore, are silico-carbonates of lime, and seem to belong to the metalliferous system of missouri. about half a mile above the commencement of this chain, i observed, at the foot of an elevation near the water's edge, a remarkable stratum of white aluminous earth, of a rather dry and friable character, resembling chalk, and which, i afterwards observed, was extensively used by mechanics in missouri as a substitute for that article. masses, and in some instances nodules, of hornstone, resembling true flint, are found imbedded in it; yet it is not to be confounded with the chalk formation. it yields no effervescence with nitric, and is wholly destitute of carbonic, acid. portions of the stratum are colored deeply by the red oxide of iron. scattered along the shores of the river at this place, i observed large, angular masses of pudding-stone, consisting chiefly of silicious pebbles and sand, cemented by oxide of iron. i now began to breathe more freely. for seven days we had been passing through such a nascent region, down which the mississippi swept at so furious a rate, that i never felt sure, at night, that i should behold another day. had the barge, any day, lost her heading and got athwart the stream, nothing could have prevented the water from rushing over her gunwales, and sweeping her to destruction. and the whole district of the alluvial banks was subject to be momentarily undermined, and frequently tumbled in, with the noise and fury of an avalanche, threatening destruction to whatever was in the vicinity. owing to the increased firmness of the shore, and the reinforcement of hands, we ascended this day ten miles. we began to feel in better spirits. july th. the calcareous and elevated formation of rocks, covered with geological drift, continued constantly along the missouri shore; for it was this shore, and not the illinois side, that we generally hugged. this drift, on ascending the elevations, consisted of a hard and reddish loam, or marly clay, filled with pebble-stones of various kinds, and fragments and chips of hornstone, chert, common jasper, argillaceous oxide of iron, radiated quartz, and quartz materials, betokening the disruption, in ancient eras, of prior formations. the trees observed on the diluvial elevations were oaks, sassafras, and, on the best lands, walnut, but of sparse growth; with a dense forest of cotton-wood, sycamore, and elm, on the alluvions. on ascending the river five miles, we came to the town of cape girardeau, consisting of about fifty wooden buildings of all sorts, with a post-office and two stores. we were now at the computed distance of fifty miles above the influx of the ohio. we went no farther that day. this gave me an opportunity to explore the vicinity. i had not yet put my foot ashore, when a fellow-passenger brought me a message from one of the principal merchants of the place, desiring me to call at his store, and aid him in the examination of some drugs and medicines which he had newly received. on reaching his store, i was politely ushered into a back room, where some refreshments were handsomely set out. the whole thing was, in fact, designed as a friendly welcome to a professional man, who came neither to sell nor buy, but simply to inquire into the resources and natural history of the country. at this trait of hospitality and appreciation in a stranger, i took courage, and began to perceive that the west might be relied on. i found the town of cape girardeau situated on an elevation of rich, red, marly soil, highly charged with oxide of iron, which is characteristic of the best arable soils of the mine country. this soil appears to be very readily dissolved in water, and carried off rapidly by rains, which furnishes a solution to the deep gulfs and gorges that disfigure many parts of the cultivated high grounds. if such places were sown with the seeds of grass, it would give fixity to the soil, and add much to the beauty of the landscape. july th. we resumed our journey up the rapid stream betimes, but, with every exertion, ascended only seven miles. the river, in this distance, preserves its general character; the missouri shores being rocky and elevated, while the vast alluvial tracts of the illinois banks spread out in densely wooded bottoms. but, while the missouri shores create the idea of greater security by their fixity, and freedom from treacherous alluvions, this very fixity of rocky banks creates jets of strong currents, setting around points, which require the greatest exertions of the bargemen to overcome. to aid them in these exigencies, the _cordelle_ is employed. this consists of a stout rope fastened to a block in the bow of the barge, which is then passed over the shoulders of the men, who each at the same time grasp it, and lean hard forward. july th. to me, the tardiness of our ascent, after reaching the rock formations, was extremely favorable, as it facilitated my examinations. every day the mineralogy of the western banks became more interesting, and i was enabled daily to add something to my collection. this day, i picked up a large fragment of the pseudo pumice which is brought down the missouri by its summer freshets. this mineral appears to have been completely melted; and its superficies is so much enlarged by vesicles filled with air, and its specific gravity thereby so much reduced, as to permit it to float in water. we encamped this evening, after an ascent of seven miles, at a spot called the moccasin spring, which is contained in a crevice in a depressed part of the limestone formation. july th. this day was signalized by our being passed by a small steamer of forty tons burden, called the harriet, laden with merchandise for st. louis. viewed from our stand-point, she seemed often nearly stationary, and sometimes receded, in her efforts to stem the fierce current; but she finally ascended, slowly and with labor. the pressure of the stream, before mentioned, against the rocky barrier of the western banks, was found, to-day, to be very strong. with much ado, with poles and cordelle, we made but five miles. july th. we passed the mouth of great muddy river, on the illinois shore, this morning. this stream, it is said, affords valuable beds of coal. the name of the river does not appear to be very poetic, nor very characteristic, in a region where every tributary stream is muddy; the mississippi itself being muddy above all others. but, thanks to the indians, they have not embodied that idea in the name of the father of rivers; its greatness, with them, being justly deemed by far its most characteristic trait. about two miles above this locality, we came to one of the geological wonders of the mississippi, called the grand tower. it is a pile of limestone rocks, rising precipitously from the bed of the river in a circular form, resembling a massive castle. the height of this geological monument may be about one hundred feet. it is capped by some straggling cedars, which have caught a footing in the crevices. it might, with as much propriety as one of the alps, be called the jungfrau (virgin); for it seems impossible that any human being should ever have ascended it. the main channel of the river passes east of it. there is a narrower channel on the west, which is apparently more dangerous. we crossed the river below this isolated cliff, and landed at some cavernous rocks on the illinois side, which the boatmen, with the usual propensity of unlettered men, called the devil's oven. we then recrossed the river, and, after ascending a distance along the western shore, were repulsed in an attempt, with the cordelle, to pass garlic point. the captain then made elaborate preparations for a second attempt, but again failed. a third effort, with all our appliances, was resolved on, but with no better success; and we came-to, finally, for the night, in an eddy below the point, having advanced, during the day, seven miles. if we did not make rapid progress, i had good opportunities of seeing the country, and of contemplating this majestic river in one of its most characteristic phases--namely, its summer flood. i pleased myself by fancying, as i gazed upon its rushing eddies of mud and turbid matter, that i at least beheld a part of the rocky mountains, passing along _in the liquid state_! it was a sight that would have delighted the eyes of hutton; for methinks the quantity of detritus and broken-down strata would not have required, in his mind, many cycles to upbuild a continent. mountains to chaos are by waters hurled, and re-create the geologic world. chapter ii. pass cape garlic--obrazo river--cliffs--emigrants--cape st. comb--bois brule bottom--paroquet--fort chartres--kaskaskia --st. genevieve--m. breton--the mississippi deficient in fish--antiquities--geology--steamer--herculaneum--m. austin, esq., the pioneer to texas--journey on foot to st. louis-- misadventures on the maramec--its indian name--carondelet-- st. louis, its fine site and probable future importance--st. louis mounds not artificial--downward pressure of the diluvial drift of the mississippi. july th. we renewed the attempt to pass cape garlic at an early hour, and succeeded after a protracted and severe trial. but two of our best men immediately declared their unwillingness to proceed farther in these severe labors, in which they were obliged to pull like oxen; and they were promptly paid off by the captain, and permitted to return. the crew, thus diminished, went on a short distance further with the barge, and came-to at the mouth of the obrazo river, to await the effort of our commander to procure additional hands. we had not now advanced more than two miles, which constituted the sum of this day's progress. while moored here, we were passed by four boats filled with emigrants from vermont and western new york, destined for boon's lick, on the missouri. i embraced the occasion of this delay to make some excursions in the vicinity. july th. having been successful in obtaining a reinforcement of hands from the interior, we pursued the ascent, and made six miles along the missouri shore. the next day ( th) we ascended seven miles. this leisurely tracing of the coast revealed to me some of the minutest features of its geological structure. the cliffs consist of horizontal strata of limestone, resting on granular crystalline sandstone. nothing can equal the beauty of the varying landscape presented for the last two days. there has appeared a succession of the most novel and interesting objects. whatever pleasure can be derived from the contemplation of natural objects, presented in surprising and picturesque groups, can here be enjoyed in the highest degree. even art may be challenged to contrast, with more effect, the bleak and rugged cliff with the verdant forest, the cultivated field, or the wide-extended surface of the mississippi, interspersed with its beautiful islands, and winding majestically through a country, which only requires the improvements of civilized and refined society, to render it one of the most delightful residences of man. nor is it possible to contemplate the vast extent, fertility, resources, and increasing population of this immeasurable valley, without feeling a desire that our lives could be prolonged to an unusual period, that we might survey, an hundred years hence, the improved social and political condition of the country, and live to participate in its advantages, improvements, and power. all the emigrants whom we have passed seem to be buoyed up by a hopeful and enterprising character; and, although most of them are manifestly from the poorest classes, and are from twelve to fifteen hundred miles on their adventurous search for a new home, from none have i heard a word of despondency. july th. i observed to-day, at cape st. comb, large angular fragments of a species of coarse granular sandstone rock, which appear to be _disjecta membra_ of a much more recent formation than that underlying the prevalent surface formation. the gay and noisy paroquet was frequently seen, this day, wheeling in flocks over the river; and at one point, which was revealed suddenly, we beheld a large flock of pelicans standing along a low, sandy peninsula. either the current, during to-day's voyage, was less furious, or the bargemen exerted more strength or skill; for we ascended ten miles, and encamped at the foot of _bois brule_ (burnt-wood) bottom. the term "bottom" is applied, in the west, to extensive tracts of level and arable alluvial soil, whether covered by, or denuded of, native forest trees. we found it the commencement of a comparatively populous and flourishing settlement, having on the next day ( th) passed along its margin for seven miles. its entire length is twelve miles. july th. the most prominent incidents of this day were the passing, on the illinois shore, of the celebrated site of fort chartres, and the influx of the kaskaskia (or, as it is abbreviated by the men, _ocaw_ or _caw_) river--a large stream on the eastern shore. these names will recall some of the earliest and most stirring scenes of illinois history. the town of kaskaskia, which is the present seat of the territorial government, is seated seven miles above its mouth. fort chartres is now a ruin, and, owing to the capricious channel of the mississippi, is rapidly tumbling into it. it had been a regular work, built of stone, according to the principles of military art. its walls formerly contained not only the chief element of military power in french illinois, but also sheltered the ecclesiastics and traders of the time. in an old manuscript journal of that fort which i have seen, a singular custom of the osages is mentioned, on the authority of one mons. jeredot. he says (dec. , ) that they have a feast, which they generally celebrate about the month of march, when they bake a large (corn) cake of about three or four feet diameter, and of two or three inches thickness. this is cut into pieces, from the centre to the circumference; and the principal chief or warrior arises and advances to the cake, when he declares his valor, and recounts his noble actions. if he is not contradicted, or none has aught to allege against him, he takes a piece of the cake, and distributes it among the boys of the nation, repeating to them his noble exploits, and exhorting them to imitate them. another then approaches, and in the same manner recounts his achievements, and proceeds as before. should any one attempt to take of the cake, to whose character there is the least exception, he is stigmatized and set aside as a poltroon. it is said by some of the oldest and most intelligent inhabitants of st. louis, that about , when the british had obtained possession of fort chartres, a very nefarious transaction took place in that vicinity, in the assassination of the celebrated indian chief pontiac. tradition tells us that this man had exercised great influence in the north and west, and that he resisted the transfer of authority from the french to the english, on the fall of canada. carver has a story on this subject, detailing the siege of detroit in , which has been generally read. the version of pontiac's death in illinois, is this:--while encamped in this vicinity, an illinois indian, who had given in his adherence to the new dynasty of the english, was hired by the promise of rum, by some english traders, to assassinate the chief, while the latter was reposing on his pallet at night, still vainly dreaming, perhaps, of driving the english out of america, and of restoring his favorite indo-gallic empire in the west. july th. we ascended the mississippi seven miles yesterday, to which, by all appliances, we added eleven miles to-day, which is our maximum ascent in one day. five miles of this distance, along the missouri shore, consists of the great public field of st. genevieve. this field is a monument of early french policy in the days of indian supremacy, when the agricultural population of a village was brought to labor in proximity, so that any sudden and capricious attack of the natives could be effectively repelled. we landed at the mouth of the gabarie, a small stream which passes through the town. st. genevieve lies on higher ground, above the reach of the inundations, about a mile west of the landing. it consists of some three hundred wooden houses, including several stores, a post-office, court-house, roman catholic church, and a branch of the missouri bank, having a capital of fifty thousand dollars. the town is one of the principal markets and places of shipment for the missouri lead-mines. heavy stacks of lead in pigs, are one of the chief characteristics which i saw in, and often piled up in front of its storehouses; and they give one the idea of a considerable export in this article. july th. i devoted this day to a reconnoissance of st. genevieve and its environs. the style of building reminds one of the ancient belgic and dutch settlements on the banks of the hudson and mohawk--high-pointed roofs to low one-story-buildings, and large stone chimneys out-doors. the streets are narrow, and the whole village as compact as if built to sustain a siege. the water of the mississippi is falling rapidly, and leaves on the shores a deposit of mud, varying from a foot to two feet in depth. this recent deposit appears to consist essentially of silex and alumine, in a state of very intimate mixture. an opinion is prevalent throughout this country, that the water of the mississippi, with every impurity, is healthful as a common drink; and accordingly the boatmen, and many of the inhabitants on the banks of the river, make use of no other water. an expedient resorted to at first, perhaps, from necessity, may be continued from an impression of the benefits resulting from it. i am not well enough acquainted with the chemical properties of the water, or the method in which it operates on the human system, to deny its utility; but, to my palate, clear spring-water is far preferable. a simple method is pursued for clarifying it: a handful of indian meal is sprinkled on the surface of a vessel of water, precipitating the mud to the bottom, and the superincumbent water is left in a tolerable state of purity. july st. we again set forward this morning. on ascending three miles, we came to little rock ferry--a noted point of crossing from the east to the west of the mississippi. the most remarkable incident in the history of this place is the residence of an old french soldier, of an age gone by, who has left his name in the geography of the surrounding country. _m. breton_, the person alluded to, is stated to be, at this time, one hundred and nine years of age. tradition says that he was at braddock's defeat--at the siege of louisbourg--at the building of fort chartres, in the illinois--and at the siege of bergen-op-zoom, in flanders. while wandering as a hunter, after his military services had ended, in the country about forty miles west of the mississippi, he discovered the extensive lead-mines which continue to bear his name. we ascended this day twelve miles, which is the utmost stretch of our exertions against the turbid and heavy tide of this stream. our captain (ensminger) looked in the evening as if he had been struggling all day in a battle, and his men took to their pallets as if exhausted to the last degree. july d. i have seen very little, thus far, in the mississippi, in the shape of fish. the only species noticed has been the gar; one of which i caught, as described, from the side of the boat, while lying at the mouth of the ohio. of all rivers in the west, i should think it the least favorable to this form of organized matter. of the coarse species of the catfish and buffalo-fish which are found in its waters, i suppose the freshet has deprived us of a sight. of antiquities, i have seen nothing since leaving the ohio valley till this day, when i picked up, in my rambles on shore, an ancient indian dart, of chert. the indian antiquities on the illinois shore, however, are stated to be very extensive. near the kaskaskia river are numerous mounds and earthworks, which denote a heavy ancient population. the limestone cliffs, at the place called dormant rocks, assume a very imposing appearance. these precipitous walls bear the marks of attrition in water-lines, very plainly impressed, at great heights above the present water-level; creating the idea that they may have served as barriers to some ancient ocean resting on the grand prairies of illinois. we were passed, near evening, by the little steamer harriet, on her descent from st. louis. this vessel is the same that was noticed on the th, on her ascent, and is the only representative of steam-power that we have observed.[ ] our ascent this day was estimated at thirteen miles. july d. passing the platten creek, the prominence called cornice rock, and the promontory of joachim creek, an ascent of five miles brought us to the town of herculaneum. this name of a roman city buried for ages, gives, at least, a moral savor of antiquity to a country whose institutions are all new and nascent. it was bestowed, i believe, by mr. austin, who is one of the principal proprietors of the place. it consists of between thirty and forty houses, including three stores, a post-office, court-house, and school. there are three shot-towers on the adjoining cliffs, and some mills, with a tan-yard and a distillery, in the vicinity. it is also a mart for the lead-mine country. i had now ascended one hundred and seventy miles from the junction of the ohio. this had required over twenty-two days, which gives an average ascent of between seven and eight miles per day, and sufficiently denotes the difficulty of propelling boats up this stream by manual labor. at herculaneum i was introduced to m. austin, esq.--a gentleman who had been extensively engaged in the mining business while the country was yet under spanish jurisdiction, and who was favorably known, a few years after, as the prime mover of the incipient steps to colonize texas. verbal information, from him and others, appeared to make this a favorable point from which to proceed into the interior, for the purpose of examining its mineral structure and peculiarities. i therefore determined to leave my baggage here until i had visited the territorial capital, st. louis. this was still thirty miles distant, and, after making the necessary preparations, i set out, on the th of the month, on foot. in this journey i was joined by my two _compagnons de voyage_ from pennsylvania and maryland. we began our march at an early hour. the summer had now assumed all its fervor, and power of relaxation and lassitude on the muscles of northern constitutions. we set out on foot early, but, as the day advanced, the sun beat down powerfully, and the air seemed to owe all its paternity to tropical regions. it was in vain we reached the summit land. there was no breeze, and the forest trees were too few and widely scattered to afford any appreciable shade. the soil of the missouri uplands appears to possess a uniform character, although it is better developed in some localities than in others. it is the red mineral clay, which, in some of its conditions, yields beds of galena throughout the mine country, bearing fragments of quartz in some of its numerous varieties. in these uplands, its character is not so well marked as in the districts further west; geologically considered, however, it is identical in age and relative position. the _gullied_ character of the soil, and its liability to crumble under the effect of rain, and to be carried off, which was first noticed at cape girardeau, is observed along this portion of the river, and is most obvious in the gulfy state of the roads. what added greatly to our fatigue in crossing this tract, was the having taken a too westerly path, which gave us a roundabout tramp. on returning to the main track, we forded cold river, a rapid and clear brook; a little beyond which, we reached a fine, large, crystal spring, the waters of which bubbled up briskly and bright, and ran off from their point of outbreak to the river we had just crossed, leaving a white deposit of sulphur. the water is pretty strongly impregnated with this mineral, and is supposed to have a beneficial effect in bilious complaints. the scenery in the vicinity of the spring is highly picturesque, and the place is capable of being made a delightful resort. five miles more brought us to the banks of the maramec river, where we arrived at dark, and prevailed with the ferryman to take us across, notwithstanding the darkness of the night, and the rain, which, after having threatened a shower all the afternoon, now began to fall. the maramec is the principal stream of the mine country, and is the recipient of affluents, spreading over a large area. the aboriginal name of this stream, mr. austin informed me, should be written "marameg." the ferryman seemed in no hurry to put us over this wide river, at so late an hour, and with so portentous a sky as hung over us, threatening every moment to pour down floods upon us. by the time we had descended from his house into the valley, and he had put us across to the opposite shore, it was dark. we took his directions for finding the house at which we expected to lodge; but it soon became so intensely dark, that we pursued a wrong track, which led us away from the shelter we sought. satisfied at length that we had erred, we knew not what to do. it then began to pour down rain. we groped about a while, but finally stood still. in this position, we had not remained long, when the faint tinkling of a cow-bell, repeated leisurely, as if the animal were housed, fell on our ears. the direction of the sound was contrary to that we had been taking; but we determined to grope our way cautiously toward it, guided at intervals by flashes of lightning which lit up the woods, and standing still in the meanwhile to listen. at length we came to a fence. this was a guide, and by keeping along one side of it, it led us to the house of which we were in search. we found that, deducting our misadventure in the morning, we had advanced on our way, directly, but about fifteen miles. july th. we were again on our path at a seasonable hour, and soon passed out of the fertile and heavily timbered valley of the maramec. there now commenced a gentle ridge, running parallel to the mississippi river for twelve miles. in this distance there was not a single house, nor any trace that man had bestowed any permanent labor. it was sparsely covered with oaks, standing at long distances apart, with the intervening spaces profusely covered with prairie grass and flowers. we frequently saw the deer bounding before us; and the views, in which we sometimes caught glimpses of the river, were of a highly sylvan character. but the heat of the day was intense, and we sweltered beneath it. about half-way, we encountered a standing spring, in a sort of open cavern at the foot of a hill, and stooped down and drank. we then went on, still "faint and wearily," to the old french village of carondelet, which bears the soubriquet of _vede-pouche_ (empty sack). it contains about sixty wooden buildings, arranged mostly in a single street. here we took breakfast. being now within six miles of the place of our destination, and recruited and refreshed, we pushed on with more alacrity. the first three miles led through a kind of brushy heath, which had the appearance of having once been covered with large trees that had all been cut away for firing, with here and there a dry trunk, denuded and white, looking like ghosts of a departed forest. patches of cultivation, with a few buildings, then supervened. these tokens of a better state of things increased in frequency and value till we reached the skirts of the town, which we entered about four o'clock in the afternoon. st. louis impressed me as a geographical position of superlative advantages for a city. it now contains about five hundred and fifty houses, and five thousand inhabitants. it has forty stores, a post-office, a land-office, two chartered banks, a court-house, jail, theatre, three churches, one brewery, two distilleries, two water-mills, a steam flouring-mill, and other improvements. these elements of prosperity are but indications of what it is destined to become. the site is unsurpassed for its beauty and permanency; a limestone formation rising from the shores of the mississippi, and extending gradually to the upper plain. it is in north latitude ° ', nearly equidistant from the alleghany and the rocky mountains. it is twelve hundred miles above new orleans, and about one thousand below st. anthony's falls. no place in the world, situated so far from the ocean, can at all compare with st. louis for commercial advantages. it is so situated with regard to the surrounding country, as to become the key to its commerce, and the storehouse of its wealth; and if the whole western region be surveyed with a geographical eye, it must rest with unequalled interest on that peninsula of land formed by the junction of the missouri with the mississippi--a point occupied by the town of st. louis. standing near the confluence of two such mighty streams, an almost immeasurable extent of back country must flow to it with its produce, and be supplied from it with merchandise. the main branch of the missouri is navigable two thousand five hundred miles, and the most inconsiderable of its tributary streams will vie with the largest rivers of the atlantic states. the mississippi, on the other hand, is navigable without interruption for one thousand miles above st. louis. its affluents, the de corbeau, iowa, wisconsin, st. pierre, rock river, salt river, and desmoines, are all streams of the first magnitude, and navigable for many hundred miles. the illinois is navigable three hundred miles; and when the communication between it and the lakes, and between the mississippi and lake superior, and the lake of the woods--between the missouri and the columbia valley--shall be effected; communications not only pointed out, but, in some instances, almost completed by nature; what a chain of connected navigation shall we behold! and by looking upon the map, we shall find st. louis the focus where all these streams are destined to be discharged--the point where all this vast commerce must centre, and where the wealth flowing from these prolific sources must pre-eminently crown her the queen of the west. my attention was called to two large mounds, on the western bank of the mississippi, a short distance above st. louis. i have no hesitation in expressing the opinion that they are geological, and not artificial. indian bodies have been buried in their sides, precisely as they are often buried by the natives in other elevated grounds, for which they have a preference. but the mounds themselves consist of sand, boulders, pebbles, and other drift materials, such as are common to undisturbed positions in the mississippi valley generally. another subject in the physical geography of the country attracted my notice, the moment the river fell low enough to expose its inferior shores, spits, and sand-bars. it is the progressive diffusion of its detritus from superior to inferior positions in its length. among this transported material i observed numerous small fragments of those agates, and other silicious minerals of the quartz family, which characterize the broad diluvial tracts about its sources and upper portions. footnote: [ ] i found fifty steamers of all sizes on the mississippi and its tributaries, of which a list is published in the appendix. chapter iii. resolve to proceed further west--night voyage on the mississippi in a skiff--an adventure--proceed on foot west to the missouri mines--incidents by the way--miners' village of shibboleth--compelled by a storm to pass the night at old mines--reach potosi--favorable reception by the mining gentry--pass several months in examining the mines--organize an expedition to explore westward--its composition--discouragements on setting out--proceed, notwithstanding--incidents of the journey to the valley of leaves. i was kindly received by some persons i had before known, particularly by a professional gentleman with whom i had descended the alleghany river in the preceding month of march, who invited me to remain at his house. i had now proceeded about seventeen hundred miles from my starting-point in western new york; and after passing a few days in examining the vicinity, and comparing facts, i resolved on the course it would be proper to pursue, in extending my journey further west and south-west. i had felt, for many years, an interest in the character and resources of the mineralogy of this part of what i better knew as upper louisiana, and its reported mines of lead, silver, copper, salt, and other natural productions. i had a desire to see the country which de soto had visited, west of the mississippi, and i wished to trace its connection with the true cordillera of the united states--the stony or rocky mountains. my means for undertaking this were rather slender. i had already drawn heavily on these in my outward trip. but i felt (i believe from early reading) an irrepressible desire to explore this region. i was a good draughtsman, mapper, and geographer, a ready penman, a rapid sketcher, and a naturalist devoted to mineralogy and geology, with some readiness as an assayer and experimental chemist; and i relied on these as both aids and recommendations--as, in short, the incipient means of success. when ready to embark on the mississippi, i was joined by my two former companions in the ascent from the mouth of the ohio. it was late in the afternoon of one of the hottest summer days, when we took our seats together in a light skiff at st. louis, and pushed out into the mississippi, which was still in flood, but rapidly falling, intending to reach cahokia that night. but the atmosphere soon became overcast, and, when night came on, it was so intensely dark that we could not discriminate objects at much distance. floating, in a light pine skiff, in the centre of such a stream, on a very dark night, our fate seemed suspended by a thread. the downward pressure of the current was such, that we needed not to move an oar; and every eye was strained, by holding it down parallel to the water, to discover contiguous snags, or floating bodies. it became, at the same time, quite cold. we at length made a shoal covered with willows, or a low sandy islet, on the left, or illinois shore. here, one of my youghioghany friends, who had not yet got over his _penchant_ for grizzly bears, returned from reconnoitering the bushes, with the cry of this prairie monster with a cub. it was too dark to scrutinize, and, as we had no arms, we pushed on hurriedly about a mile further, and laid down, rather than slept, on the shore, without victuals or fire. at daylight, for which we waited anxiously, we found ourselves nearly opposite carondelet, to which we rowed, and where we obtained a warm breakfast. before we had finished eating, our french landlady called for pay. whether anything on our part had awakened her suspicions, or the deception of others had rendered the precaution necessary, i cannot say. recruited in spirits by this meal, and by the opening of a fine, clear day, we pursued our way, without further misadventure, about eighteen miles, and landed at herculaneum. the next day, which was the last of july, i set out on foot for the mines, having directed my trunks to follow me by the first returning lead-teams. my course led through an open, rolling country, covered with grass, shrubs, and prairie flowers, and having but few trees. there was consequently little or no shade, and, the weather being sultry, i suffered much from heat and thirst. for the space of about twelve miles, the road ran over an elevated ridge, destitute of streams or springs. i did not meet an individual, nor see anything of the animal creation larger than a solitary wild turkey, which, during the hottest part of the day, came to contest with me for, or rather had previously reached, some water standing in a wagon-rut. i gained the head of the joachim creek before nightfall, and, having taken lodgings, hastened down to a sheltered part of the channel to bathe, after which i enjoyed a refreshing night's sleep. the aboriginal name of this stream was "zwashau," meaning pin-oak, as i was told by an old hunter whom i met. the next day i was early on my way; and i soon began to discover, in the face of the country, evidences of its metalliferous character. twelve miles brought me to the valley of grand or big river, one of the principal tributaries of the maramec. in descending the high grounds, i observed numerous specimens of the brown oxide of iron; and after crossing the ferry, the mineral locally called mineral blossom, (radiated quartz,) of which i had noticed slight traces before, developed itself in fine specimens. the first mining village i came to, bore the name of shibboleth. at this place there was a smelting furnace, of the kind called a log-furnace. here i first saw heaps of the ore of lead commonly found. it is the sulphuret, of a broad glittering grain, and cubical fracture. it is readily smelted, being piled on logs of equal length, and adjusted in the before-named furnace, where it is roasted till the sulphur is driven off; when desulphurated, it melts, and the metal is received on an inclined plane and conducted into an orifice, from which it is ladled into moulds. from fifty to sixty per cent, is obtained in this way. shibboleth is the property of john smith t.; a man whose saturnine temper and disposition have brought him into collision with many persons, and given him a wide-spread notoriety both in missouri and tennessee. i lingered along so leisurely, and stopped so often to examine objects by the way, that my progress was not rapid. i obtained some corn-bread and milk at a house, and pursued my journey to old mines, where a heavy storm of rain arose. i took shelter at a neighboring house, where i remained during the night. the next morning i walked into potosi, and took lodgings at mr. william ficklin's. this gentleman was a native of kentucky, where most of his life had been passed in the perils and adventures attending the early settlement of that state. his conversation was replete with anecdotes of perilous adventures which he had experienced; and i was indebted to him for some necessary practical points of knowledge in forest life, and precautions in travelling in an indian country. the day after my arrival was a local election day, for a representative from the county in the territorial legislature, to which mr. austin the younger was returned. this brought together the principal mining and agricultural gentlemen of the region, and was a circumstance of some advantage to me, in extending my acquaintance, and making known the objects of my visit. in this, the austins, father and son, were most kind and obliging. indeed, the spirit with which i was received by the landed proprietors of the country generally, and the frankness and urbanity of their manners and sentiments, inspired me with high hopes of success in making a mineralogical survey of the country. i found the geological structure of the country, embracing the mines, to be very uniform. it consists of a metalliferous limestone, in horizontal strata, which have not been lifted up or disturbed from their horizontality by volcanic forces; but they have been exposed to the laws of disintegration and elemental action in a very singular manner. by this action, the surface of the formation has been divided into ridges, valleys, and hills, producing inequalities of the most striking and picturesque character. there are some forty principal mines, in an area of about seventy miles by thirty or forty in breadth. the chief ore of lead smelted is galena. the associated minerals of most prominence are sulphate of barytes, sulphuret of zinc, calcareous spar, and crystallized quartz, chiefly in radiated crystals. i spent upwards of three months in a survey of the mines of chief consequence, noting their peculiarities and geological features. by far the most remarkable feature in the general structure of the country, consists of the existence of a granitical tract at the sources of the river st. francis. this i particularly examined. the principal elevations consist of red sienite and greenstone, lying in their usual forms of mountain masses. the geological upheavals which have brought these masses to their present elevations, appear to have been of the most ancient character; for the limestones and crystalline sandstones have been deposited, in perfectly horizontal beds, against their sides. feeling a desire to compare this formation with the structure of the country west and south of it, extending to the rocky mountains, and satisfied at the same time that these primary peaks constituted the mineral region of de soto's most northerly explorations, i determined to extend my explorations south-westwardly. the term "ozark mountains" is popularly applied to the broad and elevated highlands which stretch in this direction, reaching from the maramec to the arkansas. having obtained the best information accessible from hunters and others who had gone farthest in that direction, i determined to proceed, as early as i could complete my arrangements for that purpose, to explore those elevations. colonel w. h. ashley, who had penetrated into this region, together with several enterprising hunters and woodsmen, represented it as metalliferous, and abounding in scenes of varied interest. it had been the ancient hunting-ground of the osages, a wild and predatory tribe, who yet infested its fastnesses; and it was represented as subject to severe risks from this cause. two or three of the woodsmen, who were best acquainted with this tract, expressed a willingness to accompany me on a tour of exploration. i therefore, in the month of october, revisited st. louis and illinois, for the purpose of making final arrangements for the tour, and obtained the consent of mr. brigham and mr. pettibone, previously mentioned, to accompany me. a day was appointed for our assembling at potosi. i then returned to complete my arrangements. i purchased a stout, low-priced horse, to carry such supplies as were requisite, made his pack-saddle with my own hands, and had it properly riveted by a smith. a pair of blankets for sleeping; a small, short-handled frying-pan; a new axe, a tin coffeepot, three tin cups, and the same number of tin plates; a couple of hunting-knives; a supply of lead, shot, ball, powder, and flints; a small smith's hammer, and nails for setting a horse-shoe; a horse-bell and strap; a pocket compass; a gun, shot-pouch, and appendages, containing a space for my diary; a mineral-hammer, constructed under my own directions, so as to embrace a small mortar on one face, and capable of unscrewing at the handle, which could be used as a pestle; a supply of stout clothing, a bearskin and oilcloth, some bacon, tea, sugar, salt, hard bread, &c., constituted the chief articles of outfit. the man of whom i purchased the horse called him by the unpoetic name of "butcher." it was the beginning of november before my friends arrived, and on the sixth of that month we packed the horse, and took our way over the mineral hills that surround potosi, making our first encampment in a little valley, on the margin of a stream called bates's creek. it was fine autumn weather; the leaves of the forest were mostly sere, and the winds scattered them about us with an agreeable movement, as we wound among the hills. we were evidently following an old indian trail, and, finding a rather tenable old wigwam, constructed of poles and bark, we pitched upon it as our first place of encampment. my kind host from kentucky, with whom i had been staying, accompanied us thus far, to see us safely in the woods, and taught me the art of hobbling a horse, and tying on his night-bell. the hunters, who had talked rather vaingloriously of their prowess among wild animals and osages, one by one found obstacles to impede their going. finally, one of my companions was compelled to return, owing to a continued attack of fever and ague. i determined, nevertheless, to proceed, thinking that a hunter could be found to join us before quitting the verge of civilization. having unpacked butcher, prepared him for the night, stowed away the baggage, and built a fire, i took my gun and sallied out into the forest, while my companion prepared things for our supper. i found the greatest abundance of large black and grey squirrels in a neighboring wood, and returned with a number of the finest of them in season to add to our evening's meal. a man's first night in the wilderness is impressive. our friends had left us, and returned to potosi. gradually all sounds of animated nature ceased. when darkness closed around us, the civilized world seemed to have drawn its curtains, and excluded us. we put fresh sticks on the fire, which threw a rich flash of light on our camp, and finally wrapped ourselves in our blankets, and, amidst ruminations on the peculiarities of our position, our hopes, and our dangers, we sank to sleep. nov. th. the first thing listened for this morning was the tinkle of our horse's bell. but butcher was gone. all my precautions had been in vain. the poor beast appeared to have had a presentiment of the hard fare that was before him, and, although his fore-feet were tethered, and he must lift up both together to jump, yet, having a strong recollection of the corn-fodder and juicy blades left behind him, he had made his way back to the mines. i immediately went in pursuit of him. he was easily tracked until he got to a space of rank herbage, where i lost the track, and hearing, at the same moment, a bell to the left, i pursued the sound over hill and through dale, till i came out at a farm-yard on mine creek, four miles below potosi, where i found the bell whose sound i had followed attached to the neck of a stately penned ox. the owner told me that butcher had reached the mines, and been sent back to my camp by his former owner. i had nothing left but to retrace my steps, which, luckily, were but the shorter line of an acute triangle. i found him at the camp. it was, however, ten o'clock before our breakfast was despatched, and the horse repacked ready for starting. we took the labor of leading the horse, and carrying the compass and guiding, day about, so as to equalize these duties, and leave no cause for dissatisfaction. our trail carried us across the succession of elevated and arid ridges called the pinery. not a habitation of any kind, nor the vestiges of one, was passed; neither did we observe any animal, or even bird. the soil was sterile, hard, and flinty, bearing yellow pines, with some oaks. our general course was west-south-west. the day was mild and pleasant for the season. for a computed distance of fourteen miles, we encountered a succession of ascents and descents, which made us rejoice, as evening approached, to see a tilled valley before us. it proved to be the location of a small branch of the maramec river, called by its original french name of _fourche â courtois_. the sun sank below the hills as we entered this valley. some woodcock flew up as we reached the low ground; but as we had a cabin in view, and the day was far gone, we moved on toward our principal object. presently the loud barking of dogs announced our approach; they seemed, by their clamor, as pertinacious as if two wolves or panthers were stealing on the tenement, till they were silenced by the loud commands of their master. it was a small log building, of the usual construction on the frontiers, and afforded the usual hospitality, and ready accommodations. they gave us warm cakes of corn-bread, and fine rich milk; and, spreading our blankets before the fire, we enjoyed sound slumbers. butcher, here, had his last meal of corn, and made no attempt to escape. nov. th. with the earliest streaks of daylight we adjusted our pack for the horse, and again set forward on the trail. in the course of two miles' travel, we forded a stream called law's fork, and also the branch of the maramec on which we had lodged the previous night. we soon after descried a hunter's cabin, a small and newly erected hut in the midst of the forest, occupied by a man named alexander roberts. this proved the last house we encountered, and was estimated to be twenty miles from potosi. some trees had been felled and laid around, partially burned; but not a spot of ground was in cultivation. dogs, lean and hungry, heralded our approach, as in the former instance; and they barked loud and long. on reaching the cabin, we found that the man was not at home, having left it, his wife said, with his rifle, at an early hour, in search of game. she thought he would be back before noon, and that he would accompany us. we decided to await his return, and in the meanwhile prepared our frugal breakfast. in a short time, roberts returned; he was a chunky, sinister-looking fellow, and reminded me of ali baba, in the "forty thieves." he had a short, greasy buckskin frock, and a pointed old hat. his wife, who peeped out of the door, looked queer, and had at least one resemblance to cogia, which seemed to be "starvation." the hunter had killed nothing, and agreed to accompany us, immediately beginning his preparations. he at the same time informed us of the fear entertained of the osages, and other matters connected with our journey in the contemplated direction. about ten o'clock he was ready, and, leading a stout little compact horse from a pen, he clapped a saddle on, seized his rifle, announced himself as ready, and led off. the trail led up a long ridge, which appeared to be the dividing ground between the two principal forks of the maramec. it consisted of a stiff loam, filled with geological drift, which, having been burned over for ages by the indians, to fit it for hunting in the fall of the year, had little carbonaceous soil left, and exhibited a hard and arid surface. our general course was still west-south-west. after proceeding about four miles, our path came to the summit of an eminence, from which we descried the valley of the ozau, or ozark fork. this valley consisted entirely of prairie. scarcely a tree was visible in it. the path wound down the declivity, and across the valley. the soil appeared to be fertile. occupying one bank of the stream, nearly in the centre of the valley, we passed a cluster of indian wigwams, inhabited alone by the old men, women, and children; the young men being absent, hunting. we found them to be lenno-lenapees, or, in other words, delawares; being descendants of the indians whom william penn found, in , in the pleasant forest village of coacquannok, where philadelphia now stands. strange, but not extraordinary history! they have been shoved back by civilization, in the course of a hundred and thirty-six years' mutations, over the alleghanies--over the mississippi--into the spurs of these mountains. where they will be after the lapse of a similar period, no one can say. but this _can_ be said--that the hunting of deer will give out; and if they do not betake themselves to some other means of subsistence, they will be numbered among the nations that were. roberts informed me that four or five miles lower down the valley was a village of shawnees, and, higher up, another village of delawares. on reaching the uplands on the west side of the valley, we pursued the trail up its banks about four or five miles, and encamped by daylight near a clump of bushes at a spring. as i was expert in striking and kindling a fire, this became a duty to which i devoted myself during the entire journey, while my companion busied himself in preparations for our repast. roberts reconnoitred the vicinity, and came in with a report that we had reached a game country. we were now fairly beyond the line of all settlements, even the most remote, and had entered on that broad highland tract to which, for geographical distinction, the name of ozark mountains is applied. this tract reaches through missouri and arkansas, from the maramec to the wachita, and embraces the middle high lands between the plains at the foot of the rocky mountains, and the rapids of the maramec, st. francis, osage, white, arkansas, and other principal streams; these traverse a belt of about two hundred miles east and west, by seven hundred miles north and south. it is a sort of rheingau, through which the rivers burst. nov. th. early in the morning, roberts brought in the carcase of a fine deer; and we made our first meal on wild venison, cut fresh smoking from the tenderest parts, and roasted on sticks to suit our tastes. this put every one in the best of spirits, and we packed a supply of the meat for our evening's repast. seeing that roberts was more at home among the game, and that he had but a sorry knife for the business, i loaned him a fine new belt and knife, with its sheath, for the day. we now travelled up the ozark fork about eighteen miles. the weather was exhilarating, and the winds were careering with the leaves of the forest, and casting them in profusion in our track. as we came near the sources of the river, we entered a wide prairie, perfectly covered for miles with these leaves, brought from neighboring forests. at every step the light masses were kicked or brushed away before us. this plain, or rather level vale, was crowned in the distance by elevations fringed with tall trees which still held some of their leafy honors, giving a very picturesque character to the landscape. i booked the scene at night, in my diary, as cliola, or the valley of leaves. we held our way over the distant eminences, and at length found a spring by which we encamped, at a rather late hour. it had been a hazy and smoky day, like the indian summer in atlantic latitudes. we were in a region teeming with the deer and elk, which frequently bounded across our path. the crack of roberts's rifle, also, added to the animation of the day's travel; though we might have known, from his unsteady bandit-eye, that he meditated something to our damage. chapter iv. horses elope--desertion of our guide--encamp on one of the sources of black river--head-waters of the river currents --enter a romantic sub-valley--saltpetre caves--description of ashley's cave--encampment there--enter an elevated summit --calamarca, an unknown stream--encounter four bears--north fork of white river. nov. th. while we laid on our pallets last night, the trampling of hoofs was frequently heard; but at length the practised ear of the hunter detected that these were the sounds of wild animals' hoofs, and not of our horses. this man's eye had shown an unwonted degree of restlessness and uneasiness during the afternoon of the preceding day, while witnessing the abundant signs of deer and elk in the country; but this excited no suspicions. he was restless during the night, and was disturbed at a very early hour, long before light, by this trampling of animals. these sounds, he said to me, did not proceed from the horses, which were hobbled. he got up, and found both animals missing. butcher's memory of corn and corn-fodder, at his old master's at potosi, had not yet deserted him, and he carried the hunter's horse along with him. i immediately jumped up, and accompanied him in their pursuit. there was some moonlight, with clouds rapidly passing. we pursued our back-track, anxiously looking from every eminence, and stopping to listen for the sound of the bells. roberts occasionally took up a handful of leaves, which were thickly strewn around, and held them up in the moonlight, to see whether the corks of the horses' shoes had not penetrated them. when he finally found this sign, he was sure we were in the right way. at length, when we had gone several miles, and reached an eminence that overlooked the broad plain of the valley of leaves, we plainly descried the fugitives, jumping on as fast as possible on the way back. we soon overhauled them, and brought them to camp by daybreak, before my companion had yet awaked. roberts now sallied out, and in a few minutes fired at and killed a fat doe, which he brought in, and we made a breakfast by roasting steaks. roberts had expressed no dissatisfaction or desire to return, but, sallying out again among the deer on horseback, said he would rejoin us presently, at a future point. we travelled on, expecting at every turn to see him reappear. but we saw no more of him. the rascal had not only deserted us at a difficult point, but he carried off my best new hunting-knife--a loss not to be repaired in such a place. we at length came to a point where the trail forked. this put us to a stand. which to take, we knew not; and the result was of immense consequence to our journey, as we afterwards found; for, had we taken the right-hand fork, we should have been conducted in a more direct line to the portions of country we sought to explore. we took the left-hand fork, which we followed diligently, crossing several streams running to the north-west, which were probably tributary to the missouri through the gasconade. it was after dark before we came to a spot having the requisites for an encampment, particularly water. it was an opening on the margin of a small lake, having an outlet south-east, which we finally determined to be either one of the sources of the black river, or of the river currents. we had now travelled about twenty miles from our last camp, in a southerly direction. we did not entirely relinquish the idea of being rejoined by roberts, nor become fully satisfied of his treachery, till late in the evening. we had relied on his guidance till we should be able to reach some hunters' camps on the white or arkansas rivers; but this idea was henceforth abandoned. left thus, on the commencement of our journey, in the wilderness, without a guide or hunter, we were consigned to a doubtful fate; our extrication from which depended wholly upon a decision and self-reliance, which he only knows how to value, who is first called to grapple with the hardships of western life. it was the edge of a prairie where we had halted. wood was rather scarce; but we made shift to build a good fire, and went to sleep with no object near us, to excite sympathy, but our horse, who was securely belled and tethered. when we awoke in the morning, the fire was out, and a pack of wolves were howling within a few hundred yards of our camp. whether the horse feared them, i know not; but he had taken his position near the embers of the fire, where he stood quite still. nov. th. in passing two miles, we crossed a small stream running south-east, which evidently had its source in the little lake at our last night's encampment. the trail beyond this was often faint; in the course of eight or ten miles, we began to ascend elevations covered with pines, but of so sterile and hard a soil, that we lost all trace of it. we wound about among these desolate pine ridges a mile or two, till, from one of the higher points, we descried a river in a deep valley, having a dense forest of hard wood, and every indication of animal life. overjoyed at this, we mended our pace, and, by dint of great caution, led our pack-horse into it. it proved to be the river currents, a fine stream, with fertile banks, and clear sparkling waters. the grey-squirrel was seen sporting on its shady margin, and, as night approached, the wild turkey came in from the plains to drink, and make its nightly abode. after fording the river, we soon found our lost trail, which we followed a while up the stream, then across a high ridge which constituted its southern banks, and through dense thickets to the summits of a narrow, deep, and dark limestone valley, which appeared to be an abyss. daylight left us as we wound down a gorge into its dreary precincts; and we no sooner found it traversed by a clear brook, than we determined to encamp. as the fire flashed up, it revealed on either side steep and frowning cliffs, which might gratify the wildest spirit of romance. this stream, with its impending cavernous cliffs, i designated the wall-cave or onónda valley. we had advanced this day about eighteen or twenty miles. we had an opportunity, while on the skirts of the high prairie lands, to fire at some elk, and to observe their stately motions; but, being still supplied with venison, we were not willing to waste the time in pursuing them. our course varied from south to south-west. nov. th. daylight fully revealed our position. we were in a valley, often not more than six hundred feet wide, with walls of high precipitous limestone rock. these cliffs were remarkable for nothing so much as their caverns, seated uniformly at a height of forty or fifty feet above the ground, in inaccessible positions. i do not know the number of these caves, as we did not count them; but they existed on either side of the valley as far as we explored it. most of them were too high to reach. a tree had fallen against the cliff near one of them, by climbing which i reached a small ledge of the rock that afforded a little footing, and, by cautiously groping along, the orifice was finally reached and entered. it proved interesting, although of no great extent; but it contained stalactites depending in clusters from the walls. of these, i secured a number which were translucent. slender crystals of nitrate of potash, of perfect whiteness and crystalline beauty, were found in some of the crevices. having secured specimens of these, i again got out on the ledge of rock, and, reaching the tree, descended in safety. about half a mile higher up the valley, on its south side, we discovered a cavern of gigantic dimensions. the opening in the face of the rock appeared to be about eighty or ninety feet wide, and about thirty high. a projection of rock on one side enabled us to enter it. a vast and gloomy rotundo opened before us. it very soon, after the entry, increases in height to sixty or seventy feet, and in width to one hundred and fifty or two hundred feet, forming an immense hall. this hall has another opening or corridor, leading to a precipitous part of the cliff. it extends into the rock, southerly, an unexplored distance, branching off in lateral avenues from the main trunk. we explored the main gallery five or six hundred yards, when we found obstructions. the roof has been blackened by the carbonaceous effect of fires, kindled by indians or white men, who have visited it, in former years, in search of nitrous earth. in some parts of it, compact bodies of pebbles and reddish clay, very similar to that found on the cliffs, are seen, which creates an idea that the cavern must have been an open orifice at the geological era of the diluvial deposits. this earth, by being lixiviated with common house-ashes, produces a liquid which, on evaporation, yields saltpetre. the cave, i was informed at potosi, has been visited for this purpose by colonel ashley, and it appropriately bears his name. finding it a perfect "rock-house," and being dry, and affording advantages for some necessary repairs to our gear, and arrangements for the further continuation of our explorations, we, about four o'clock in the afternoon, removed our camp up the valley, and encamped within it. we could shelter ourselves completely in its capacious chambers in case of rain, of which there were indications, and take a calm view of the course it seemed now expedient to pursue. thus far, we had had a trail, however slight, to follow; but from this point there was none--we were to plunge into the pathless woods, and to trust ourselves alone to the compass, and the best judgment we could form of courses, distances, and probabilities. a wilderness lay before us, behind us, and around us. we had "taken our lives in our hands," and we were well satisfied that our success must depend on our vigilance, energy, and determination. in addition to the exertion of providing food, and repairing our clothing, which, as we urged our way, was paying tribute to every sharp bush we pressed through, we had to exercise a constant vigilance to prevent indian surprises; for experience had already taught us that, in the wilderness, where there is no law to impose restraint but the moral law of the heart, man is the greatest enemy of man. nov. th. the threatening appearance of the atmosphere induced us to remain most of the day in our rock-house, which was devoted to devising a more safe and compact mode of carrying specimens, to repairs of our pack-saddles, a reconstruction of the mode of packing, &c. we then made a further reconnoissance of the cavern, and its vicinity and productions. i had paid particular attention to the subject of the occurrence of animal bones in our western caves, as those of europe had recently excited attention; but never found any, in a single instance, except the species of existing weasels, and other very small quadrupeds, which are to be traced about these castellated and cavernous cliffs. as evening approached, a flock of turkeys, coming in from the plain to the top of the cliff above the cavern, flew down on to the trees directly in front of us, sheltered as we were from their sight, and afforded a fine opportunity for the exercise of our sportsmanship. nov. th. the rain which had threatened to fall yesterday, poured down this morning, and continued with more or less violence all day. our packages, clothing, arms and accoutrements, were thoroughly overhauled and examined. we had still supplies of everything essential to our comfort. our bacon had not been seriously trenched on, while the forest had amply supplied us with venison, and our groceries bade fair to last us till we should strike some of the main southern streams, or till our increasing powers of endurance and forest skill should enable us to do without them. nov. th. this morning, the sky being clear and bright, we left our rock abode in the wall-cave valley. we ascended this valley a short distance, but, as it led us too far west, and the brush proved so thick as to retard our progress, we soon left it. with some ado, the horse was led to the top of the cliff. a number of lateral valleys, covered with thick brush, made this a labor by no means light. the surface of the ground was rough, vegetation sere and dry, and every thicket which spread before us presented an obstacle which was to be overcome. we could have penetrated many of these, which the horse could not be forced through. such parts of our clothing as did not consist of buckskin, paid frequent tribute to these brambles. at length we got clear of these spurs, and entered on a high table-land, where travelling became comparatively easy. the first view of this vista of highland plains was magnificent. it was covered with moderate-sized sere grass and dry seed-pods, which rustled as we passed. there was scarcely an object deserving the name of a tree, except now and then a solitary trunk of a dead pine or oak, which had been scathed by the lightning. the bleached bones of an elk, a deer, or a bison, were sometimes met. occasionally we passed a copse of oak, or cluster of saplings. the deer often bounded before us, and we sometimes disturbed the hare from its sheltering bush, or put to flight the quail and the prairie-hen. there was no prominent feature in the distance for the eye to rest on. the unvaried prospect at length produced satiety. we felt, in a peculiar manner, the solitariness of the wilderness. we travelled silently and diligently. it was a dry and wave-like prairie. from morning till sunset, we did not encounter a drop of water. this became the absorbing object. hill after hill, and vale after vale, were patiently ascended, and diligently footed, without bringing the expected boon. at last we came, suddenly and unexpectedly, to a small running stream in the plain, where we gladly encamped. i quickly struck up a cheerful fire, and we soon had a cup of tea with our evening's repast. nor was butcher neglected. there was a patch of short green grass on the margin of the brook, to which he did ample justice. we were not long after supper in yielding ourselves to a sound sleep. while we were in the act of encamping, i had placed my powder-flask on the ground, and, on lighting the fire, neglected to remove it. as the plain was covered with dry leaves, they soon took fire, and burned over a considerable space, including the spot occupied by myself and the flask. the latter was a brass-mounted shooting-flask, of translucent horn, having a flaw through which grains of powder sometimes escaped. yet no explosion took place. i looked and beheld the flask, which the fire had thus run over, very near me, with amazement. nov. th. we were now on an elevated summit of table-land or water-shed, which threw its waters off alternately to the missouri and mississippi. it was covered with high, coarse, prairie grass, and its occasional nodding clusters of prairie flowers run to seed. in depressed places, the greenbriar occasionally became entangled with the horse's feet, and required time to extricate him. we very frequently passed the head and thigh-bones of the buffalo, proving that the animal had been freely hunted on these plains. in the course of about eight miles' travel, we passed two small streams running to the north-west, which led us to think that we were diverging too far towards the missouri side of this vast highland plateau. it was still some hours to sunset, and we had gone about four miles farther when we reached a large, broad stream, also flowing towards the north-west. it had a rapid and deep current, on each side of which was a wide space of shallow water, and boulders of limestone and sandstone. it required some skill to cross this river, as it was too deep to ford. the horse was led into the edge of the stream and driven over, coming out with his pack safely on the other side. the shallow parts offered no obstacle; and we bridged the deeper portion of the channel with limbs and trunks of trees, which had been brought down by the stream when in flood and left upon its banks, and, being denuded of their bark, were light and dry, and as white as bleached bones. i had crossed the channel safely, after my companion; but he disturbed the bridge on stepping from it, and caused me to slip from the stick. having my gun in my right hand, i naturally extended it, to break my fall. each end of it, as it reached the stream, rested on a stone, and, my whole weight being in the centre, the barrel was slightly sprung. this bridge, for the purpose of reference, i called calamarca. after crossing the stream, we came to a stand, and, on consultation, explored it downward, to determine its general course; but, finding it to incline toward the north-west, we returned up its southern bank two or three miles above our rustic bridge, and encamped. nov. th. in the morning we proceeded in a south-south-westerly direction, which, after keeping up the valley from the camp of calamarca for a few miles, carried us up an elevated range of hills, covered with large oaks bearing acorns. we had reached the top of a ridge which commanded a view of a valley beyond it, when we observed, far below us in the valley, four bears on an oak, eating sweet acorns. the descent was steep and rough, with loose stones, which made it impossible to lead the horse down without disturbing them. we therefore tied him to a staddle, and, after looking to our priming, we began to descend the height. but, as the leaves had all fallen, concealment was impossible; and when the animals became alarmed, and began to come down the tree, we ran at our utmost speed to reach its foot first. in this effort, my companion fell on the loose stones, and sprained his ankle; i kept on, but did not reach the foot of the tree in time to prevent their escape, and i followed them some distance. when my companion's absence led me back to him, i found him badly hurt; he limped along with the utmost difficulty. i soon mounted him on the pack-horse, and led up the little valley; but the pain of his ankle became so intense, that he could not bear the motion, and, after proceeding a mile or two, we determined to halt and encamp. we had not travelled from our morning's encampment more than five or six miles. i accordingly unpacked the horse, prepared a pallet for my companion, and built a fire. i then bathed his ankle with salt and warm water. this done, i took my gun, and sauntered along the thickets in the hope of starting some game. nothing, however, was found. the shrill and unmusical cry of the bluejay, which was the largest bird i saw, reminded me of other latitudes. thoughtful, and full of apprehension at this untoward accident, i returned to our little camp, and diligently renewed my antalgic applications. nov. th. a night's rest, and the little remedies in my power to employ, had so far abated the pain of my companion's ankle, that he again consented to mount the pack-horse, and we pursued our way up the little valley in which we had encamped. we had not, however, travelled far, when we saw two large black bears playing in the grass before us, and so intently engaged in their sport that they did not observe us. my companion, with my aid, quickly dismounted. we examined our arms, tied the horse, and, having determined to fire together, had reached our several stations before the animals noticed our approach. they at first ran a few yards, but then turned and sat up in the high, sere grass, to see what had disturbed them. we fired at the same moment, each having singled out his mark. both animals fled, but on reaching the spot where the one i fired at had sat, blood was copiously found on the grass. i pursued him and his mate over an adjoining ridge, where i lost sight of them; but discovering, on crossing the ridge, a hollow oak, into which i judged they had crept, i went back for the axe to fell it. while engaged at this, my companion hobbled up, and relieved me at the axe. the tree at length came down with a thundering crash, partially splitting in its fall, and i stood ready with my gun to receive the discomfited inmates; but, after gazing intently for a time, none appeared. it was now evident they had eluded us, and that we had lost the track. the excitement had almost cured my companion's lameness; but it returned when the pursuit was over, and, resuming his position on the horse, we proceeded over a succession of high, oak-covered ridges. in crossing one of these, a large and stately elk offered another object for our notice. he had an enormous pair of horns, which it seemed he must find it difficult to balance in browsing; but the moment he became aware of our propinquity, he lifted his head, and, throwing back the antlers, they seemed to form shields for his shoulders and sides while plunging forward through the thickets. we stood a moment to admire his splendid leaps. these incidents had carried us a few miles out of our course. we were on high broken summits, which resembled, in their surface, what may be conceived of the tossing waves of a sea suddenly congealed. on descending from these towards the south, we came to clumps of bushes, with gravelly areas between, and an occasional standing pool of pure water. it was very evident to our minds, as we advanced, that these pools must communicate with each other through the gravel, and that there were seasons when there was more water washed from the hills. on following down this formation about six miles, the connection became more evident, and the sources of an important river developed themselves. we were, in fact, on the extreme head-waters of the great north fork of white river; the unica of the cherokees, and the _riviere au blanc_ of the french. the manner in which the waters develop themselves on descending the southern slope of these highlands, is remarkable. they proceed in plateaux or steps, on each of which the stream deploys in a kind of lake, or elongated basin, connected with the next succeeding one by a narrow rapid. the rock is a grey sandstone in the lower situations, capped with limestone. in some places the water wholly disappears, and seems to permeate the rock. we came to a place where the river, being some four feet deep, is entirely absorbed by the rock, and does not again appear till a mile below, where it suddenly issues from the rock, in its original volume. chapter v. descend the valley--its difficulties--horse rolls down a precipice--purity of the water--accident caused thereby-- elkhorn spring--tower creek--horse plunges over his depth in fording, and destroys whatever is deliquescent in his pack--absence of antiquities, or evidences of ancient habitation--a remarkable cavern--pinched for food--old indian lodges--the beaver--a deserted pioneer's camp-- incident of the pumpkin. nov. th. daylight put us in motion. it was determined to follow the valley down in its involutions, which led us, generally, south. we passed over some fertile, heavily timbered bottoms, where i observed the elm, oak, beech, maple, ash, and sycamore. we had not left our camp more than a mile, when we came to the first appearance of the _c. arundinacea_, or cane, and we soon after reached the locality of the greenbriar. travelling in these rich forests is attended with great fatigue and exertion from the underbrush, particularly from the thick growth of cane and greenbriar; the latter of which often binds masses of the fields of cane together, and makes it next to impossible to force a horse through the matted vegetation. our horse, indeed, while he relieved us from the burden of carrying packs, became the greatest impediment to our getting forward, while in this valley. to find an easier path, we took one of the summit ranges of the valley. but a horse, it seems, must have no climbing to do, when he is under a pack-saddle. we had not gone far on this ridge, when the animal slipped, or stumbled. the impetus of his load was more than he could resist. the declivity was steep, but not precipitous. he rolled over and over for perhaps two hundred feet, until he reached the foot of the ridge. we looked with dismay as he went, and thought that every bone in his body must have been broken. when we reached him, however, he was not dead, but, with our aid, got up. how he escaped we could not divine, but he looked pleased when he saw us come to his relief, and busy ourselves in extricating him. we unloosed his pack, and did all we could to restore him. we could not find any outward bruise; there was no cut, and no blood was started. even a horse loves sympathy. after a time, we repacked him, and slowly continued our route. the delay caused by this accident, made this a short day's journey; we did not suppose ourselves to have advanced, in a direct line, over twelve miles. the valley is very serpentine, redoubling on itself. nov. th. we found the stream made up entirely of pure springs, gushing from the gravel, or rocks. nothing can exceed the crystal purity of its waters. these springs are often very large. we came to one, in the course of this day, which we judged to be fifty feet wide. it rushes out of an aperture in the rock, and joins the main branch of the river about six hundred yards below, in a volume quite equal to that of the main fork. i found an enormous pair of elk's horns lying on one side of the spring, which i lifted up and hung in the forks of a young oak, and from this incident named it the elkhorn spring. in forcing my way through the rank vines, weeds, and brush, which encumber the valley below this point, i lost my small farrier's hammer from my belt; a loss which was irreparable, as it was the only means we had of setting a shoe on our horse, and had also served on ordinary occasions as a mineral-hammer, instead of the heavier implement in the pack. we often disturbed the black bear from his lair in the thick canebrakes, but travelled with too much noise to overtake him. the deer frequently bounded across the valley, while turkey, squirrel, duck, and smaller game, were also abundant. nov. st. the bottom-lands continued to improve in extent and fertility as we descended. the stream, as it wears its way into deeper levels of the stratification of the country, presents, on either side, high cliffs of rock. these cliffs, which consist of horizontal limestone, resting on sandstone, frequently present prominent pinnacles, resembling ruinous castellated walls. in some places they rise to an astonishing height, and they are uniformly crowned with yellow pines. a remarkable formation of this description appeared to-day, at the entrance of a tributary stream through these walled cliffs, on the left bank, which i called tower creek; it impressed one with the idea of the high walls of a ruined battlement. the purity and transparency of the water are so remarkable, that it is often difficult to estimate its depth in the river. a striking instance of this occurred after passing this point. i was leading the horse. in crossing from the east to the west bank, i had led butcher to a spot which i thought he could easily ford, without reaching above his knees. he plunged in, however, over his depth, and, swimming across with his pack, came to elevated shores on the other side, which kept him so long in the water, and we were detained so long in searching for a suitable point for him to mount, that almost everything of a soluble character in his pack was either lost or damaged. our salt and sugar were mostly spoiled; our tea and indian meal damaged; our skins, blankets, and clothing, saturated. this mishap caused us a world of trouble. though early in the day, we at once encamped. i immediately built a fire, the horse was speedily unpacked, and each particular article was examined, and such as permitted it, carefully dried. this labor occupied us till a late hour in the night. nov. d. up to this point we had seen no osages, of whose predatory acts we had heard so much at potosi, and on the sources of the maramec; nor any signs of their having been in this section of the country during a twelvemonth, certainly not since spring. all the deserted camps, and the evidences of encampment, were old. the bones of animals eaten, found on the high plains east of calamarca, and at the elkhorn spring, were bleached and dry. not a vestige had appeared, since leaving the wall-cliffs, of a human being having recently visited the country. the silence and desolateness of the wilderness reigned around. and when we looked for evidences of an ancient permanent occupation of the region by man, there were none--not a hillock raised by human hands, nor the smallest object that could be deemed antiquarian. the only evidences of ancient action were those of a geological kind--caverns, valleys of denudation, beds of drift, boulders, water-lines and markings on the faces of cliffs, which betokened oceanic overflow at very antique or primary periods. the difficulties attending our progress down the valley, induced us to strike out into the open prairie, where travelling was free, and unimpeded by shrubbery or vines. nothing but illimitable fields of grass, with clumps of trees here and there, met the eye. we travelled steadily, without diverging to the right or left. we sometimes disturbed covies of prairie birds; the rabbit started from his sheltering bush, or the deer enlivened the prospect. we had laid our course south-south-west, and travelled about twenty miles. as evening approached, we searched in vain for water, to encamp. in quest of it, we finally entered a desolate gorge, which seemed, at some seasons, to have been traversed by floods, as it disclosed boulders and piles of rubbish. daylight departed as we wound our way down this dry gorge, which was found to be flanked, as we descended, with towering cliffs. in the meantime, the heavens became overcast with dense black clouds, and rain soon began to fall. we scanned these lofty cliffs closely, as we were in a cavernous limestone country, for evidences of some practicable opening which might give us shelter for the night. at length, after daylight had gone, the dark mouth of a large cavern appeared on our left, at some twenty or thirty feet elevation. the horse could not be led up this steep, but, by unpacking him, we carried the baggage up, and then hobbled and belled the poor beast, and left him to pick a meal as best he could in this desolate valley. it was the best, and indeed the only thing, we could do for him. it was not long before i had a fire in the cave, which threw its red rays upon the outlines of the cavern, in a manner which would have formed a study for michael angelo. it seemed that internal waters had flowed out of this cavern for ages, carrying particle by particle of the yielding rock, by which vast masses had been scooped out, or hung still in threatening pendants. its width was some forty feet, its height perhaps double that space, and its depth illimitable. a small stream of pure water glided along its bottom, and went trickling down the cliff. the accident in crossing the stream had saturated, but not ruined our tea; and we soon had an infusion of it, to accompany our evening's frugal repast--for _frugal_ indeed it became, in meats and bread, after our irreparable loss of the day previous. nothing is more refreshing than a draught of tea in the wilderness, and one soon experiences that this effect is due neither to milk nor sugar. the next thing to be done after supper, was to light a torch and explore the recesses of the cave, lest it should be occupied by some carnivorous beasts, who might fancy a sleeping traveller for a night's meal. sallying into its dark recesses, gun and torch in hand, we passed up a steep ascent, which made it difficult to keep our feet. this passage, at first, turned to the right, then narrowed, and finally terminated in a low gallery, growing smaller and smaller towards its apparent close. this passage became too low to admit walking, but by the light of our torch, which threw its rays far into its recesses, there appeared no possibility of our proceeding further. we then retraced our steps to our fire in the front of the cave, where there were evidences of indian camp-fires. we then replenished our fire with fuel, and spread down our pallets for the night. my companion soon adjusted himself in a concave part of the rock, and went to sleep. i looked out from the front of the cave to endeavor to see the horse; but although i caught a sound of his bell, nothing could be seen but intense darkness. the rain had been slight, and had abated; but the cliffs in front, and the clouds above the narrow valley, rendered it impossible to see anything beyond the reach of the flickering rays of our fire. to its precincts i returned, and entered up my journal of the events of the day. our situation, and the peculiarities of the scenery around us, led me to reflect on that mysterious fate which, in every hazard, attends human actions, and, by the light of the fire, i pencilled the annexed lines, and clapt down the cavern in my journal as the cave of tula.[ ] lines written in a cave in the wilderness of arkansas. o! thou, who, clothed in magic spell, delight'st in lonely wilds to dwell, resting in rift, or wrapped in air, remote from mortal ken, or care: genius of caverns drear and wild, hear a suppliant wandering child-- one, who nor a wanton calls, or intruder in thy walls: one, who spills not on the plain, blood for sport, or worldly gain, like his red barbarian kin, deep in murder--foul in sin; or, with high, horrific yells, rends thy dark and silent cells; but, a devious traveller nigh, weary, hungry, parched, and dry; one, who seeks thy shelter blest, not to riot, but to rest. grant me, from thy crystal rill, oft my glittering cup to fill; let thy dwelling, rude and high, make my nightly canopy, and, by superhuman walls, ward the dew that nightly falls. guard me from the ills that creep on the houseless traveller's sleep-- from the ravenous panther's spring, from the scorpion's poisoned sting, from the serpent--reptile curst-- and the indian's midnight thrust. grant me this, aerial sprite, and a balmy rest by night, blest by visions of delight! let me dream of friendship true, and that human ills are few; let me dream that boyhood's schemes are not, what i've found them, dreams; and his hopes, however gay, have not flitted fast away. let me dream, i ne'er have felt, ease that pleases, joys that melt; or that i shall ever find honor fair, or fortune kind; dream that time shall sweetly fling, in my path, perpetual spring. let me dream my bosom never felt the pang from friends to sever; or that life is not replete, or with loss, pain, wo, deceit. let me dream, misfortune's smart ne'er hath wrung my bleeding heart; nor its potent, galling sway, forced me far, o! far away; let me dream it--for i know, when i wake, it is not so![ ] nov. d. my first care this morning was to find butcher, who had been left, last night, with a sorry prospect. he was not to be found. i followed our back track to the plains, whither he had gone for his night's meal. by the time i returned with him, the forenoon was wellnigh gone. we then travelled to the south-east. this brought us, in due time, again into the valley of the north fork. we found it less encumbered with vines and thickets, and very much widened in its expansion between bluff and bluff. we forded it, and found, on its eastern margin, extensive open oak plains. on one of the most conspicuous trees were marks and letters, which proved that it had been visited and singled out for settlement by some enterprising pioneer. from the open character of the country, we could not get near to large game; and we now found that our supply of ball and shot was near its close. we passed down the valley about ten miles, and encamped. since the loss of our corn-meal, we had had nothing in the shape of bread, and our provisions were now reduced to a very small quantity of dried meat. we had expected, for some days, to have reached either indian or white hunters' camps. our anxiety on this head now became intense. prudence required, however, that, small as our stores were, they should be divided with strict reference to the probability of our not meeting with hunters, or getting relief, for two or three days. nov. th. the stick frames, without bark, of several indian lodges, were passed to-day, denoting that they had not been recently occupied. travelling down the opposite side of the vale from that taken by my companion, who had charge of the horse, i came to a point on the bank of the river, where i discovered two grown beavers sporting in the stream. the tail of this animal, which appears clumsy and unwieldy in the dead specimen, gives the animal a graceful appearance in the water, where it makes him appear to have a very elongated body. after diving about for some time, they came to the shore, and sat in front of their _wauzh_, as it is termed by the algonquins, or lodge, which in this case was a fissure in the rock. i was perfectly screened by a point of the rock from their view, and sat with my gun cocked, reserving my fire, a few moments, the more perfectly to observe them, when both animals, at the same instant, darted into their holes. under the influence of a keen appetite, and a tolerably open forest, we pressed on, this day, about fifteen miles; the horse being, as usual, our chief hindrance. nov. th. i took the horse's bridle over my arm this morning, and had proceeded through open woods about ten miles, when we descried, from a little summit, a hut in the distance, which had some traits of the labor of white men. this gave animation to our steps, in the hope of finding it occupied. but, as we approached, we could discern no smoke rising up as the sign of occupancy, and were disappointed to find it an abortive effort of some pioneer, and, at the moment, called it camp no. we afterwards learned that it had been constructed by one martin, who, as there was not a foot of land in cultivation, had probably aimed to subsist by the chase alone. the location was well chosen. a large canebrake flanked the river, sufficient to give range to horses and cattle. a little tributary stream bounded a fertile piece of upland, east of this. the hut was built of puncheons, supported on one side by a rude ridge-pole, leaving the front of it open, forming a shed which had a roof and floor. but the stream had now dried up. we found a plant of cotton, bolled out, among the adjacent weeds, which proved the soil and climate suitable to its culture. we were now well within the probable limits of arkansas. it was determined to encamp at this spot, turn the horse into the adjacent canebrake, where the leaves were green, to deposit our baggage and camp apparatus in one corner of the hut, and, after making light packs, to take our arms, and proceed in search of settlements. this required a little time. to reach a point where civilization had once tried to get a foothold, however, was something; and we consoled ourselves with the reflection that we could not be remote from its skirts. the next day ( th) i made an excursion west of the river, from our position, about five miles, to determine satisfactorily our situation. i found, on the opposite side of the valley, a little higher up, at the foot of the cliff, another small (white man's) hut, which had also been abandoned. in a small patch of ground, which had once been cleared, there grew a pumpkin vine, which then had three pumpkins. this was a treasure, which i at once secured. i found that one of them had been partially eaten by some wild animal, and determined to give it to my horse, but could not resist the inclination first to cut off a few slices, which i ate raw with the greatest appetite. the taste seemed delicious. i had not before been aware that my appetite had become so keen by fasting; for we had had but little to eat for many days. between the horse and myself, we finished it, and had quite a sociable time of it. with the other two, which were the largest, i rode back to camp, where, having a small camp-kettle, we boiled and despatched them, without meat or bread, for supper. it does not require much to make one happy; for, in this instance, our little luck put us in the best of humor. footnotes: [ ] de soto. [ ] these lines were published in the belles-lettres repository in , and shortly after, with a commendation, in the new york statesman. chapter vi. abandon our camp and horse in search of settlements--incidents of the first day--hear a shot--camp in an old indian lodge-- acorns for supper--kill a woodpecker--incidents of the second day--sterile ridges--want of water--camp at night in a deep gorge--incidents of the third day--find a horse-path, and pursue it--discover a man on horseback--reach a hunter's cabin--incidents there--he conducts us back to our old camp --deserted there without provisions--deplorable state--shifts --taking of a turkey. nov. th. action is the price of safety in the woods. neither dreams nor poetic visions kept us on our pallets a moment longer than it was light enough to see the grey tints of morning. each of us prepared a compact knapsack, containing a blanket and a few absolute necessaries, and gave our belts an extra jerk before lifting our guns to our shoulders; then, secretly wishing our friend butcher a good time in the canebrake, we set out with a light pace towards the south. my companion bonee[ ] was much attached to tea, and, as the article of a small tin pot was indispensable to the enjoyment of this beverage, he burthened himself with this appendage by strapping it on his back with a green sash. this was not a very military sort of accoutrement; but as he did not pride himself in that way, and had not, in fact, the least notion of the ridiculous figure he cut with it, i was alone in my unexpressed sense of the fridayishness of his looks on the march, day by day, across the prairies and through the woods, with this not very glittering culinary appendage dangling at his back. hope gave animation to our steps. we struck out from the valley southerly, which brought us to an elevated open tract, partially wooded, in which the walking was good. after travelling about six miles, we heard the report of a gun on our left. supposing it to proceed from some white hunter, we tried to get into communication with him, and hallooed stoutly. this was answered. i withdrew the ball from my gun, and fired. we then followed the course of the shot and halloo. but, although a whoop was once heard, which seemed from its intonation to be indian, we were unsuccessful in gaining an interview, and, after losing a good deal of time in the effort, were obliged to give it up, and proceed. we had now lost some hours. much of our way lay through open oak forests, with a thick bed of fallen leaves, and we several times searched under these for sweet acorns; but we uniformly found that the wild turkeys had been too quick for us--every sweet acorn had been scratched up and eaten, and none remained but such as were bitter and distasteful. on descending an eminence, we found the sassafras plentifully, and, breaking off branches of it, chewed them, which took away the astringent and bad taste of the acorns. as night approached, we searched in vain for water on the elevated grounds, and were compelled to seek the river valley, where we encamped in an old indian wigwam of bark, and found the night chilly and cold. we turned restlessly on our pallets, waiting for day. nov. th. daylight was most welcome. i built a fire against the stump of a dead tree, which had been broken off by lightning at a height of some thirty or forty feet from the ground. we here boiled our tea, and accurately divided about half an ounce of dried meat, being the last morsel we had. while thus engaged, a red-headed woodpecker lit on the tree, some fifteen or twenty feet above our heads, and began pecking. the visit was a most untimely one for the bird. in a few more moments, he lay dead at the foot of the tree, and, being plucked, roasted, and divided, furnished out our repast. we then gave the straps of our accoutrements a tight jerk, by way of preventing a flaccid stomach--an indian habit--and set forward with renewed strength and hope. we travelled this day over a rolling country of hill and dale, with little to relieve the eye or demand observation, and laid down at night, fatigued, in the edge of a canebrake. nov. th. a dense fog, which overhung the whole valley, prevented our quitting camp at a very early hour. when it arose, and the atmosphere became sufficiently clear to discern our way, we ascended the hills to our left, and took a west-south-west course. nothing can exceed the roughness and sterility of the country we have to-day traversed, and the endless succession of steep declivities, and broken, rocky precipices, surmounted. our line of march, as soon as we left the low grounds of the river valley, led over moderately elevated ridges of oak-openings. we came at length to some hickory trees. beneath one of them, the nuts laid in quantities on the ground. we sat down, and diligently commenced cracking them; but this was soon determined to be too slow a process to satisfy hungry men, and, gathering a quantity for our night's encampment, we pushed forward diligently. tramp! tramp! tramp! we walked resolutely on, in a straight line, over hill and dale. trees, rocks, prairie-grass, the jumping squirrel, the whirring quail--we gave them a glance, and passed on. we finally saw the sun set; evening threw its shades around; night presented its sombre hue; and, as it grew dark, it became cloudy and cold. still, no water to encamp by was found, and it finally became so dark that we were forced to grope our way. by groping in the darkness, we at length stood on the brink of a precipice, and could distinctly hear the gurgling sound of running water in the gulf below. it was a pleasing sound; for we had not tasted a drop since early dawn. had we still had our horse, we should not have been able to get him down in the darkness; but, by seizing hold of bushes, and feeling our way continually, we reached the bottom, and encamped immediately by the stream. it was a small run of pure mountain water. soon a fire arose on its banks. we cracked a few of the nuts. we drank our accustomed tin-cup of tea. we wrapped ourselves in our blankets upon its immediate margin, and knew no more till early daylight, when a cold air had quite chilled us. nov. th. we were happy to get out of this gulf at the earliest dawn. after travelling a couple of miles, we stepped suddenly into a well-beaten horse-path, running transversely to our course, with fresh horse-tracks leading both ways. we stopped to deliberate which end of the path to take. i thought the right-hand would conduct us to the mouth of the river which we had been pursuing down, where it could hardly fail there should be hunters or pioneer settlers located. my companion thought the left hand should be taken, without offering any satisfactory reason for it. i determined, in an instant, to rise above him mentally, by yielding the point, and set out with a firm and ready pace to the left. we travelled diligently about three miles without meeting anything to note, but were evidently going back into the wilderness we had just left, by a wider circuit, when my companion relented, and we turned about on our tracks toward the mouth of the river. we had not gone far, and had not yet reached the point of our original issue from the forest, when we descried a man on horseback, coming toward us. joy flashed in our eyes. when he came up, he told us that there was a hunter located at the mouth of the river, and another, named wells, nearly equidistant on the path he was pursuing; and that, if we would follow him, he would guide us to the latter. this we immediately determined to do, and, after travelling about seven miles, came in sight of the cabin. our approach was announced by a loud and long-continued barking of dogs, who required frequent bidding from their master before they could be pacified. the first object worthy of remark that presented itself on our emerging from the forest, was a number of deer, bear, and other skins, fastened to a kind of rude frame, supported by poles, which occupied the area about the house. these trophies of skill in the chase were regarded with great complacency by our conductor, as he pointed them out, and he remarked that wells was "a great hunter, and a forehanded man." there were a number of acres of ground, from which he had gathered a crop of corn. the house was a substantial, new-built log tenement, of one room. the family consisted of the hunter and his wife, and four or five children, two of whom were men grown, and the youngest a boy of about sixteen. all, males and females, were dressed in leather prepared from deerskins. the host himself was a middle-sized, light-limbed, sharp-faced man. around the walls of the room hung horns of the deer and buffalo, with a rifle, shot-pouches, leather coats, dried meats, and other articles, giving unmistakeable signs of the vocation of our host. the furniture was of his own fabrication. on one side hung a deerskin, sewed up in somewhat the shape of the living animal, containing bears' oil. in another place hung a similar vessel, filled with wild honey. all the members of the family seemed erudite in the knowledge of woodcraft, the ranges and signs of animals, and their food and habits; and while the wife busied herself in preparing our meal, she occasionally stopped to interrogate us, or take part in the conversation. when she had finished her preparations, she invited us to sit down to a delicious meal of warm corn-bread and butter, honey and milk, to which we did ample justice. a more satisfactory meal i never made. it was late in the afternoon when our supper was prepared, and we spent the evening in giving and receiving information of the highest practical interest to each party. wells recited a number of anecdotes of hunting, and of his domestic life. we repaid him with full accounts of our adventures. what appeared to interest him most, was the accounts of the bears and other wild animals we had seen. when the hour for rest arrived, we opened our sacks, and, spreading our blankets on a bearskin which he furnished, laid down before the fire, and enjoyed a sound night's repose. dec. st. we were up with the earliest dawning of light, and determined to regain our position at camp no, on the great north fork, with all possible despatch, and pursue our tour westward. we had understood from the conversation of the hunters among themselves, that they designed forthwith to proceed on a hunting excursion into the region we had passed, on the great north fork, and determined to avail ourselves of their guidance to our deposits and horse. we understood that our course from that point had been circuitous, and that the place could be reached by a direct line of twenty miles' travel due north-west. we purchased from our host a dressed deerskin for moccasins, a small quantity of indian corn, some wild honey, and a little lead. the corn required pounding to convert it into meal. this we accomplished by a pestle, fixed to a loaded swing-pole, playing into a mortar burned into an oak stump. the payment for these articles, being made in money, excited the man's cupidity; for, although he had previously determined on going in that direction, he now refused to guide us to camp no, unless paid for it. this was also assented to, with the agreement to furnish us with the carcase of a deer. by eleven o'clock, a. m., all was ready, and, shouldering our knapsacks and guns, we set forward, accompanied by our host, his three sons, and a neighbor, making our party to consist of seven men, all mounted on horses but ourselves, and followed by a pack of hungry, yelping dogs. our course was due north-west. as we were heavily laden and sore-footed, our shoes being literally worn from our feet by the stony tracts we had passed over, the cavalcade were occasionally obliged to halt till we came up. this proved such a cause of delay to them, that they finally agreed to let us ride and walk, alternately, with the young men. in this way we passed over an undulating tract, not heavily timbered, until about ten o'clock at night, when we reached our abandoned camp, where we found our baggage safe. a couple of the men had been detached from the party, early in the morning, to hunt the stipulated deer; but they did not succeed in finding any, and came in long before us, with a pair of turkeys. one of these we despatched for supper, and then all betook themselves to repose. dec. d. one of the first objects that presented itself this morning was our horse butcher, from the neighboring canebrake, who did not seem to have well relished his fare on cane leaves, and stood doggedly in front of our cabin, with a pertinacity which seemed to say, "give me my portion of corn." poor animal! he had not thriven on the sere grass and scanty water of the ozarks, where he had once tumbled down the sides of a cliff with a pack on, been once plunged in the river beyond his depth, and often struggled with the tangled greenbriar of the valleys, which held him by the foot. with every attention, he had fallen away; and he seemed to anticipate that he was yet destined to become wolf's-meat on the prairies. the hunters were up with the earliest dawn, and several of them went out in quest of game, recollecting their promise to us on that head; but they all returned after an absence of a couple of hours, unsuccessful. by this time we had cooked the other turkey for breakfast, which just sufficed for the occasion. the five men passed a few moments about the fire, then suddenly caught and saddled their horses, and, mounting together, bid us good morning, and rode off. we were taken quite aback by this movement, supposing that they would have felt under obligation, as they had been paid for it, to furnish us some provisions. we looked intently after them, as they rode up the long sloping eminence to the north of us. they brought forcibly to my mind the theatrical representation, in the background, of the march of the forty thieves, as they wind down the mountain, before they present themselves at the front of the cave, with its charmed gates. but there was no "open sesame!" for us. cast once more on our own resources in the wilderness, the alternative seemed to be pressed upon our minds, very forcibly, "hunt or starve." serious as the circumstances appeared, yet, when we reflected upon their manners and conversation, their obtuseness to just obligation, their avarice, and their insensibility to our actual wants, we could not help rejoicing that they were gone. dec. d. left alone, we began to reflect closely on our situation, and the means of extricating ourselves from this position. if we had called it camp "no" from our disappointment at not finding it inhabited on our first arrival, it was now again appropriately camp "no," from not obtaining adequate relief from the hunters. we had procured a dressed buckskin for making moccasins. we had a little pounded corn, in a shape to make hunters' bread. we had not a mouthful of meat. i devoted part of the day to making a pair of indian shoes. we had not a single charge of shot left. we had procured lead enough to mould just five bullets. this i carefully did. i then sallied out in search of game, scanning cautiously the neighboring canebrake, and fired, at different times, three balls, unsuccessfully, at turkeys. it was evident, as i had the birds within range, that my gun had been sprung in the heavy fall i had had, as before related, in the crossing calamarca. my companion then took _his_ gun, and also made an unsuccessful shot. when evening approached, a flock of turkeys came to roost near by. we had now just _one_ ball left; everything depended on _that_. i took it to the large and firm stump of an oak, and cut it into exactly thirty-two pieces, with geometrical precision. i then beat the angular edges of each, until they assumed a sufficiently globular shape to admit of their being rolled on a hard surface, under a pressure. this completed their globular form. i then cleansed my companion's gun, and carefully loaded it with the thirty-two shot. we then proceeded to the roost, which was on some large oaks, in a contiguous valley. i carried a torch, which i had carefully made at the camp. my companion took the loaded gun, and i, holding the torch near the sights at the same time, so that its rays fell directly on the birds, he selected one, and fired. it proved to be one of the largest and heaviest, and fell to the earth with a sound. we now returned to camp, and prepared a part of it for supper, determining to husband the remainder so as to last till we should reach settlements by holding a due west course. dec. th. we had prepared ourselves to start west this day; but it rained from early dawn to dark, which confined us closely to our cabin. rain is one of the greatest annoyances to the woodsman. generally, he has no shelter against it, and must sit in it, ride in it, or walk in it. where there is no shelter, the two latter are preferable. but, as we had a split-board roof, we kept close, and busied ourselves with more perfect preparations for our next sally. i had some minerals that admitted of being more closely and securely packed, and gladly availed myself of the opportunity to accomplish it. our foot and leg gear, also, required renovating. experience had been our best teacher from the first; and hunger and danger kept us perpetually on the _qui vive_, and made us wise in little expedients. footnote: [ ] elision of pettibone. chapter vii. proceed west--bog our horse--cross the knife hills--reach the unica, or white river--abandon the horse at a hunter's, and proceed with packs--objects of pity--sugar-loaf prairie-- camp under a cliff--ford the unica twice--descend into a cavern--reach beaver river, the highest point of occupancy by a hunter population. dec. th. the rain ceased during the night, and left us a clear atmosphere in the morning. at an early hour we completed the package of the horse, and, taking the reins, i led him to the brink of the river, and with difficulty effected a passage. the cliffs which formed the western side of the valley, presented an obstacle not easily surmounted. by leading the animal in a zigzag course, however, this height was finally attained. the prospect, as far as the eye could reach, was discouraging. hill on hill rose before us, with little timber, it is true, to impede us, but implying a continual necessity of crossing steeps and depressions. after encountering this rough surface about two miles, we came into a valley having a stream tributary to the great north fork of white river, which we had quitted that morning, but at a higher point. in this sub-valley we found our way impeded by another difficulty--namely, the brush and small canes that grew near the brook. to avoid this impediment, i took the horse across a low piece of ground, having a thicket, but which appeared to be firm. in this i was mistaken; for the animal's feet soon began to sink, and ere long he stuck fast. the effort to extricate him but served to sink him deeper, and, by pawing to get out, he continually widened the slough in which he had sunk. we then obtained poles, and endeavored to pry him up; but our own footing was continually giving way, and we at length beheld him in a perfect slough of soft black mud. after getting his pack off, we decided to leave him to his fate. we carried the pack to dry ground, on one side of the valley, and spread the articles out, not without deeply regretting the poor beast's plight. but then it occurred to us that, if the horse were abandoned, we must also abandon our camp-kettle, large axe, beds, and most of our camp apparatus; and another and concentrated effort was finally resolved on. to begin, we cut down two tall saplings, by means of which the horse was pried up from the bottom of the slough. he was then grasped by the legs and turned over, which brought his feet in contact with the more solid part of the ground. a determined effort, both of horse and help, now brought him to his feet. he raised himself up, and, by pulling with all our might, we brought him on dry ground. i then led him gently to our place of deposit, and, by means of bunches of sere grass, we both busied ourselves first to rub off the mud and wet, and afterwards to groom him, and rub him dry. when he was properly restored, it was found that he was able to carry his pack-saddle and pack; and he was led slowly up the valley about three miles, where we encamped. the grass in this little valley was of a nourishing quality, and by stopping early we allowed him to recruit himself. we did not estimate our whole distance this day at more than nine miles. dec. th. butcher had improved his time well in the tender grass during the night, and presented a more spirited appearance in the morning. we were now near the head of bogbrook, which we had been following; and as we quitted its sides, long to be remembered for our mishap, we began to ascend an elevated and bleak tract of the mocama or knife hills, so called, over which the winds rushed strongly as we urged our way. few large trees were seen on these eminences, which were often bare, with a hard cherty footing, replaced sometimes by clusters of brambles and thickets. in one of these, a valuable _couteau de chasse_ was swept from its sheath at my side, and lost. i was now reduced to a single knife, of the kind fabricated for the indians, under the name of scalper. for a distance of sixteen miles we held on our way, in a west-south-west course, turning neither to the right nor left. as night approached, we found ourselves descending into a considerable valley, caused by a river. the shrubbery and grass of its banks had been swept by fire in the fall, and a new crop of grass was just rising. we formed our encampment in this fire-swept area, which afforded butcher another benefit, and made some amends for his scanty fare among the bleak eminences of the ozarks. this stream proved to be the little north fork of white river. we here despatched the last morsel of our turkey. dec. th. the ascent of the hills which bounded the valley on the south-west was found to be very difficult; and when the summit was reached, there spread before us an extensive prairie, of varied surface. trees occasionally appeared, but were in no place so thickly diffused as to prevent the growth of a beautiful carpet of prairie grass. when we had gone about six miles, a bold mound-like hill rose on our left, which seemed a favorable spot for getting a view of the surrounding country. we had been told by the hunters that in travelling fifteen miles about west, we should reach a settlement at sugar-loaf prairie, on the main channel of the unica or white river. but on reaching the summit of this natural look-out, we could descry nothing that betokened human habitation. as far as the eye could reach, prairies and groves filled the undulating vista. on reaching its foot again, where our horse was tied, we changed our course to the south, believing that our directions had been vague. we had gone about a mile in this direction, when we entered a faint and old horse-path. this gave animation to our steps. we pursued it about three miles, when it fell into another and plainer path, having the fresh tracks of horses. we were now on elevated ground, which commanded views of the country all around. suddenly the opposite side of a wide valley appeared to open far beneath us, and, stepping forward the better to scan it, the river of which we were in search presented its bright, broad, and placid surface to our view, at several hundred feet below. we stood admiringly on the top of a high, rocky, and precipitous cliff. instinctively to shout, was my first impulse. my companion, as he came up, also shouted. we had reached the object of our search. pursuing the brow of the precipice about a mile, a log building and some fields were discovered on the opposite bank. on descending the path whose traces we had followed, it brought us to a ford. we at once prepared to cross the river, which was four or five hundred yards wide, reaching, in some places, half-leg high. on ascending the opposite bank, we came to the house of a mr. m'garey, who received us with an air of hospitality, and made us welcome to his abode. he had several grown sons, who were present, and who, as we found by their costume and conversation, were hunters. mrs. m'g. was engaged in trying bears' fat, and in due time she invited us to sit down to a meal of these scraps, with excellent corn-bread and sassafras tea, with sugar and milk, served in cups. m'garey had a bluff frankness of manner, with an air of independence in the means of living, and an individuality of character, which impressed us favorably. he told us that we were eight hundred miles west of the mississippi by the stream, that white river was navigable by keel-boats for this distance, and that there were several settlements on its banks. he had several acres in cultivation in indian corn, possessed horses, cows, and hogs, and, as we observed at the door, a hand-mill. at a convenient distance was a smokehouse, where meats were preserved. i observed a couple of odd volumes of books on a shelf. he was evidently a pioneer on the indian land. he said that the cherokees had been improperly located along the western bank of white river, extending to the arkansas, and that the effect was to retard and prevent the purchase and settlement of the country by the united states. he complained of this, as adverse to the scattered hunters, who were anxious to get titles for their lands. he did not represent the cherokees as being hostile, or as having committed any depredations. but he depicted the osages as the scourge and terror of the country. they roamed from the arkansas to the missouri frontier, and pillaged whoever fell in their way. he detailed the particulars of a robbery committed in the very house we were sitting in, when they took away horses, clothes, and whatever they fancied. they had visited him in this way twice, and recently stole from him eight beaver-skins; and during their last foray in the valley, they had robbed one of his neighbors, called teen friend, of all his arms, traps, and skins, and detained him a prisoner. this tribe felt hostile to all the settlers on the outskirts of missouri and arkansas, and were open robbers and plunderers of all the whites who fell defenceless into their hands. they were, he thought, particularly to be dreaded in the region which we proposed to explore. he also said that the osages were hostile to the newly-arrived cherokees, who had migrated from the east side of the mississippi, and had settled in the country between the red river and arkansas, and that these tribes were daily committing trespasses upon each other. having myself, but a short time before, noticed the conclusion of a peace between the western cherokees and osages at st. louis, before general clark, i was surprised to hear this; but he added, as an illustration of this want of faith, that when the cherokees returned from that treaty, they pursued a party of osages near the banks of white river, and stole twenty horses from them. dec. th. on comparing opinions, for which purpose we had an interview outside the premises, it seemed that these statements were to be received with some grains of allowance. they were natural enough for a victim of indian robberies, and doubtless true; but the events had not been recent, and they were not deemed sufficient to deter us from proceeding in our contemplated tour to the higher ozarks at the sources of the river. it was evident that we had erred a good deal from our stick bridge at calamarca, from the proper track; but we were nevertheless determined not to relinquish our object. having obtained the necessary information, we determined to pursue our way, for which purpose we turned the horse to graze with m'garey's, rid ourselves of all our heavy baggage by depositing it with him, and prepared our knapsacks for this new essay. when ready, our host refused to take any pay for his hospitalities, but, conducting us to his smokehouse, opened the door, and then, drawing his knife from its sheath, placed it, with an air of pomposity, in my hand, offering the handle-end, and said, "go in and cut." i did so, taking what appeared to be sufficient to last us to our next expected point of meeting hunters. the place was well filled with buffalo and bear meat, both smoked and fresh, hanging on cross-bars. at nine o'clock we bade our kind entertainer adieu, and, taking directions to reach sugar-loaf prairie, crossed over the river by the same ford which we had taken in our outward track from camp no, in the valley of the great north fork. relieved from the toilsome task of leading the horse, we ascended the opposite cliffs with alacrity, and vigorously pursued our course, over elevated ground, for about sixteen miles. the path then became obscure; the ground was so flinty and hard, that it was in vain we searched for tracks of horses' feet. some time was lost in this search, and we finally encamped in a cane bottom in the river valley. my companion had again charged himself with the coffeepot, which he carried in a similar manner at his back; and when i came to open my pack, told me he thought i had not cut deep enough into the dried bear's meat of m'garey's smokehouse. to a man who refused all pay, and had been invariably kind, i felt that moderation, in this respect, was due. i was, besides, myself to be the carrier of it; and we, indeed, never had cause to regret the carefulness of my selection. dec. th. finding ourselves in the river's bottom, we forced our way, with no small effort, through the thick growth of cane and vines. we had, perhaps, advanced seven miles through this dense vegetation, when we suddenly burst into a small cleared space. here, in a little, incomplete shanty, we found a woman and her young child. she had not a morsel to eat, and looked half famished. her husband had gone into the forest to hunt something to eat. the child looked feeble. we were touched at the sight, and did all we could to relieve them. they had been in that position of new-comers about two weeks, having come up from the lower parts of the river. from this point, we ascended the river hills eastwardly, and pursued our journey along an elevated range to the sugar-loaf prairie--a name which is derived from the striking effects of denudation on the limestone cliffs, which occupy the most elevated positions along this valley. we were received with blunt hospitality by a tall man in leather, called coker, whose manner appears to be characteristic of the hunter. our approach was heralded by the usual loud and long barking of dogs, and we found the premises surrounded by the invariable indications of a successful hunter--skins of the bear and other animals, stretched out on frames to dry. we were no sooner at home with our entertainer, than he began to corroborate what we had before heard of the hostility of the osages. he considered the journey at this season hazardous, as he thought they had not yet broke up their fall hunting-camps, and retired to their villages on the grand osaw (osage). he also thought it a poor season for game, and presented a rather discouraging prospect to our view. my gun having proved useless, we tried to obtain a rifle which he possessed, and seemed willing to part with, but not at a reasonable price. mr. coker represented the settlers of sugar-loaf prairie to consist of four families, situated within the distance of eight miles, including both banks of the river. this was exclusive of two families living at beaver creek, the highest point yet occupied. dec. th. it was noon before we were prepared to depart from coker's. the old man refused to take anything for our meals and lodging; and we bade him adieu, after taking his directions as to the best route to pursue to reach beaver creek, our next point. we travelled through a lightly-timbered, hilly, barren country, about eight miles, when the skies became overcast, and some rain fell. it was still an early hour to encamp, but we came at this time into a small ravine, with running water, which had on one bank a shelving cave in the limestone rock, forming a protection from the rain. we built a fire from red cedar, which emitted a strong aromatic odor. the weather begins to assume a wintry character; this is the first day we have been troubled with cold fingers. dec. th. we left our camp at the cave on cedar brook, and resumed our march at an early hour, and found the face of the country still rough and undulating, but covered, to a great extent, with brush. my companion thought we had gone far enough to have struck the waters of the beaver, and, as he carried the compass this day, he deviated westward from the intended course. this brought us to the banks of a river, which he insisted, contrary to my opinion, must be the beaver. to me this did not seem probable, but, yielding the point to him, we forded the stream at waist deep. we then ascended a lofty and difficult range of river hills, and, finding ourselves now at the level of the country, we held on in a westerly course, till it became clearly evident, even to my companion, that we were considerably west of the white river. we then retraced our steps, descended the river hills to the bank of the stream, and followed up its immediate margin, in search of a convenient spot for encampment; for, by this time, night approached rapidly. we were soon arrested by a precipitous cliff, against the base of which the river washed. as the sun sank lower, we felt a keen and cold wind, but could not find a stick of wood on the western bank with which to kindle a fire. the alternative presented to us was, either to remain here all night without a fire, exposed to the chilling blast, or cross a deep stream to the opposite shore, where there was an extensive alluvial plain, covered with trees and the cane plant, and promising an abundance of fuel. night had already closed around us, when we decided to cross the river. we found it to be four or five feet deep, and some two hundred yards wide. when we got over, it was with great difficulty that we succeeded in collecting a sufficiency of dry materials to kindle a fire; and by the time we had accomplished it, our wet clothes had become stiff and cold, the wind at the same time blowing very fiercely. our utmost efforts were required to dry and warm ourselves, nor did we attain these points in a sufficient degree to secure a comfortable night's rest. dec. th. the ground this morning was covered with white hoar-frost, with a keen and cold air, and a wintry sky. early daylight found us treading our way across the low grounds to the cliffs. we soon ascended on an elevated rocky shore, bordering the river, which was completely denuded of trees and shrubbery. it was early, the sun not having yet risen, when we beheld before us, rising out of the ground, a column of air which appeared to be of a warmer temperature. its appearance was like that of smoke from a chimney on a frosty morning. on reaching it, the phenomenon was found to be caused by a small orifice in the earth, from which rarefied air issued. on looking down intently, and partially excluding the light, it was seen to be a fissure in the limestone rock, with jagged, narrow sides, leading down into a cavern. i determined to try the descent, and found the opening large enough to admit my body. feeling for a protuberance on which to rest my feet, and closely pressing the sides of the orifice, i slowly descended. my fear was that the crevice would suddenly enlarge, and let me drop. but i descended in safety. i thus let myself down directly about twenty feet, and came to the level floor of a gallery which led in several directions. the light from above was sufficient to reveal the dark outlines of a ramified cavern, and to guide my footsteps for a distance. i went as far in the largest gallery as the light cast any direct rays, but found nothing at all on the floor or walls to reward my adventure. it was a notable fissure in a carbonate of lime, entirely dry, and without stalactites. what i most feared in these dim recesses, was some carnivorous animal, for whose residence it appeared to be well adapted. having explored it as far as i could command any light to retrace my steps, i returned to the foot of the original orifice. i found no difficulty, by pressing on each side, in ascending to the surface, bringing along a fragment of the limestone rock. i afterwards observed, while descending the river, that this cavern was in a high, precipitous part of the coast, of calcareous rock, the foot of which was washed by the main channel of white river. we now resumed our march, and, at the distance of about six miles, reached beaver creek, a mile or two above its mouth. it is a beautiful, clear stream, of sixty yards wide, with a depth of two feet, and a hard, gravelly bottom. we forded it, and, keeping down the bank, soon fell into a horse-path, which led us, in following it about a mile and a half, to a hunter's dwelling, occupied by a man named fisher. he received us in a friendly manner, and we took up our abode with him. six or eight hundred yards higher, there was another cabin, occupied by a man named holt. both had been but a short time located at this place; they had not cleared any ground, nor even finished the log houses they occupied. both buildings were on the bank of the river, on the edge of a large and very fertile bottom, well wooded, and with a very picturesque coast of limestone opposite, whose denuded pinnacles had received the name of the little tower. chapter viii. obstacle produced by the fear of osage hostility--means pursued to overcome it--natural monuments of denudation in the limestone cliffs--purity of the water--pebbles of yellow jasper--complete the hunters' cabins--a job in jewellery--construct a blowpipe from cane--what is thought of religion. dec. th. holt and fisher were the highest occupants of the white river valley. they had reached this spot about four months before, and had brought their effects partly on pack-horses, and partly in canoes. the site was judiciously chosen. a finer tract of rich river bottom could not have been found, while the site commanded an illimitable region, above and around it, for hunting the deer, buffalo, elk, and other species, besides the beaver, otter, and small furred animals, which are taken in traps. we tried, at first vainly, to persuade them to accompany us in our further explorations. to this they replied that it was osage hunting-ground, and that tribe never failed to plunder and rob all who fell in their power, particularly hunters and trappers. and besides, they were but recent settlers, and had not yet completed their houses and improvements. as we were neither hunters nor trappers, we had no fears of osage hostility; for this was, in a measure, the just retribution of that tribe for an intrusion on their lands, and the destruction of its game, which constituted its chief value to them. nor did we anticipate encountering them at all, at this season, as they must have withdrawn, long ere this, to their villages on the river osage. dec. th. there appears no other way to induce the hunters to go with us, but to aid them in completing their cottages and improvements. this we resolved to do. holt then agreed to accompany us as a guide and huntsman, with the further stipulation that he was to have the horse which had been left at m'garey's, and a small sum of money, with liberty also to undertake a journey to the settlements below for corn. hereupon, fisher also consented to accompany us. dec. th. this obstacle to our movements being overcome, we busied ourselves in rendering to the hunters all the assistance in our power, and made it an object to show them that we could do this effectively. we began by taking hold of the frow and axe, and aiding holt to split boards for covering a portion of the roof of his house. i doubt whether my companion had ever done the like work before; i am sure i never had; but having thrown myself on this adventure, i most cheerfully submitted to all its adverse incidents. dec. th. this morning, holt and fisher--the latter accompanied by his son, with three horses--set out on their journey to purchase corn, leaving us, in the interim, to provide fuel for their families; a labor by no means light, as the cold was now severe, and was daily growing more intense. to-day, for the first time, we observed floating ice in the river; and, even within the cabins, water exposed in vessels for a few moments, acquired a thin coating of ice. dec. th. at daybreak we built a substantial, rousing fire in the cabin, of logs several feet long; we then pounded the quantity of corn necessary for the family's daily use. this process brings the article into the condition of coarse grits, which are boiled soft, and it then bears the name of homony. of this nutritious dish our meals generally consist, with boiled or fried bear's bacon, and a decoction of sassafras tea. the fat of the bear is very white and delicate, and appears to be more digestible than fresh pork, which is apt to cloy in the stomach. after breakfast, wishing to give the hunters evidence of our capacity of being useful, we took our axes and sallied out into the adjoining wood, and began to fell the trees, cut them into proper lengths for firewood, and pile the brush. about five o'clock, we were summoned to our second meal, which is made to serve as dinner and supper. we then carried up the quantity of firewood necessary for the night. this consumed the remainder of the short december day; and, before lying down for the night, we replenished the ample fire. this sketch may serve as an outline of our daily industry, during the eleven days we tarried with the hunters. dec. th. i have mentioned the fondness of my companion for tea. this afternoon he thought to produce an agreeable surprise in our hostess's mind, by preparing a dish of young hyson. but she sipped it as she would have done the decoction of some bitter herb, and frankly confessed that she did not like it as well as the forest substitutes, namely, sassafras, dittany, and spicewood. and the manner in which she alluded to it as "store tea," plainly denoted the article not to be numbered among the wants of a hunter's life. dec. th. the river having been closed with ice within the last two days, we crossed it this afternoon to visit the two pyramidal monuments of geological denudation which mark the limestone range of the opposite shore. i determined, if possible, to ascend one of them. the ascent lies through a defile of rocks. by means of projections, which could sometimes be reached by cedar roots, and now and then a leap or a scramble, i succeeded in ascending one of them to near its apex, which gave me a fine view of the windings of the river. the monuments consist of stratified limestone, which has, all but these existing peaks, crumbled under the effects of disintegration. i observed no traces of organic remains. it appeared to be of the same general character with the metalliferous beds of missouri, and is, viewed in extenso, like that, based on grey or cream-colored sand-rock. i found this limestone rock cavernous, about seven miles below. in crossing the river, i was impressed with the extreme purity of the water. the ice near the cliffs having been formed during a calm night, presented the crystalline purity of glass, through which every inequality, pebble, and stone in its bed, could be plainly perceived. the surface on which we stood was about an inch thick, bending as we walked. the depth of water appeared to be five or six feet; but i was told that it was fully twenty. the pebbles at this place are often a small, pear-shaped, opaque, yellow jasper. they appear to have been disengaged from some mineral bed at a higher point on the stream. dec. th. observed as a day of rest, it being the sabbath. the atmosphere is sensibly milder, and attended with haziness, which appears to betoken rain. dec. st. we employed ourselves till three o'clock in hewing and splitting planks for holt's cabin floor, when rain compelled us to desist. the following circumstance recently occurred here: two hunters had a dispute about a horse, which it was alleged one had stolen from the other; the person aggrieved, meeting the other some days after in the woods, shot him dead. he immediately fled, keeping the woods for several weeks; when the neighboring hunters, aroused by so glaring an outrage, assembled and set out in quest of him. being an expert woodsman, the offender eluded them for some time; but at last they obtained a glimpse of him as he passed through a thicket, when one of his pursuers shot him through the shoulder, but did not kill him. this event happened a few days before our arrival in this region. it will probably be the cause of several murders, before the feud is ended. dec. d. the rain having ceased, we resumed and completed our job of yesterday at holt's. the atmosphere is hazy, damp, and warm. my medical skill had not been called on since the affair at the four bear creek, where my companion sprained his ankle. the child of mrs. holt was taken ill with a complaint so manifestly bilious, that i gave it relief by administering a few grains of calomel. this success led to an application from her neighbor, mrs. f., whose delicate situation made the responsibility of a prescription greater. this also proved favorable, and i soon had other applicants. dec. d. about ten o'clock this morning, holt and fisher returned, laden with corn. the day was mild and pleasant, the severity of the atmosphere having moderated, and the sky become clear and bright. they appeared to be pleased with the evidences of our thrift and industry during their absence, and we now anticipated with pleasure an early resumption of our journey. to this end, we were resolved that nothing should be wanting on our part. we had already faithfully devoted seven days to every species of labor that was necessary to advance their improvements. dec. th. i had yesterday commenced hewing out a table for holt's domicile, from a fine, solid block of white-ash. i finished the task to-day, to the entire admiration of all. we now removed our lodgings from fisher's to holt's, and employed the remainder of the day in chinking and daubing his log house. of these two men, who had pushed themselves to the very verge of western civilization, it will be pertinent to say, that their characters were quite different. holt was the better hunter, and more social and ready man. he was quick with the rifle, and suffered no animal to escape him. fisher was of a more deliberative temperament, and more inclined to surround himself with the reliances of agriculture. he was also the better mechanic, and more inclined to labor. holt hated labor like an indian, and, like an indian, relied for subsistence on the chase exclusively. fisher was very superstitious, and a believer in witchcraft. holt was scarcely a believer in anything, but was ever ready for action. he could talk a little chickasaw, and had several of their chansons, which he sung. both men had kept for years moving along on the outer frontiers, ever ready for a new remove; and it was plain enough, to the listener to their tales of wild adventure, that they had not been impelled, thus far, on the ever advancing line of border life, from the observance of any of the sterner virtues or qualities of civilized society. there were occasions in their career, if we may venture an opinion, when to shoot a deer, or to shoot a man, were operations that could be performed "agreeably to circumstances." to us, however, they were uniformly kind, frank, friendly; for, indeed, there was no possible light in which our interests were brought in conflict. we were no professed hunters, and our journey into the ozark hunting-grounds was an advantage to them, by making them better acquainted with the geography of their position. they could not quit home on such a journey, however, without leaving some meat for their families; and they both set out to-day for this purpose. it appeared that they had, some days before, killed on a river bottom, about twelve miles above this point in the river valley, a buffalo, a bear, and a panther; but, not having horses with them, had scaffolded the carcases of the two former. notwithstanding this precaution, the wolves had succeeded in reaching the buffalo meat, and had partly destroyed it. the carcase of the bear was safe. they returned in the afternoon with their trophies. they also brought down some of the leg-bones of the buffalo, for the sake of their marrow. they are boiled in water, to cook the marrow, and then cracked open. the quantity of marrow is immense. it is eaten while hot, with salt. we thought it delicious. we learn by conversing with the hunters that a high value is set upon the dog, and that they are sought with great avidity. we heard of one instance where a cow was given for a good hunting dog. dec. th, christmas day. at our suggestion, the hunters went out to shoot some turkeys for a christmas dinner, and, after a couple of hours' absence, returned with fourteen. in the meantime, we continued our labors in completing the house. i prevailed on our hostess, to-day, to undertake a turkey-pie, with a crust of indian meal; and, the weather being mild, we partook of it under the shade of a tree, on the banks of the river. dec. th. having now obviated every objection, and convinced the hunters that no dangers were to be apprehended at this late season from the osages, and having completed the preparations for the tour, to-morrow is fixed on as the time of starting. our hostess mentioned to me that she had a brass ring, which she had worn for many years, and declared it to be an infallible remedy for the cramp, with which she had been much afflicted before putting it on, but had not had the slightest return of it since. she was now much distressed on account of having lately broken it; and, observing the care i bestowed on my mineralogical packages, she thought i must possess skill in such affairs, and solicited me to mend it. it was in vain that i represented that i had no blowpipe or other necessary apparatus for the purpose. she was convinced i could do it, and i was unwilling to show a disobliging disposition by refusing to make the attempt. i therefore contrived to make a blowpipe by cutting several small pieces of cane, and fitting one into the other until the aperture was drawn down to the required degree of fineness. a hollow cut in a billet of wood, and filled with live hickory coals, answered instead of a lamp; and with a small bit of silver money, and a little borax applied to the broken ring, with my wooden blowpipe, i soon soldered it, and afterwards filed off the redundant silver with a small file. i must remark that the little file and bit of borax, without which the job could not have been accomplished, was produced from the miscellaneous housewife of my hostess. dec. th. rain, which began at night, rendered it impossible to think of starting to-day. it was the sabbath, and was improved as a time of rest and reflection. i took the occasion to make some allusions, in a gentle and unobtrusive way, to the subject, and, in connection with some remarks which one of my entertainers had made a few days previously, on the subject of religion generally, condense the following observations:--he said that while living on the banks of the mississippi, a few years ago, he occasionally attended religious meetings, and thought them a very good thing; but he had found one of the preachers guilty of a gross fraud, and determined never to go again. he thought that a man might be as good without going to church as with it, and that it seemed to him to be a useless expenditure, &c.; very nearly, indeed, the same kind of objections which are made by careless and unbelieving persons everywhere, i fancy, _in_ the woods or _out_ of them. the hardships of the hunter's life fall heavily on females. mrs. holt tells me that she has not lived in a floored cabin for several years--that during this period they have changed their abode many times--and that she has lost four children, who all died under two years. chapter ix. proceed into the hunting-country of the osages--diluvial hills and plains--bald hill--swan creek--osage encampments--form of the osage lodge--the habits of the beaver--discover a remarkable cavern in the limestone rock, having natural vases of pure water--its geological and metalliferous character-- reach the summit of the ozark range, which is found to display a broad region of fertile soil, overlying a mineral deposit. my stay, which i regarded in the light of a pilgrimage, at the hunters' cabins, was now drawing to a close. i had originally reached their camps after a fatiguing and devious march through some of the most sterile and rough passages of the ozarks, guided only by a pocket compass, and had thrown myself on their friendship and hospitality to further my progress. without their friendly guidance, it was felt that no higher point in this elevation could be reached. every objection raised by them had now been surmounted. i had waited their preliminary journey for corn for their families, and my companion and myself had made ourselves useful by helping, in the mean time, to complete their cabins and improvements. while thus engaged, i had become tolerably familiar with their character, physical and moral, and may add something more respecting them. holt, as i have before indicated, was a pure hunter, expert with the rifle, and capable of the periodical exertion and activity which hunting requires, but prone to take his ease when there was meat in the cabin, and averse to all work beside. he was of an easy, good-natured temper, and would submit to a great deal of inconvenience and want, before he would rouse himself. but when out in the woods, or on the prairies, he was quite at home. he knew the habits and range of animals, their time for being out of their coverts, the kind of food they sought, and the places where it was likely to be found. he had a quick eye and a sure aim, and quadruped or bird that escaped him, must be nimble. he was about five feet eight inches in height, stout and full faced, and was particular in his gear and dress, but in nothing so much as the skin wrapper that secured his rifle-lock. this was always in perfect order. fisher was two or three inches taller, more slender, lank of features, and sterner. he was a great believer in the bewitching of guns, seemed often to want a good place to fire from, had more deliberation in what he did, and was not so successful a sportsman. he had, too, when in the cabin, more notions of comfort, built a larger dwelling, worked more on it, and had some desires for cultivation. when on the prairie, he dismounted from his horse with some deliberation; but, before he was well on terra firma, holt had slid off and killed his game. the shots of both were true, and, between them, we ran no danger of wanting a meal. it was the twenty-eighth day of december before every objection to their guiding us was obviated, and, although neither of them had been relieved from the fear of osage hostility, they mounted their horses in the morning, and announced themselves ready to proceed. our course now lay toward the north-west, and the weather was still mild and favorable. we ascended through the heavily-timbered bottom-lands of the valley for a mile or two, and then passed by an easy route through the valley cliffs, to the prairie uplands north of them. after getting fairly out of the gorge we had followed, we entered on a rolling highland prairie, with some clumps of small forest trees, and covered, as far as the eye could reach, with coarse wild grass, and the seed-pods of autumnal flowers, nodding in the breeze. it was a waving surface. sometimes the elevations assumed a conical shape. sometimes we crossed a depression with trees. often the deer bounded before us, and frequently the sharp crack of the rifle was the first intimation to me that game was near. holt told me that the error of the young or inexperienced hunters was in looking too far for their game. the plan to hunt successfully was, to raise the eye slowly from the spot just before you, for the game is often close by, and not to set it on distant objects at first. we moved on leisurely, with eyes and ears alert for every sight and sound. a bird, a quadruped, a track--these were important themes. when night approached, we encamped near the foot of an eminence, called, from its appearance, the bald hill. an incident occurred early in our march, which gave us no little concern. a fine young horse of one of the neighboring hunters, which had been turned out to range, followed our track from white river valley, and, notwithstanding all the efforts of our guides, could not be driven back. at length they fired the dry prairie-grass behind us, the wind serving, deeming this the most effectual way of driving him back. the expedient did not, however, prove eventually successful; for, after a while, the animal again made his appearance. we lost some time in these efforts. it was thought better, at length, that i should ride him, which was accomplished by placing a deerskin upon his back by way of saddle, with a kind of bridle, &c. the animal was spirited, and, thus mounted, i kept up with the foremost. we travelled to-day about ten miles. the day was clear, but chilly, with a north-westerly wind, which we had to face. holt had killed a young doe during the day, which was quickly skinned, and he took along the choice parts of it for our evening's repast. part of the carcase was left behind as wolf's-meat. dec. th. little change appeared in the country. for about six miles we travelled over hill and dale, meeting nothing new, but constantly expecting something. we then descended into the valley of swan creek--a clear stream of thirty yards wide, a tributary of white river. its banks present a rich alluvial bottom, well wooded with maple, hickory, ash, hag-berry, elm, and sycamore. we followed up this valley about five miles, when it commenced raining, and we were compelled to encamp. protection from the rain, however, was impossible. we gained some little shelter under the broad roots of a clump of fallen trees and limbs, and passed a most comfortless night, being wet, and without a fire. the next morning, (dec. th,) at the earliest dawn, we were in motion. after ascending the swan creek valley about nine miles, through a most fertile tract, we fell into the osage trail, a well-beaten horse-path, and passed successively three of their deserted camps, which had apparently been unoccupied for a month or more. the poles and frames of each lodge were left standing, and made a most formidable show. the paths, hacked trees, and old stumps of firebrands, showed that they had been deserted in the fall. the fear of this tribe now appeared to have left the minds of our guides. these encampments were all very large, and could probably each have accommodated several hundred persons. the form of the osage lodge may be compared to a hemisphere, or an inverted bird's-nest, with a small aperture left in the top for the escape of smoke, and an elongated opening at the side, by way of door, to pass and repass. it is constructed by cutting a number of flexible green poles, sharpened at one end, and stuck firmly in the ground. the corresponding tops are then bent over and tied, and the framework covered with linden bark. these wigwams are arranged in circles, one line of lodges within another. in the centre is a scaffolding for meat. the chief's tent is conspicuously situated at the head of each encampment. it is different from the rest, resembling an inverted half cylinder. the whole is arranged with much order and neatness, and evinces that they move in large parties, that the chiefs exercise a good deal of authority. the osages are a tribe who have from early times been prominent in the south-west, between the arkansas and missouri. the term osage is of french origin; it seems to be a translation of the algonquin term assengigun, or bone indians. why? they call themselves was-ba-shaw, and have a curious allegory of their having originated from a beaver and a snail. they are divided into two bands, the little and great osages, the latter of whom make their permanent encampments on the river osage of the missouri. the ozarks appear from early days to have been their hunting-grounds for the valuable furred animals, and its deep glens and gorges have served as nurseries for the bear. they are one of the great prairie stock of tribes, who call god wacondah. they are physically a fine tribe of men, of good stature and courage, but have had the reputation, among white and red men, of being thieves and plunderers. certainly, among the hunter population of this quarter, they are regarded as little short of ogres and giants; and they tell most extravagant tales of their doings. luckily, it was so late in the season that we were not likely to encounter many of them. in searching the precincts of the old camps, my guides pointed out a place where the indians had formerly pinioned down teen friend, one of the most successful of the white trappers in this quarter, whom they had found trapping their beaver in the swan creek valley. i thought it was an evidence of some restraining fear of our authorities at st. louis, that they had not taken the enterprising old fellow's scalp, as well as his beaver packs. life in the wilderness is dependent on contingencies, which are equally hard to be foreseen or controlled. we are, at all events, clearly out of the jurisdiction of a justice of the peace. and the maxim that we have carefully conned over in childhood, "no man may put off the law of god," is but a feeble reliance when urged against the osages or pawnees. deeming themselves now high enough up the swan creek valley, my guides determined to leave it, and turned their horses' heads up a gorge that led to the open plains. we now steered our course north-west, over an elevated plain, or prairie, covered, as usual, with ripe grass. we followed across this tract for about twenty miles, with no general deviation of our course, but without finding water. in search of this, we pushed on vigorously till night set in, when it became intensely dark, and we were in danger of being precipitated, at every step, into some hole, or down some precipice. darkness, in a prairie, places the traveller in the position of a ship at sea, without a compass; to go on, or to stop, seems equally perilous. for some two hours we groped our way in this manner, when one of the guides shouted that he had found a standing pool. meantime, it had become excessively dark. the atmosphere was clouded over, and threatened rain. on reaching the pool, there was no wood to be found, and we were compelled to encamp without a fire, and laid down supperless, tired, and cold. my guides were hardy, rough fellows, and did not mind these omissions of meals for a day together, and had often, as now, slept without camp-fires at night. as the object seemed to be a trial of endurance, i resolved not to compromit myself by appearing a whit less hardy than they did, and uttered not a word that might even shadow forth complaint. this was, however, a cold and cheerless spot at best, with the wide prairie for a pillow, and black clouds, dropping rain, for a covering. the next morning, as soon as it was at all light, we followed down the dry gorge in which we had lain, to findley's fork--a rich and well-timbered valley, which we descended about five miles. as we rode along through an open forest, soon after entering this valley, we observed the traces of the work of the beaver, and stopped to view a stately tree, of the walnut species, which had been partially gnawed off by these animals. this tree was probably eighteen or twenty inches in diameter, and fifty feet high. the animals had gnawed a ring around it, but abandoned their work. it had afterwards been undermined by the freshets of the stream, and had fallen. was it too hard a work? if so, it would seem that some instinct akin to reason came to their aid, in leading them to give up their essay. there was now every appearance of a change of weather. it was cold, and a wintry breeze chilled our limbs. i thought my blood was as warm as that of my guides, however, and rode on cheerfully. at length, holt and fisher, of their own motion, stopped to kindle a fire, and take breakfast. we had still plenty of fresh venison, which we roasted, as each liked, on spits. thus warmed and refreshed, we continued down the valley, evidently in a better philosophical mood; for a man always reasons better, and looks more beneficently about him, this side of starvation. i observed a small stream of pure water coming in on the north, side, which issued through an opening in the hills; and as this ran in the general direction we were pursuing, the guides led up it. we were soon enclosed in a lateral valley, with high corresponding hills, as if, in remote ages, they had been united. very soon it became evident that this defile was closed across and in front of us. as we came near this barrier, it was found that it blocked up the whole valley, with the exception of the mouth of a gigantic cave. the great width and height of this cave, and its precipitous face, gave it very much the appearance of some ruinous arch, out of proportion. it stretched from hill to hill. the limpid brook we had been following, ran from its mouth. on entering it, the first feeling was that of being in "a large place." there was no measure for the eye to compute height or width. we seemed suddenly to be beholding some secret of the great works of nature, which had been hid from the foundation of the world. the impulse, on these occasions, is to shout. i called it winoca.[ ] on advancing, we beheld an immense natural vase, filled with pure water. this vase was formed from concretions of carbonate of lime, of the nature of stalagmite, or, rather, stalactite. it was greyish-white and translucent, filling the entire breadth of the cave. but, what was still more imposing, another vase, of similar construction, was formed on the next ascending plateau of the floor of the cave. the water flowed over the lips of this vase into the one below. the calcareous deposit seems to have commenced at the surface of the water, which, continually flowing over the rims of each vase, increases the deposit. the height of the lower vase is about five feet, which is inferable by our standing by it, and looking over the rim into the limpid basin. the rim is about two and a half inches thick. etruscan artists could not have formed a more singular set of capacious vases. the stream of water that supplies these curious tanks, rushes with velocity from the upper part of the cavern. the bottom of the cave is strewed with small and round calcareous concretions, about the size of ounce balls, of the same nature with the vases. they are in the condition of stalagmites. these concretions are opaque, and appear to have been formed from the impregnated waters percolating from the roof of the cavern. there are evidences of nitric salts in small crevices. geologically, the cavern is in the horizontal limestone, which is evidently metalliferous. it is the same calcareous formation which characterizes the whole ozark range. ores of lead (the sulphurets) were found in the stratum in the bed of a stream, at no great distance north of this cave; and its exploration for its mineral wealth is believed to be an object of practical importance. i had now followed the geological formation of the country far south-westwardly. the relative position of the calcareous, lead-bearing stratum, had everywhere been the same, when not disturbed or displaced. wide areas on the sources of the maramec, gasconade, and osage, and also of the currents, spring river, and eleven-points and strawberry, were found covered by heavy drift, which concealed the rock; but wherever valleys had been cut through the formation by the stream, and the strata laid bare, they disclosed the same horizontality of deposit, and the same relative position of limestone and sandstone rock. footnote: [ ] from the osage word for an underground spirit. chapter x. depart from the cave--character of the hunters who guided the author--incidents of the route--a beautiful and fertile country, abounding in game--reach the extreme north-western source of white river--discoveries of lead-ore in a part of its bed--encamp and investigate its mineralogy--character, value, and history of the country--probability of its having been traversed by de soto in . it was the last day of the year , when we reached the cave of winoca, as described in the preceding chapter, on the ozark summit. an inspection of the country had shown the fact that the mineral developments of its underlying rocks were of a valuable character, while the surface assumed the most pleasing aspect, and the soil, wherever examined, appeared to be of the very richest quality. the bold, rough hunters, who accompanied me, thought of the country only as an attractive game country, which it was a great pity, they said, that the indians alone should occupy; and they had very little curiosity about anything that did not minister to their immediate wants. they had lived for so long a time by the rifle, that they had a philosophy of the rifle. it was the ready arbiter between themselves, and the animal creation, and the indians, and even other hunters. neither the striking agricultural or mineral resources of the country, arrested much attention on their part. and as soon as i was ready to relinquish my examinations at the cave and proceed, they were ready to resume their horses and lead forward. unfortunately, it was now severely cold, and everything in the heavens prognosticated its increasing severity. on leaving the valley of the cave, and ascending the hills that environed it, we passed over a gently sloping surface of hill and vale, partly covered with forest trees, and partly in prairies. i have seldom seen a more beautiful prospect. the various species of oaks and hickories had strewed the woods with their fruits, on which the bear and wild turkey revelled, while the red deer was scarcely ever out of sight. long before the hour of encampment had arrived, the hunters had secured the means of our making a sumptuous evening meal on wild viands; and when, at an early hour, we pitched our camp on the borders of a small brook, holt, who was ever ready with the rifle, added a fat brant from this brook to our stores. we had not travelled more than twelve miles, but we had a sharp wind to face, the day being severe; and nothing was so agreeable, when we halted, as the fire, around which we enjoyed ourselves, as we each displayed our skill in forest cookery. there was cutting, and carving, and roasting, in the true prairie style. we then prepared our couches and night-fires, and slept. at the earliest peep of light, we were again in motion. the st of january, , opened with a degree of cold unusual in these regions. their elevation is, indeed, considerable; but the wind swept with a cutting force across the open prairies. we were now on the principal north-western source of white river, the channel of which we forded in the distance of two miles. the western banks presented a naked prairie, covered with dry grass and autumnal weeds, with here and there a tree. we pushed on towards the north-east. the prairie-hen, notwithstanding the cold, rose up in flocks before us, as we intruded upon their low-couched positions in the grass. of these, holt, whose hunting propensities no cold could restrain, obtained a specimen; he also fired at and killed a wild goose from the channel of the river. on passing about four miles up the western banks of the stream, we observed a lead of lead-ore, glittering through the water in the bed of the river, and determined to encamp at this spot, for the purpose of investigating the mineral appearances. the weather was piercingly cold. we found some old indian camps near at hand, and procured from them pieces of bark to sheath a few poles and stakes, hastily put up, to form a shelter from the wind. a fire was soon kindled, and, while we cooked and partook of a forest breakfast, we recounted the incidents of the morning, not omitting the untoward state of the weather. when the labor of building the shanty was completed, i hastened to explore the geological indications of the vicinity. the ore which had attracted our notice in the bed of the stream, existed in lumps, which presented bright surfaces where the force of the current had impelled its loose stony materials over them. it was a pure sulphuret of lead, breaking in cubical lines. i also observed some pieces of hornblende. it was not easy to determine the original width of the bed of ore. its course is across the stream, into the banks of red marly clay on which we had encamped. its geological position is in every respect similar to the metalliferous deposits at potosi, except that there were no spars, calcareous or barytic, in sight. i gathered, in a few minutes, a sufficient number of specimens of the ore for examination, and employed myself in erecting, on the banks of the river, a small furnace, of the kind called "log-furnace" in missouri, to test its fusibility. in the mean time, my new england companion took a survey of the surrounding country, which he pronounced one of the most fertile, and admirably adapted to every purpose of agriculture. much of the land consists of prairie, into which the plough can be immediately put. the forests and groves, which are interspersed with a park-like beauty through these prairies, consist of various species of oaks, maple, white and black walnut, elm, mulberry, hackberry, and sycamore. holt and fisher scanned the country for game, and returned to camp with six turkeys and a wolf. their fear of the osages had been only apparently subdued. they had been constantly on the look-out for signs of indian enemies, and had their minds always filled with notions of hovering osages and pawnees. the day was wintry, and the weather variable. it commenced snowing at daylight, and continued till about eight o'clock, a. m. it then became clear, and remained so, with occasional flickerings, until two o'clock, when a fixed snowstorm sat in, and drove me from my little unfinished furnace, bringing in the hunters also from the prairies, and confining us strictly to our camp. this storm continued, without mitigation, nearly all night. jan. d. the snow ceased before sunrise, leaving the country wrapped in a white mantle. the morning was cold; the river began to freeze about nine o'clock, and continued till it was closed. the weather afforded an opportunity for continuing the explorations and examinations commenced yesterday. i found that the red clay afforded a good material for laying the stones of my lead-furnace, and continued working at it for a part of the day. the hunters came in with the carcases of two deer, and the skin of a black wolf. except in its color, i could not distinguish any permanent characteristics in the latter differing from the large grey wolf, or coyote. its claws, snout, and ears, were the same--its tail, perhaps, a little more bushy. the size of this animal, judging from the skin, must have been double that of the little prairie-wolf, or _myeengun_ of the indians of the north. i found the bed of the stream, where it permitted examination, to be non-crystalline limestone, in horizontal beds, corresponding to the formation observed in the cave of winoca. its mineral constituents were much the same. the country is one that must be valuable hereafter for its fertility and resources. the prairies which extend west of the river are the most extensive, rich, and beautiful, of any which i have yet seen west of the mississippi. they are covered with a most vigorous growth of grass. the deer and elk abound in this quarter, and the buffalo is yet occasionally seen. the soil in the river valley is a rich black alluvion. the trees are often of an immense height, denoting strength of soil. it will probably be found adapted to corn, flax, hemp, wheat, oats, and potatoes; while its mining resources must come in as one of the elements of its future prosperity. i planted some peach-stones in a fertile spot near our camp, where the growth of the sumac denoted unusual fertility. and it is worthy of remark that even holt, who had the antipathy of an indian to agriculture, actually cut some bushes in a certain spot, near a spring, and piled them into a heap, by way of securing a pre-emption right to the soil. the region of the ozark range of mountain development is one of singular features, and no small attractions. it exhibits a vast and elevated tract of horizontal and sedimentary strata, extending for hundreds of miles north and south. this range is broken up into high cliffs, often wonderful to behold, which form the enclosing walls of river valleys. the arkansas itself forces its way through, about the centre of the range. the washita marks its southern boundary. the st. francis and the maramec, at the mouth of the former of which de soto landed, constitute its northern limits. the junction of the missouri with the mississippi may be said to be its extreme northern development. the missouri, from the influx of the osage, is pushed northward by the ozark range. it rests, on the south, upon the primitive granites, slates, and quartz rock, of washita. the celebrated hot springs issue from it. the long-noted mines of missouri, which once set opinion in france in a blaze, extend from its north-eastern flanks. the primitive sienites and hornblende rock of the sources of the st. francis and grand rivers, support it. the unica or white river, the strawberry, spring river, currents and black rivers, descend from it, and join the mississippi. the great and little osage, and the gasconade, flow into the missouri. the great plains, and sand-desert, which stretches at the eastern foot of the rocky mountains, lie west of it. it is not less than two hundred miles in breadth. no part of the central regions of the mississippi valley exhibits such a variety in its geological constituents, or such a striking mineralogical development. its bodies of the ore of iron called iron-glance, are unparalleled. these are particularly developed in the locality called iron mountain, or the sources of the st. francis. its ores of lead, zinc, antimony, and manganese, are remarkable. its limestones abound in caves yielding nitre. salt and gypsum are found in the plains on its western borders. its large blocks of quartz rock, which are found north of the arkansas river, particularly scattered over the formations crossing the little red, buffalo, and white rivers, about the buffalo shoals, furnish indications of the diluvial gold deposit, which would justify future examination. through these alpine ranges de soto roved, with his chivalrous and untiring army, making an outward and inward expedition into regions which must have presented unwonted hardships and discouragements to the march of troops. to add to these natural obstacles, he found himself opposed by fierce savage tribes, who rushed upon him from every glen and defile, and met him in the open grounds with the most savage energy. his own health finally sank under these fatigues; and it is certain that, after his death, his successor in the command, moscoso, once more marched entirely through the southern ozarks, and reached the buffalo plains beyond them. such energy and feats of daring had never before been displayed in north america; and the wonder is at its highest, after beholding the wild and rough mountains, cliffs, glens, and torrents, over which the actual marches must have laid. some of the names of the indian tribes encountered by him, furnish conclusive evidence that the principal tribes of the country, although they have changed their particular locations since the year , still occupy the region. thus, the kapahas, who then lived on the mississippi, above the st. francis, are identical with the quappas, the cayas with the kanzas, and the quipana with the pawnees. chapter xi. severe winter weather on the summit of the ozarks--false alarm of indians--danger of my furnace, etc., being hereafter taken for antiquities--proceed south--animal tracks in the snow--winoca or spirit valley--honey and the honey-bee--buffalo-bull creek--robe of snow--mehausca valley--superstitious experiment of the hunters--arrive at beaver creek. the indications of severe weather, noticed during the last day of december, and the beginning of january, were not deceptive; every day served to realize them. we had no thermometer; but our feelings denoted an intense degree of cold. the winds were fierce and sharp, and snow fell during a part of each day and night that we remained on these elevations. we wrapped our garments closely about us at night, in front of large fires, and ran alternately the risk of being frozen and burnt. one night my overcoat was in a blaze from lying too near the fire. this severity served to increase the labor of our examinations; but it did not, that i am aware, prevent anything essential. on the fourth day of my sojourn here, a snowstorm began, a little before one o'clock in the morning; it ceased, or, as the local phrase is, "held up," at daybreak. the ground was now covered, to a depth of from two to three inches, with a white mantle. such severity had never been known by the hunters. the winds whistled over the bleak prairies with a rigor which would have been remarkable in high northern latitudes. the river froze entirely over. the sun, however, shone out clearly as the day advanced, and enabled me to complete my examinations, as fully as it was practicable to do, under the existing state of the weather. it happened, on this day, that my companion had walked a mile or two west, over the smooth prairie, to get a better view of the conformation of the land, returning to camp before the hunters, who had also gone in the same general direction. on their coming back, one of them, whose head was always full of hostile osages, fell on his returning track in the snow, and carefully traced it to our camp. he came in breathless, and declared that the osages were upon us, and that not a moment was to be lost in breaking up our camp, and flying to a place of security. when informed of the origin of the tracks, he still seemed incredulous, and could not be pacified without some difficulty. we then prepared, by collecting fuel, and increasing our bark defences against the wind and snow, to pass another night at the camp. i had now followed the ozarks as far as it seemed practicable, and reached their western summit, notwithstanding every discouragement thrown in my way by the reports of the hunters, from the first moment of my striking the white river; having visited the source of nearly every river which flows from it, both into the missouri and the mississippi. i had fully satisfied myself of its physical character and resources, and now determined to return to the camps of my guides at beaver creek, and continue the exploration south. it was the th of january, , when we prepared our last meal at that camp, and i carefully put up my packages in such portable shape as might be necessary. some time was spent in looking up the horses, which had been turned into a neighboring canebrake. the interval was employed in cutting our names, with the date of our visit, on a contiguous oak, which had been previously blazed for the purpose. these evidences of our visit were left, with the pit dug in search of ore, and the small smelting-furnace, which, it is hoped, no zealous antiquarian will hereafter mistake for monuments of an elder period of civilization in the mississippi valley. when this was accomplished, and the horses brought up, we set out with alacrity. the snow still formed a thin covering on the ground, and, being a little softened by the sun, the whole surface of the country exhibited a singular map of the tracks of quadrupeds and birds. in these, deer, elk, bears, wolves, and turkeys, were prominent--the first and last species, conspicuously so. in some places, the dry spots on the leaves showed where the deer had lain during the storm. these resting-spots were uniformly on declivities, which sheltered the animal from the force of the wind. frequently we crossed wolf-trails in the snow, and, in one or two instances, observed places where they had played or fought with each other, like a pack of dogs--the snow being tramped down in a circle of great extent. we also passed tracts of many acres, where the turkeys had scratched up the snow, in search of acorns. we frequently saw the deer fly before us, in droves of twenty or thirty. they will bound twenty feet at a leap, as measured, on a gentle declivity. this animal is impelled by a fatal curiosity to stop and turn round to look at the cause of its disturbance, after running a distance. it is at this moment that the hunter generally fires. about noon, we reached and crossed findley's fork, or the winoca valley--the locality of the cave. two miles south of it, in ascending an elevation, our ears were saluted by a murmuring sound in the air, which the hunters declared to be single bees, flying in a line. i observed one of them directing its flight to the top of a large oak, which was thus indicated as the repository of their honey. my companion and myself proceeded to chop it down, while the hunters stood by. it was of the white-oak species, and was judged to be two feet and a half across. when it fell, a hollow limb was fractured, disclosing a large deposit of most beautiful white honeycombs. we ate without stint, sometimes dipping cooked pieces of venison (we had no bread) in the fluid part. the remainder was then wrapped up in a freshly flayed deerskin, and firmly tied, to be carried to the hunters' cabins at beaver creek on one of the horses. we now resumed our route. as evening approached, we entered the head of a valley formed out of the plain, toward our right. it turned out to be a stream known to them, in their buffalo hunts, as bull creek. here we encamped, having travelled about twenty miles. the weather continued moderately cold during the day, the sun not having attained sufficient power to melt the snow. a single deer was the trophy of this day's hunt. morning found us, as we arose from our couches, in a small, brushy, and tangled valley, through which it was not easy to make our way. the weather was raw, cold, and lowering, and the hunters did not seem inclined to make an early start. it was determined to replenish our fire, and breakfast, first. it was a rough region, and cost some exertion and fatigue to get out of its tangled defiles, and ascend the plains south of it. these impediments consumed so much time, that we made but slow progress. the atmosphere was so obscure, that it was difficult to determine the proper course; and it was evident that the guides did not know exactly where they were. at length they entered one of the lateral valleys of swan creek, the mehausca of the osages. in this, after following it down some distance, we encamped. the atmosphere was clouded up, and betokened falling weather. the next morning, (jan. th), when i awoke, i felt an extra pressure of something on my blanket, which had the effect to keep off the wind, and produce warmth; and on opening its folds, i threw off a stratum of an inch or two of snow. we had been fatigued by the day's march, and slept soundly. some eight miles' travel brought us to the junction of this little tributary with the mehausca, where our guides, by recognizing known objects, reassured themselves of their true position. it was, however, still hazy and obscure, and doubts soon again arose in their minds as to the proper course. after travelling some miles in this perplexity, they were at length relieved by observing a known landmark in the peak of bald hill. this mark was, however, soon lost sight of, and, the atmosphere still continuing overclouded, dark, and hazy, they speedily became again bewildered. i was surprised at this; it denoted a want of precision of observation, which an indian certainly could not have been charged with. he is able, in the worst weather, to distinguish the _north_ from the _south_ face of a mature and weathered tree--a species of knowledge, of the utmost consequence to him in his forest wanderings. an experiment, of letting a certain horse take his course homeward, by throwing the reins upon his neck, was adopted by our guides; but after trying it for some time, it was found necessary to give it up. it was clear that the animal was going directly from home; and fisher, who believed in bewitched guns, was obliged to yield the point. not long after resuming the reins, holt announced, in the dense atmosphere which enveloped us, that we were ascending the valley hills that border the main channel of white river. as soon as this was verified, and we had reached the highest point, the guides both fired their rifles, to advertise their families, on the bottom-lands below, of their approach; and we were soon welcomed, at the hunters' cabins at the mouth of beaver creek, "by dogs, women, and children, all greasy and glad." during this trip, i had listened to frequent recitals of the details of hunting the bear, beaver, deer, and other animals, the quality of dogs, the secret of baits, &c.--a species of forest lectures, the details of which, at the moment, were new to me, and had the charm of novelty, and the merit of information; but which it is unimportant, at this length of time, to repeat.[ ] footnote: [ ] vide journal of a tour into the interior of missouri and arkansas. london, . chapter xii. descend white river in a canoe--its pure water, character, and scenery--places of stopping--bear creek--sugar-loaf prairie--big creek--a river pedlar--pot shoals--mouth of little north fork--descend formidable rapids, called the bull shoals--stranded on rocks--a patriarch pioneer-- mineralogy--antique pottery and bones--some trace of de soto--a trip by land--reach the mouth of the great north fork. i determined to descend the river from the hunters' cabins at beaver creek, being the highest location to which a pioneer hunting population had pushed, and with this view purchased a large and new canoe, of about twenty feet in length, from the enterprising hunters. putting into this such articles from our former packs as were deemed necessary, and some provisions, i took the bow, with a long and smooth pole to guide it in rapids and shoals, and gave the stern to my companion, with a steering-paddle. it was now the th of january. bidding adieu to our rough, but kind and friendly guides, we pushed into the stream, and found ourselves floating, with little exertion, at the rate of from three to four miles per hour. the very change from traversing weary plains and prairies, and ascending steep cliffs, was exhilarating and delightful. white river is one of the most beautiful and enchanting streams, and by far the most transparent, which discharge their waters into the mississippi. to a width and depth which entitle it to be classed as a river of the third magnitude in western america, it unites a current which possesses the purity of crystal, with a smooth and gentle flow, and the most imposing, diversified, and delightful scenery. objects can be clearly seen in it, through the water, at the greatest depths. every pebble, rock, fish, or shell, even the minutest body which occupies the bottom of the stream, is seen with the most perfect distinctness; and the canoe, when looking under it, seemed, from the remarkable transparency of the water, to be suspended in air. the indians, observing this peculiarity, called it unica, which is the transitive form of _white_. the french of louisiana merely translated this term to _la riviere au blanc_. it is, in fact, composed of tributaries which gush up in large crystal springs out of the ozark range of mountains, and it does not receive a discoloured tributary in all its upper course. these gigantic springs, which are themselves a curiosity, originate in the calcareous or sandstone strata of that remarkable chain, and are overlaid by a heavy oceanic deposit of limestone, quartz, hornstone, and chert pebbles, which serve as a filtering-bed to the upspringing waters. sometimes these pebbles are found to be jasper, of a beautiful quality. the scenery of its shores is also peculiar. most frequently the limestone, which has been subjected to the destructive power of the elements, is worn into pinnacles of curious spiral shapes. where the river washes the base of these formations, a high and precipitous wall of rock casts its shadow over the water. on the shores opposite to such precipices, there is invariably a rich diluvial plain, covered by a vigorous forest of trees, clothed in all the graceful luxuriance of a summer foliage. if the shores be examined to any distance inland, the calcareous rock is found to exhibit frequent caverns, where the percolation of the waters has produced stalactites of beautiful forms, or the concretions are spread upon the floors of these caves in curious masses. often, upon the shores, we observed the graceful doe. at early hours in the morning, the wild turkeys appeared in large flocks, with their plumage glistening in the light. the duck, goose, and brant, often rose up before us, and lighted in the stream again below us; and we thus drove them, without intending it, for miles. sometimes, perched on some high pinnacle or towering tree, the eagle, hawk, or heron, surveyed our descent, as if it were an intrusion upon their long undisturbed domain. a few miles below our point of embarkation, we passed, on the left shore, a precipitous wall of calcareous rock, on the summit of which i observed the location of the cavern, into the mouth of which i descended some twenty or thirty feet, on my outward journey; and it now seemed probable that the ramifications which i saw by the dim light admitted, were of an extensive character. as the shades of night overtook us, a hunter's cabin was descried on the left shore, where a landing was made. it proved to be occupied by a person of the name of yochem, who readily gave us permission to remain for the night. he told us we had descended thirty miles. he regaled us hospitably with wild viands, and, among other meats, the beaver's tail--a dish for epicures. resuming the descent at an early hour, a couple of miles brought us to the inlet of bear creek--a stream coming in on the right side, which is described as long, narrow, and crooked. nothing denoted that man had ever made his residence along this part of the stream. we floated on charmingly. at every turn, some novel combination of scenery presented itself. as evening drew near, a hunter's cabin appeared on our right, and, a couple of miles further, another on our left, near one of those natural monuments of denudation common to the limestone of this river, which is called the sugar-loaf. we stopped for the night at this habitation, and found it to be occupied by a mr. coker. the old man received us with the usual frank and friendly air and manner of a hunter. more than fifty years must have marked his frontier pilgrimage on its constantly shifting boundary. he stood some six feet three in height, was erect and thin, and looked like one of the patriarchs of the woods, who, cherishing his personal independence and his rifle, had ever relied upon his own arm for a support, and distrusted nothing on earth half so much as indians. in his view, the osages were the perfection of robbers; and he congratulated us on getting out of their country with our scalps safely on our heads, and our "plunder" (a common word here for baggage) untouched. it appeared from his estimates that we had descended the river twenty-five miles. rain fell copiously during the night; but it ceased before daylight ( th), by the earliest gleams of which we were again in motion, descending the pellucid river. at the computed distance of sixteen miles, we passed the mouth of big river, a considerable stream on the left banks, where i halted a few moments to see a new location which had just been commenced. a small clearing had been made in the dense canebrake, and a log house commenced. shortly below this spot, we encountered a river pedlar, ascending the stream with his commodities in a canoe. on conversing with him, i found his knowledge of affairs very local and partial. of the outer world, and of its news, he knew nothing. at every stage of our progress, the river was increasing in its volume; and, soon after this occurrence, we observed its velocity accelerated, and almost imperceptibly found ourselves gliding rapidly over the pot shoals. this rapid appeared less formidable than had been anticipated. i rose up to observe the draught of the current, and, by a few strokes of the pole, kept the canoe in the force of the stream. about seven miles below these shoals, and just as evening closed in, a house appeared on the left shore. it proved to be m'garey's, at whose domicile we had originally struck on crossing the wilderness from potosi. he was glad to hail our return from a region, against the indian occupants of which, he had decidedly warned us on our outward trip, but from whom we had fortunately received no injury. he informed us that we had this day descended the river forty miles, that being the received distance to sugar-loaf prairie. we were indeed cordially received as old acquaintances, and congratulated on our perseverance in visiting a region where indian hostility was so much to be dreaded. on learning that the osages had retired west, and that the country abounded in game, one of the sons of our host prepared to push into that region. m'garey told us that he had delivered "butcher," agreeably to our order, to holt; but the latter, on travelling a day's journey toward beaver creek, had found him too feeble to proceed, and, after taking off his shoes, had abandoned him to the wolves. sad emblem of the fate of persons who have served great men, till they have reached some pinnacle where the service is forgotten, because no longer necessary! nearly opposite, but a little below this cabin, we passed, on the th, the mouth of the little north fork; a stream originating in a broken region on the left bank, and having some alluvions at its mouth. evidences of habitation became more frequent below the little north fork, which caused me to cease noting their succession in my journal. nothing of special interest occurred to mark the day's progress, till we reached, at an advanced hour in the afternoon, the bull shoals. at this formidable rapid, the river probably sinks its level fifteen or twenty feet in the space of half a mile. masses of limestone rock stand up in the bed of the river, and create several channels. between these the river foams and roars. when i arose in the canoe to take a view of the rapid into which we were about to plunge, the bed of the stream appeared to be a perfect sheet of foam, whirling and rushing with great force and tumult. as i knew not the proper channel, and it was too late to withdraw, the only step left was to keep the canoe headed, and down we went most rapidly. very soon the canoe leaped on a round rock, driving on it with great force, and veered about crosswise. in an instant i jumped into the water at the bows, while my companion did the same at the stern, and, by main force, we lifted it over the ledge, got in quickly, and again headed it properly. we were, emphatically, in the midst of roaring rapids; their very noise was deafening. the canoe had probably got down six hundred yards, when a similar difficulty occurred, at the head of a second shute or bench of rocks, reaching across the river. in an instant, it again struck. it was obviated by getting into the water, in the same way as on the first occasion; only, however, to put our strength and skill to the test a third time, after which we shot down to the foot of the rapids safely. we had managed neither to ship water, nor to lose a piece of baggage. we were, however, thoroughly wetted, but kept our position in the canoe for five miles below the rapid, bringing us to the head of friend's settlement. we landed, at a rather early hour in the evening, at a log building on the left shore, where we were hospitably received by teen friend, a man of mature age and stately air, the patriarch of the settlement. it was of him that we had heard stories of osage captivity and cruelty, having visited one of the very valleys where he was kept in "durance vile." the antiquities and mineral appearances in that vicinity were represented as worthy of examination; in consequence of which, i devoted a part of the next day ( th) to these objects. the neighboring hills consist of stratified limestone. the surface of the soil exhibits some fragments of hornstone and radiated quartz, with indications of iron-ore. at the shoals, traces of galena and calcareous spar occur. mr. friend, being familiar from personal observation with the geography and resources of the country at large, states that rock-salt is found between the south fork of white river and the arkansas, where the pawnees and osages make use of it. it is presumed that this salt consists of crystalline masses from the evaporation of saline water. he represents the lead-ores on its north-western source, which we had partially explored, as very extensive. if, as is probable, de soto ranged over these regions in his extensive marches between the st. francis and arkansas, his exploratory parties may have reached the locality of crystalline salt referred to, and he would have found the buffalo in several positions east of that place. the antiquarian objects to which my attention was called, afforded the greatest degree of interest. they consisted of pieces of earthenware, some antique fragments of bone, and a metallic alloy, resting in a substance resembling ashes, and also arrow-heads. the metallic alloy, of which mr. f. gave me a specimen, resembles a combination of lead and tin. but what adds to the interest attending the discovery of these articles, is the fact, that they lie, apparently, below the diluvial deposits, bearing a heavy forest, and at the geological line of intersection with the consolidated rocks. from the apparent vestiges in this quarter, i am of opinion that de soto's "tanico" must be located in this vicinity, and that he crossed the white river near this place. a march west of this point, over a hilly country, would bring him into the fertile valley of the little red river, or buffalo creek--his probable tula, where his people first tasted the flesh of this animal, and where he recruited his army for a new effort. these inquiries occupied the morning. it was late before we embarked, and, at some four miles below, we landed on the right shore, at a mr. zadock lee's, being the first new englander whom we had met in this region. with him we took dinner. he appeared pleased to see us, and conducted me to see some antique, white, lime-like masses, in the earth, near the bank of the river, which had the appearance of decayed bones. rumor speaks of some other antiquities in this quarter of the country, in the shape of bricks, concealed by the undisturbed soil; but i saw nothing of this kind. while here, mr. lee's son returned from the forest with the flesh of the bear and buffalo, the fruits of his own prowess in the chase, and amused us with an account of his recent exhibition of skill in these departments. we embarked and descended the river six miles, to a mr. jacob yochem's, who received us with hospitality, and added no little, by his conversation, to our local lore. it was determined, the next morning, ( th,) to loan our canoe, which was a capacious, new, and clean vessel, made from white-ash, to our host, to enable him to transport his hunter products to a market at the mouth of the great north fork, leaving our baggage to be brought that way. the distance by water is thirty-five miles; by land, probably not more than eighteen or twenty. by this step, we avoided the dangers of navigating two formidable rapids, called the crooked creek and buffalo shoals; the former situated fifteen, and the latter twenty miles below yochem's. we left our host's at a seasonable hour in the morning, taking a good horse-path; and we walked diligently till near dusk, before reaching our destination. we then had the whole volume of white river between us and our purposed place of lodgment, which was at the residence of a man named matney. it was the only house within a considerable distance at which shelter for the night could be obtained; and we did not hesitate long between the two alternatives presented to us--either of lying out in the woods all night, or of fording the river, with the depth of which we were not acquainted. we chose the latter, and accordingly prepared for the attempt. at the shallowest part we could find, it was about four feet deep in the channel; but we struggled through, and reached the house just at nightfall, wet and chilly. we were hospitably received, and speedily made ourselves comfortable. we had been told that the distance was fifteen miles; but to us, who had diligently footed it, it seemed more than twenty. chapter xiii. detention at the mouth of the great north fork--natural history of the vicinity--great blocks of quartz--imposing precipices of the calico rock--a characteristic of american scenery--cherokee occupancy of the country between the white and arkansas rivers--its effects on the pioneers-- question of the fate of the indian races--iron-ore--descent to the arkansas ferries--leave the river at this point-- remarks on its character and productions. the canoe had not yet arrived, nor was there any tidings of it the next morning; so that there was no alternative, in our present situation, but to wait patiently. i determined to improve the delay by exploring the neighborhood. it is a geographical point of some importance, being the head of the navigation of white river for all large craft ascending from the mississippi. as yet, nothing but keel-boats have ascended. between the point of our embarkation at beaver creek and this spot, the river has a fall of about sixty feet, at four rapids, which do not probably extend over a mile or two in the aggregate. the stream, during the rest of the way, has a fine, lively current, seldom of great velocity, and never stagnates. the great north fork, the scene of our former ramblings, enters a short distance below the foot of the buffalo shoals, rendering the draught of water practicable, it is believed, for steamboats at all seasons. i found the pebble-stones and boulders on the margin and bed of the river, which i leisurely examined, to afford a true representation of the formations which had been observed in traversing the elevated and broken surface of the ozarks. they consist of the various limestones and sandstones of the region, with a partial mixture of quartz rock, red sienite, hornstone, argillaceous rock, and the peculiar, egg-shaped, coarse yellow jasper, which appears to have been imbedded in some of its strata. on ascending the cliffs west of the valley, they were observed to consist of the characteristic limestone of the region, in horizontal layers, the upper strata containing impressions of shells. very large angular masses of quartz rock lie near the bases of these cliffs. some of the angles of these masses would probably measure fourteen feet. their position here appears to be quite anomalous, as, from the absence of attrition, they are clearly not of the erratic block group. they appear to indicate a primitive formation near. the half hunter, half farmer, to whom we had loaned our canoe, came with a number of his companions in the evening, and entered on a scene of merriment, to which, as the cabin had but one room, we were compelled to be unwilling spectators during the livelong night, though, from its character, not participating at all therein. as soon as there was light sufficient to discern objects ( th), we embarked, rejoiced to get clear of this extraordinary nocturnal scene. about half a mile below, we passed the mouth of the great north fork, and, some five or six miles further, entered and descended a swift channel, called the crooked rapids, where there probably has been some slight geological disturbance in the bed of the river, observable in very low stages of water. at the distance of ten miles more, a sudden turn of the river brought us in full sight of the picturesque, elevated, and precipitous shore, called the calico rock. this presents a most imposing façade, on which are observable the imitative forms of fantastic architectural devices. the wall is quite precipitous throughout. it is the calcareous rock of the region. its summit is overlaid with ochreous clays of various colors, which, through the action of the elements, have imparted their fanciful hues to portions of the cliff. this abrupt species of scenery is quite peculiar to the american landscape. a still more imposing section of it is presented in the pictured rocks of lake superior. nothing of this kind marks the banks of the rhine, so much eulogized by travellers; for all its formations partake of the parabolic, or curved lines of the primitive, and the eye is relieved by these gradations; but, in the brusque scenes of the west, the precipices are as marked as if they had been hewn down by some gigantic broad-axe. there are some sections, in keeping with these harsh landscapes, on the mississippi, along the missouri shores--less prominently along the illinois borders, near alton--and at places in iowa and wisconsin; but more characteristic in minnesota, as the river escapes from its primitive plains, and plunges over the falls of st. anthony. we descended about thirty miles this day, and found lodgment, at night, at a house on the left bank, occupied by a mr. jeffery. the next morning ( th), on descending five miles, we stopped at a mr. williams's to prepare breakfast, where some persons were gathering to hear an itinerant preacher. twenty miles lower, we stopped for the night, at a widow lafferty's. from the remarks made at the places where we have been entertained by the hunters and settlers on this river, there is considerable dissatisfaction with a treaty[ ] made with the cherokee indians, by which a part of that nation are assigned a location between the north banks of the arkansas and the south bank of white river. many of them, including our hostess to-night, and the m'gareys, lees, and matneys above, have lands in cultivation, with dwelling-houses, stock, and improvements, of more or less value, on the south banks of the river; which, as they apprehend, under the operation of this treaty, they are to relinquish to the cherokees. the truth is, the first white occupants of the frontiers, though generally rough men, and without a title to the lands they settle on, are the pioneers of civilization; and by thus taking their lives in their hands, and encountering the perils of the wilderness and of indian hostility, they lay the government under a strong obligation to protect them. the natural hatred of races is such, that they are everlastingly on ill terms with the indians, and the indians with them. it is difficult to say which of the two races, during this period of contact, is most suspicious of the other. the indians, also, look up to the government with strong claims for justice and protection. the frontier, at the beginning of the sixteenth century, was on and near the atlantic borders, from maine to georgia, and long continued east of the alleghany mountains. it is already west of the mississippi river, that mighty geographical highway, which, like a longitudinal line, stretches across seventeen degrees of latitude, every mile of which will, ere long, be settled and cultivated by the anglo-american race. as the population presses first on the indian's hunting-grounds, and next on his cornfields, he flies before the irresistible tide, and takes shelter at some more remote western point. but he is hardly well seated on his new hunting-grounds--he has hardly begun to reap his new cornfields--when the pioneers of the same race that disturbed him before, are upon him; and again, and again he must fly before the resistless--the uncontrollable tide of migration. it is a providential reflux in the wave of races. it is something to be observed, rather than to be apprehended and understood. it seems to say, that the surface of the habitable earth was not formed for the permanent occupancy of races who rely on the pleasing and exciting uses of the bow and arrow; and that labor, which was, at the first, declared to be the proper condition of man, is destined to sweep away, if it cannot merge in its on-rush, these erratic and picturesque tribes. where their frontiers will be found, a hundred years hence, the voice of history, looking to the past, may only tell; but this appears more appreciable and clear--that the perpetuation of the race as one of the elements of mankind, must depend, in the sequel, however long that sequel be postponed, on his substantial adoption of the principles of industry, letters, and christianity. the "tents of shem," however we may read the prediction, are still to be occupied, if they are not now, by a broad philanthropy, to be merged into those of the higher civilization of japhet. for, the civilization and the moral elevation of man is the great object of revelation; and it appears clear, and conformable to reason, that, where future history is taught in the pentateuch by figures, it should be figuratively, and not dogmatically, explained. on leaving mrs. lafferty's, in the morning of the th, we descended about five miles, and stopped to breakfast at a mr. jones's. rumor had pointed out this place as the locality of a tin-mine. the frontiersmen are greatly disposed to excite each other's imaginations by reports of mines and discoveries, every one of which is fancied to be some new potosi or el dorado. our host was not backward in bringing to me some specimens of his supposed treasure. it consisted of several heavy lumps of the ore called, by mineralogists, iron glance. it had the usual color, great weight, and high metallic lustre. he represented it as occurring, in large bodies, about eight or ten miles north of his house, on high lands, at the surface. we had proceeded some miles on our way, when a large black bear was discovered on the shore. it appeared to be about to plunge in for the purpose of crossing the river, when our presence alarmed it, and the animal, with its usual clumsy gait, betook himself to the woods again. the clumsiness of this animal's motions seems to be owing to the bluntness of its hind paws, which appear as if, we should suppose, it arose from re-curved legs. the indians laugh at the gait of bruin. we had encountered this species several times before, and always, as on this occasion, found it disposed to flee. fifteen miles below jones's cabin, we passed harden's ferry, the house being on the right bank; and, two miles further on, we passed morrison's ferry. continuing our descent eight miles lower, we landed at a place called poke bayou, where we were hospitably received by a mr. robert bean. the river had now become a magnificent body of water, still clear and beautiful. we were here within the boundaries of the mississippi alluvions. no highlands are visible for some distance before reaching harden's. the river winds through broad, fertile plains, bearing a most vigorous growth of forest trees. the banks are elevated some thirty feet above the water, and, as the stream increases in depth and strength, they become subject to be undermined by the flood. the cane, which is common to the river in its entire length, even to the highest elevations of the ozarks, is here of a tall and most vigorous growth. it is this plant, i apprehend, more than any other feature, which gives an oriental cast to these alluvial tracts; and i was almost ready, at some points, where the growth concealed the trunks of the heavy forest, to see the hippopotamus and elephant display their clumsy forms. for these, however, we had the buffalo, the cougar, and the bear, whose crackling strength, as they passed through these reedy mazes, had, on more than one occasion during our rambles, reminded us of the great muscular power of these boasted objects of hunter skill and enterprise. often had a fine dog, in the narrations of the hunters, paid the penalty of coming within the stroke of the latter; and we could sympathise with the loss of an animal, which is of the highest value in his pursuits. it is due to this class of men to say, that, however rough they are in their manners, we were uniformly received by them with a frank hospitality, which appears to be always a point of honor with them; nor did any of the number, to whom reward was proffered for entertainment, ever condescend to receive a cent for anything in the shape of food or lodging. the point of our landing was at the crossing of the lower arkansas road. about twelve or fourteen buildings of all sorts were clustered together, forming a small village, which is now called batesville; being the only one which had been encountered since leaving potosi. footnote: [ ] treaty of th july, . vide indian treaties, p. . chapter xiv. ancient spot of de soto's crossing white river in -- lameness produced by a former injury--incidents of the journey to the st. francis river--de soto's ancient marches and adventures on this river in the search after gold--fossil salt--copper--the ancient ranges of the buffalo. i determined to quit the river at this point, and, after a night's rest, made the necessary arrangements. there is almost a moral certainty that de soto must have crossed the river above this place. the make of the land, and the custom of the indians in choosing the best ground for a path to travel from village to village, would determine this. his position, after crossing the mississippi at the mouth of the st. francis, and reaching the high grounds of the latter, would lead the natives who were his guides to keep the elevated and dry ranges leading to the buffalo country, west; and he must have crossed the affluents of the black and currents rivers at a high point towards the ozarks. the dry and open woods afforded the best ground for the march of his cavalry; and when he attempted to reach the salt and buffalo country from the region east of white river, the roughness of the country would lead him to the central points of that stream. it would be interesting, as a point of antiquarian interest, to know where the old indian paths were located. the roads, in all parts of the country, were based on these. they led to the most practicable fords of rivers, they avoided swamps and boggy grounds, and evinced a thorough geographical knowledge of the conformation of the country. to travel where de soto had travelled, and where he had performed some of his heroic feats, had something pleasing, at least, in the association. doubtless, had the first occupants of upper louisiana been as mindful of historical reminiscences as they were set on repeating his search for gold and silver mines, they might have been rewarded by finding some of the straggling bones of his broken-down andalusian cavalry. the fragments of broken arms and trappings were yet, perhaps, concealed by the accumulated rank vegetable soil of arkansas and southern missouri, whence the plough may at no distant day reveal them. it was ten o'clock on the morning of the th, when, having made every necessary preparation, we left mr. bean's. i regretted the necessity of making a selection from my collection of minerals and geological specimens. we set out with great alacrity. for the first five miles, we passed over a level, fertile tract, with several plantations; the remaining thirteen miles were comparatively sterile and uneven, without settlements. we had passed about seventeen miles of the distance, when my right foot and ankle began to flinch. i was not sensible of any slip or sprain in walking, but rather believe it resulted from too much ardour and anxiety to get forward. i had, about four years previously, dislocated and injured the same ankle in leaping down a precipice in the green mountains, having mistaken a granitical shelf of rock at its base, which was covered with autumnal leaves, for soft soil. i believe the suddenness and alacrity of this day's travel, after leaving the quietude of the canoe, had awakened a sympathy in the injured nerves. in a short time, the pain was unendurable. with great effort i walked a mile further, and reached a double log house, the mistress of which bathed the ankle with salt and water, and made other applications. some alleviation, but no permanent relief, was obtained. i then laid down under the hope of being better, but awoke on the morning of the th with little or no abatement of the pain, and inflammation. a traveller on horseback, coming along that morning on a fine animal, agreed, for a small compensation, to let me ride to the south fork of strawberry river, while he went afoot. this helped me over twelve miles of the road, where his path diverged; and i felt so much relieved by it, on dismounting, that i managed, by easy stages, to walk four miles farther, which brought us to the main river. the afternoon was not yet spent; but the pain of my ankle had returned before reaching the river, and i found it in vain to press forward, without adequate repose. the next morning ( st), my travelling companion, who cared nothing for natural history or antiquities, and was urgent to push on, left me, and returned to st. louis. left alone, i felt, for a few moments, a sense of isolation; but i was now in a region where there was no longer any danger to be apprehended for the want of the first necessaries of life. my lameness required nothing, indeed, but perfect repose. the people were kind, and, when i ascertained that my hostess was a sister of one of the hunters who had guided me in the most remote parts of my wanderings in the ozarks, there was a manifest point of sympathy. i found by inquiry that there were appearances of a mineral deposit in this vicinity, which seemed to connect the hilly grounds of strawberry river with similar indications which have been noticed near the bull shoals, on white river. appearances denote the existence of sulphuret of lead in the vicinity. the sulphate of barytes, calcareous spar, and white crystalline masses of quartz, characterize the uplands. when my foot and ankle would bear it, i proceeded by easy paces northward, going, the first day after leaving the strawberry valley, ten miles, which brought me to a place called dogwood springs, so named from the _cornus florida_. the next day i went ten miles further, when i came to the banks of spring river, where i was entertained by major haynes. here i first saw cotton in the fields, being the unpulled bolls of the autumn crop, which had not been thought worth gathering. feeling no injury to result from these easy marches, which gave me time to examine the appearances of the surface, i ventured a little farther on the recovery of my ankle, and, the third day, went nineteen miles. in this distance i crossed the stream called elevenpoints, a tributary to spring river, and came, at a rather late hour in the evening, into a small valley called foosh-e-da-maw, a popular corruption of the french _fourche à thomas_. it was quite dark when i applied for a night's lodging at a small cabin, being the only one i had encountered for many miles. the man and his wife, who were its only occupants, were manifestly not blessed with much of this world's goods; but they were kind, and, though they had already gone to bed, and had but one room, they permitted me to occupy a part of the floor. spare bed they had none; but, had they possessed ever so many, i did not require one. camping out under the open heavens so long, had created a habit which made it impossible for me to rest in a soft bed. i had declined one the night before, at spring river, and thrown myself on a single blanket, on the hard puncheons. i wished to keep my nerves up to this tense state, and the hardy habits of the woodman, while i was compelled to foot my way, and take my chances for rough fare, for some time. with the earliest gleams of light i was up, and walked four miles to breakfast. twelve more brought me to hicks's ferry, on a large stream called the currents. i had camped on the source of this river, in the cliffs of the ozarks, on my outward trip, and found the region remarkable for its large saltpetre caves. it was here a river of eight feet deep, and three hundred yards wide. at this spot i should have stopped; for, after going beyond it, i found the country was thinly settled, which compelled me to walk some time after nightfall, before i could find a house; and, on presenting myself, the man proved to be surly and gruff, and denied me lodging. it was evident to me, from words that passed, that his wife was expecting to be ill; and, as the house was small, there seemed some reason for his apparent unkindness. i had already come twenty-three miles; the night was dark, and threatened rain; and the next house distant. i should have been happy to exclaim, with the poet, "turn, gentle hermit of the dale, and guide my lonely way!" but there was no gentle hermit in sight. it was clearly not a question of poetry, but was likely to be one of sober, down-right prose. i said to him, finally, after a look into the black darkness and desolate woods, that i would only claim my length on the floor, and, to give no uneasiness to his good lady, be off at the slightest intimation. he consented, and i laid down without receiving any notice of the lady's expected illness till morning, when i left my pallet at a very early hour. for three miles beyond, it was a rough region, through which it required daylight to pass, and where i must have lost my way in the dark, had i gone on, the night previously. i stopped at a cottage for breakfast. it was occupied by a poor woman. everything bore tokens of this fact. she appeared to have little in the way of eatables herself, but was very willing, in the article of breakfast, to share that little with me. i had passed the night before supperless, after a long day's walk, and the morning's air had further excited my appetite; still, i should have gone on, had another habitation been near at hand; but what the good woman wanted in means, she made up in readiness and hearty good-will; and, if the meal was not sumptuous, i arose as well satisfied as if i had breakfasted with a lord. thus refreshed, i went on ten miles, which brought me to the banks of little black river. two miles beyond this stream, i stopped at the house of a mr. reeves, at an early hour in the afternoon, my ankle giving indications of returning lameness. quiet, and a night's repose, had the effect to relieve these symptoms, and i was enabled cautiously to continue my journey the next day. daylight was ever my signal for rising, and, by easy stages, i made seventeen miles during the day, walking early and late. the first six miles of this distance were made before i stopped for breakfast, and the next ten miles brought me to the ferry over big black river--a clear, rapid stream, which, in its progress to the south, is the recipient of all the before-mentioned streams, from the strawberry river, north; and is itself, finally, a tributary of white river, maintaining through it a free navigation with the mississippi. after crossing the ferry, i went about half a mile further, and took up my night's lodgings at a mr. bollinger's. i felt no further weakness of my foot and ankle, and was happy in the reflection that my cautious movements had been such as not to overtax the strength of my nerves. indeed, from this point, (till ,) i experienced no further symptoms of lameness. on the next morning ( th), i walked seven miles, and took breakfast at a mr. esty's, where i fell in with the old road, which had originally been laid, when the country came to be settled, on the ancient indian path. the elevated lands between black river and the st. francis, had evidently been the line of march of de soto, when (in ) he set forward from "quiguate," on the st. francis, toward the "north-west," in search of coligoa. any other course between west and south-west, would have involved his army in the lagoons, and deep and wide channel, of black river, which forms a barrier for about one hundred and fifty miles toward the south; while this dividing ground, between the black river and st. francis, consists chiefly of dry pine lands and open uplands, offering every facility for the movements of his cavalry, which were ever the dread of the indians. the first indian village which de soto reached, after crossing the mississippi--probably at the ancient indian crossing-place at the lower chickasaw bluffs--and pushing on through the low grounds, was on reaching the elevations of the st. francis, immediately west of his point of landing. the place was called casquin, or casqui; a name which will be recognized as bearing a resemblance to one of the illinois tribes, who have long been known under the name of kaskaskias. from this place on the high lands of the st. francis, he ascended that river, keeping the same side of its current, through a fine country, abounding in the pecan and mulberry, a distance of seven leagues, to the central position of the casquins. here it was, and not on the immediate banks of the mississippi, that he erected a gigantic cross, formed out of a pine tree, which, after it was hewn, a hundred men could not lift. from this place, after a rest of several days, he was led, by the wily chief, to march against the village and chief of capaha, who was his hereditary enemy, and who had, in past encounters, proved himself more than his equal in prowess. de soto was caught in this trap, which had nearly proved fatal to his gallant army. descending the high grounds, evidently, towards the north-east, and crossing alluvial tracts, by a march of about six days he reached the enemy, well posted, strong in numbers, and of great bravery, on the pastoral elevations, which we are disposed to look for at the site of the modern spanish town of new madrid. capaha took shelter on a thickly wooded island in the mississippi river, where de soto, assisted by his allies, attacked him in canoes, and from which his allies, and afterwards he himself, were glad to retreat. the chief was a most brave, energetic young man, and fought against his combined enemies with the spirit inspired by long acknowledged success. this place formed the extreme northern limit of de soto's expedition on the line of the mississippi, and must have been north of °. after this effort, he retraced his steps slowly back to casqui. the kapahas, of whom the sioux are ethnologically a branch, have occupied the west banks of the mississippi, extending to the base of the rocky mountains, as long as we have known that stream. they have been inveterate enemies of the whole algonquin race, to which the kaskaskias and illinois belonged; and it is not improbable that they had, at this early day, not only encountered the spaniards, but that, after their withdrawal, they fell on the casquins, and drove them east of the mississippi, into the country of the illinois. while de soto was in the country of capaha, he learned that about forty leagues distant, (west, it must needs have been,) there were, in the hill country, quantities of fossil salt, and also a yellowish metal, which he supposed to be gold. he despatched two trusty and intelligent men, with indian guides and carriers, to procure samples. after an absence of eleven days, they returned, with six of the indians laden with crystals of salt, and one of them with metallic copper. a hundred and twenty miles west of the supposed point of starting, would carry the messengers across the valley of white river, and far into the ozark plains and elevations, between the south fork of that stream, and the north banks of the arkansas--the same region, in fine, mentioned, in a prior part of these sketches, as yielding those articles, on the authority of the experienced woodsman, teen friend. the country through which these messengers passed was sterile and thinly inhabited; but they reported it to be filled with herds of buffalo. these reports led him to march down the banks of the st. francis, till he reached the village called quiguate. from thence, having heard of a locality called coligoa, where he thought there might be gold, he marched again north-west in search of it. this march, in which he followed a single indian guide, must have led him to the foot of the rough, mountainous, granitic, and mineral region, at the sources of the st. francis. but this search proved also a disappointment. he was informed that, six leagues north of coligoa, the buffalo existed in vast herds; but that, if he would reach a rich province, he must march south. it is possible that, in this latitude, he may have, a little, exceeded the utmost point reached by him on the mississippi; and he hence confined his adventurous marches to southern missouri and arkansas. having taken the road again, after my halt at esty's, i travelled diligently ten miles, at which distance i reached the ferry of dr. bettis, at the st. francis. the scene was rural and picturesque, the river winding along in a deep and rapid bed, between elevated and fertile banks. from appearances, and old fields, it seemed altogether such a spot as might have answered the glowing spanish descriptions of casqui. the ferry was managed by a black man; and we cut an american half-dollar on the top of an oak stump, agreeably to the kentucky mode, to adjust the ferriage. on landing on the north bank, i pursued my journey six miles farther, to one smith's. it was now the th of january, and the weather so mild, that i this day found the witch-hazel in bloom. chapter xv. proceed north--incidents of the route--a severe tempest of rain, which swells the stream--change in the geology of the country--the ancient coligoa of de soto--a primitive and mineral region--st. michael--mine a la motte--wade through wolf creek--a deserted house--cross grand river--return to potosi. i left my night's quarters before daylight was fairly developed. the sky was, indeed, heavily overcast, and it soon commenced raining. expecting to find a house at no great distance, i kept on, the rain at the same time assuming a more settled form, and falling with steadiness. it was seven miles before i reached shelter (swaim's). i was thoroughly wetted, and, the storm continuing without abatement, i remained until the next morning. the atmosphere was then clear, and the sun rose pleasantly; but the roads were a perfect quagmire. an immense body of rain had fallen. every little rivulet roared as if it were a torrent that was out of all patience to deliver its quantum of water to the swollen st. francis. the ground was perfectly saturated with water; but i picked my way four miles to breakfast. it had been my intention to cross the st. francis, and take the route through caledonia to potosi; but after travelling sixteen miles towards the north-west, and reaching the fords, i found them too much swollen to make the attempt. after crossing the st. francis, towards the north, there are strong indications of a change in the geological structure of the country. the horizontal limestone and sandstone series still continue for a distance; but they are covered with large blocks of sienite and granite. what is remarkable in these blocks, is their angular character, which denotes that they have not been carried far south of their original beds. these blocks increase in frequency and size as we approach the primitive highlands of the st. francis. and i at length stood, gazing at these rough, red, crystalline peaks, and high orbicular knobs, which reach up from beneath and through the calcareous and sedimentary series, without having lifted up the latter into inclined positions, or in the least disturbing their horizontality--a proof of their priority of position. i passed the night near the fords, at a farmer's; and finding it impossible, the next morning, to pursue this route, or to get a boat or canoe to cross the river, obtained directions for making my way north-eastwardly, towards st. michael's. i was now in the probable region of de soto's coligoa, the utmost north-westwardly point of his explorations. and it ceased to be a matter of surprise that the indians had given him such wonderful accounts of the mineral wealth of the sources of the st. francis. the white inhabitants, at this day, have similar notions. they perceive such an unusual geological display before and around them, that they suppose it indicates mineral treasures. there are stories afloat of all kinds of mineral discoveries--not of gold, indeed, which was de soto's search, but of tin, lead, copper, iron, cobalt, and antimony. the iron mountains of bellevieu, so called, are part of this development. at a place called the narrows, the river rushes between alpine peaks of sienite and black hornblende rock, which lies in huge and confused heaps, plainly indicating ancient volcanic action. i had examined this region, with minuteness, the previous summer, in an excursion through the southern limits of the lead-mines, and now revisited some of the points, respecting which, my curiosity was unsatisfied. i wandered among these attractive peaks about ten miles, and slept at a house (burdett's), to the occupant of which, i had carried a letter of introduction the year before. the next day (feb. ) proved rainy; but i took advantage of intervals in the weather to advance on my general course about three miles. the sky, the next morning, was still cloudy, dark, and unsettled. when it indicated signs of clearing up, i was advised of another ford of the st. francis, at a higher point; and i proceeded a part of the way to reach it; but accounts discouraged me, and i bent my steps to the village of st. michael. two miles north of this, i came to the noted lead-mine of la motte, the most southerly in position of the missouri circle of mines. at this place, they raised large tubular masses of lead-ore, from its position in the red, marly clay. the slags drawn from the ash-furnace denoted, by the intensity of their blue color, its connexion with the oxide of cobalt. ten miles beyond these mines, after passing an uninhabited tract, i entered cook's settlement, where i slept. next day, i was again in motion at early dawn. the effects of the late copious rains were still an impediment to travelling; but i experienced no further symptoms of lameness, and felt the desire to press on, increasing in proportion as i drew near my starting-point in the prior autumn. i felt that i had succeeded in the accomplishment of a trip of some peril, through a noted mountainous range, into which all but one of my original party had failed to accompany me, and my guides had deserted me at a moment of peculiar peril. it was also true that my only companion had rather abruptly left me, when taken lame on the road. i could not, as i approached the spot of organizing my party for this exploration, help feeling a degree of buoyancy of spirits, while returning to it, in the hope of again meeting familiar acquaintances face to face. under this impulse, and with the high health produced by daily exercise, i travelled ten miles on the following day. on reaching wolf creek, it was found to be filled to overflowing. it was already dark; and a ruinous, tenantless house, with the doors and windows standing open, was the only object that presented itself on the opposite bank. horse or canoe, there was none; but there could be no hesitation in attempting to cross it. the waters, in the deepest parts of the channel, reached to my breast. i came out, of course, dripping; it was still two miles to the next house, and, casting furtive glances at the masses of darkness in the deserted dwelling, and with a path muddy and indistinct, i hurried on to the point of my destination. it was the th of february when i crossed big river, the grande river of the days of crozat and the financier law. i was carried across it in the ferry-boat, and took my way over the sylvan, long, sweeping mineral hills, which stretch toward potosi, entering that busy town at a seasonable hour, having travelled fifteen miles. the first acquaintance i encountered, on reaching within a few miles of it, was a major hawkins--a surveyor, an old resident, and a good woodsman, who, cordially extending his hand to welcome my return, exclaimed, "i thought the indians or the wolves had long ago eaten you up." this was the first intimation i received that there had been any temerity in the plan for this expedition. potosi was now selected as the place for drawing up an account of the mines, and the mineralogical productions and resources, of the country--a memoir on which, was published at new york in the autumn of this year ( ), and which is inserted, in a revised form, in the appendix to these sketches. physical geography of the west. two letters addressed to the hon. j. b. thomas, u. s. senate, washington. i. potosi, missouri, feb. th, . sir: i beg leave to address you on the subject of my recent expedition into the ozark region. when i was at your house at cahokia, i mentioned to you my design of making a tour into the interior of the territory. i have just returned from the excursion. two persons were associated with me in the enterprise; but one of them, our mutual friend, mr. brigham, was compelled by illness to relinquish the journey, and return, after he had reached potosi. we proceeded in a south-west direction, which carried us across the sources of the maramec and gasconade. we then entered on the elevated highlands, which alternately pour their waters into the missouri and mississippi rivers, reaching, in their development, to the washita river. through this rough alpine range, the arkansas, rising in the rocky mountains, penetrates, and is the only river that completely separates the chain. our explorations were confined to the region lying on its northern banks. winter overtook us on the sources of the white river, giving us a few days of severe weather, but offering, generally, no impediment to travelling. there is much that is most striking and picturesque in the scenery of this region, and not less in its productions and physical character. nowhere, probably, on the globe, is there such a remarkable succession of limestone caverns, and large, transparent springs. at several places, large brooks flow abruptly out of crevices in the rock; and at one place, a flowing stream, spring river, thus originates. we found the ores of lead, iron, and manganese, in large bodies. the high uplands are often rent by precipitous valleys and large chasms, caused by the force of these streams. these valleys are well wooded, and contain the richest soil. and this broad region must at no distant day attract settlement, and will afford facilities for agriculture and mining, while its abundant water-power gives it great advantages for milling and manufactures. the country is a continuation of the limestone and sandstone formations of the west banks of the mississippi. the number and extent of the caverns in this formation, is, indeed, remarkable. they yield saltpetre earth, wherever they have been explored. nitrate of potash has been manufactured in some of these caves, and transported across the wilderness for eighty miles; and a valuable traffic in this article may be established. in the district between the head-waters of white river and the arkansas, salt is found, in a crystallized state, in the prairies. the region is still occupied by herds of the buffalo, elk, deer, and by the bear, and smaller animals of the latitude, which renders it an attractive country to hunters and trappers. the osage indians, who inhabit it, are the cause of fear and alarm to this class; but it did not appear to us, from the sparse numbers of the indians, and the periodical flying visits they are in the habit of making the eastern and northern parts of it, that there is ground of permanent apprehension from this source. the policy of locating the cherokees on the north banks of the arkansas, may well be questioned; and i have heard this arrangement much spoken against. indeed, the agricultural value of the country has been much underrated. independent of the mineral discoveries mentioned, the arable lands of the ozark summit-level constitute one of the richest and most beautiful districts in the territory. the high grass and flowers which cover the prairie-lands, impart the most sylvan aspect to the scene. springs of the purest water abound, and, by avoiding the chasms, the country is susceptible of being traversed by roads. it only requires to be better known, to attract the notice of emigrants, and will some day bear a great population. i do not doubt that the high road from st. louis to fort smith will probably cross this tract of country. such a route must greatly shorten the distance. i cannot refer you to a correct map of the country, and therefore enclose you a sketch, explanatory of my route. from a conversation with mr. brigham, i cannot mistake your friendly influence in these explorations. i am desirous to extend them to other parts of the frontiers. i understand that the secretary of war entertains enlarged and enlightened views on the subject. i should be pleased to be employed in this branch of the public service. i am, with respect, your ob't serv't, henry r. schoolcraft. ii. potosi, feb. , . sir: i had the honor, on the th instant, to address you on the subject of my journey into the region of the ozarks. you will allow me again to trouble you on the subject of explorations. government has long been acquainted, by reports, with the existence of native copper on the upper mississippi, and the banks of lake superior. i believe the attempt was made about , to have the localities explored. i know not what success attended that attempt. probably the remoteness of the country, and the hostility of the indian tribes, were unfavorable. but i am persuaded that the object is one of importance. the mineralogy of those regions became the topic of early interest, even in the days of the french supremacy. copper appears to characterize an extensive area. it is stated to break out in the immediate vicinity of st. anthony's falls, and to continue through to the southern shores of lake superior. in its exploration, other traits of the natural history of the country would be developed. the establishment of a military post at st. anthony's falls, renders the present a favorable time for exploring the region. its features and resources are objects of deep interest; and it appears to be the policy of the government, in the disposition of its western and northern posts, to prepare the way for ascertaining these traits at the earliest period. the position of the most advanced posts which are now in the process of location, is such as to afford great facilities for exploration. the hostilities of the indians are repressed, and a survey of these parts of the public domain could now be effected with comparative safety, and at little expense. should you think the appointment of an agent for this purpose, to accompany some of the military movements, would be favorably received by the secretary of war, may i indulge the hope that, in recommending it, you will remember me in the premises? i am, with respect, your ob't serv't, henry r. schoolcraft. appendix. observations on the mineralogy, geology, antiquities, and geography of the western country. list of papers. a. mineralogy, geology, and mines. . a view of the lead-mines of missouri. . a catalogue of the minerals of the mississippi valley. . mineral resources of the western country. a letter to gen. c. g. haines. b. geography. . missouri. . hot springs of washita. . memoir of white river. . list of steamboats on the mississippi river in . c. antiquities and indian history. . articles of curious workmanship found in ancient indian graves. . ancient indian cemetery found in the maramec valley. i. lead-mines of missouri. a memoir on the geology and mineralogy of missouri, drawn up in . preface. when we reflect on the history of our own country--its advance in arts, commerce, and agriculture, and the rapidity with which its population has increased, and its resources been developed--the mind is with difficulty brought to believe that all this has taken place within a comparatively short period. these developments are particularly striking in the region west of the alleghany mountains. a new world has, as it were, been discovered in the mississippi valley, which, under the strong impulse of emigration, has been transformed, as if by superhuman exertions. no sooner had its great fertility and productiveness become known, than a universal desire for correct information sprang up. our first travellers in that region did little more, however, than glance at its most obvious and grand features; and with respect to some topics, such as its antiquities and natural history, these notices have had the effect rather to stimulate, than to gratify curiosity. but, whatever information has been published respecting the country, its mineralogy and geology have remained wholly unnoticed. the mines of missouri, especially, have failed to attract the consideration which they merit. to supply this deficiency, i have written the following memoir. it is the result of no ordinary degree of opportunity of observation upon the particular mines, and their geological position in the great metalliferous limestone formation west of the mississippi. besides visiting the principal mines, and traversing the country thoroughly, to ascertain the character and value of its mineral resources and geological developments, i made an exploratory tour through the broad and elevated region of the ozarks, lying west and south of this celebrated tract, extending into the territory of arkansas. if, therefore, i have failed to collect a body of facts sufficient to impress the reader with a sense of the extent, value, and importance of the country, and particularly of its mines and minerals, it can hardly be ascribed to a want of opportunity, or, indeed, of assiduity in the study or arrangement of my facts. the historical data here recorded, respecting renault's operations, have never, i believe, appeared in print. they were elicited in the course of a legal investigation, instituted between the heirs-at-law of renault, the agent of crozat, in , and sundry individuals, who claimed the same grants on the authority of a date subsequent to the transfer of louisiana to the united states. the drawings i give of the lead-furnaces which are peculiar to that section of country, are from actual measurement, done under the eye of an operative smelter of approved skill at potosi, and are conceived to be minutely correct. henry r. schoolcraft. new york, nov. , . in republishing this memoir, advantage has been taken of several judicious suggestions respecting it, made in a critical notice of it, by the able editor of the american journal of science, in the volume of that work for . h. r. s. washington, jan. , . a view of the lead-mines of missouri. section i. historical sketch of the mines. the rage for adventure, which the brilliant exploits of cortez, pizarro, and other spanish adventurers, had excited throughout europe, continued for a long time to agitate the public mind, and had not abated at the commencement of the eighteenth century, when an idea of the mineral riches of louisiana had become prevalent. gold and silver were then the chief objects which engrossed attention; and in search of them, the earliest discoverers were led to penetrate into the interior. the physical aspect of the country was in general such as to flatter the most sanguine expectations of mineral wealth; and the further the country became known, the more interesting was found its mineralogical character. to men whose preconceived ideas of a country were already high, such appearances must have had the most inspiriting effect, and lightened the embarrassments they encountered in exploring a wilderness. many of the useful metals were thus met with, and gold and silver mines were reported to have been discovered in several places. red river, the arkansas, and the river la platte of the missouri, were particularly mentioned; and from the evidence which is afforded by the discovery of ancient furnaces, &c., there is reason to conclude that those metals were wrought at a very early period. judging from appearances, they were ready to conclude the country exhaustless in mines; and the most exaggerated accounts of them appear to have been transmitted to europe, particularly to france, where a lively interest was felt in the prosperity of the infant colonies in louisiana and illinois; and in the descriptions published at that day, the lands are reputed to equal in fertility the banks of the nile, and the mountains to vie with the wealth of peru. it was in this supposition of the immense wealth of louisiana, both in the vegetable and mineral kingdoms, that the renowned mississippi scheme originated, which, from the imposing character it was made to assume under the guidance and direction of m. law, drew upon it the eyes, not only of france, but of all europe, and produced one of the most memorable disappointments recorded in the annals of commercial speculation. louis xiv., by letters patent, bearing date september th, a. d. , granted to anthony crozat, counsellor of state, secretary of the household, &c., the exclusive privilege of commerce of that district of country, now known as the states of louisiana, mississippi, tennessee, and illinois, and the territories of missouri and arkansas, with the proprietary right of the mines and minerals he should discover in the country, reserving the fifth part of all bullion of gold and silver, and the one-tenth of the produce of all other mines. the exclusive privilege of commerce was granted for a term of fifteen years; but the right of the mines was conveyed in perpetuity to him and his heirs, on the condition that such mines and minerals should revert back to the crown of france, whenever the working of them was discontinued for three years together. the bounds of louisiana, as granted to crozat, are described in these words: "bounded by new mexico, (on the west,) and by the lands of the english of carolina, (on the east,) including all the establishments, ports, havens, rivers, and principally the port and haven of the isle of dauphine, heretofore called massaerè; the river of st. louis, heretofore called mississippi, from the edge of the sea as far as the illinois; together with the river of st. philip, heretofore called ouabache (wabash); with all the countries, territories, lakes within land, and the rivers which fall directly or indirectly into that part of the river of st. louis." in the month of august, a. d. , m. crozat solicited permission to retrocede to the crown his privilege of the exclusive commerce and the mines of louisiana, which was granted by an arret of the council of state, during the minority of louis xv. in the same month, letters patent were granted by the council of the regency to an association of individuals at paris, under the name of "the company of the west," by which they were invested with the exclusive privilege of the commerce of louisiana, and the working of the mines, to the same extent as it was enjoyed under the grant of crozat. these letters patent were dated on the d of august, a. d. , registered th september of the same year, and were to be in force on the st of january, , and to continue for a period of twenty-five years. by them, not only such grants and privileges were conveyed as had previously been enjoyed by crozat; but they were invested with additional powers, rights, and privileges. the territory was granted in free allodium, (_en franc allieu_,) in lordship and injustice, the crown reserving to itself no other rights or duties but those of fealty and liege homage, which the company was required to pay to the king, and to his successors at each mutation of kings, with a crown of gold of the weight of thirty marks. the boundaries were the same as described in the grant to crozat; and the mines and mining grounds, opened or discovered during the term of its privilege, were declared to belong to the company incommutably, without being holden to pay any rents or proceeds whatever. the company was also invested with the right to sell and alienate the lands of its concession, at whatever price or rents they might fix, and even to grant them _en franc allieu_, without reserving the rights of justice or lordship. it was also provided, that if, after the expiration of the twenty-five years for which the exclusive privilege of commerce was granted, the king should not see proper to continue the privilege by a new grant, all the lands and islands, mines, and mining grounds, which the company of the west should have inhabited, worked, improved, or disposed of on rent, or any valuable consideration whatever, should remain to it for ever in fee simple, to use and dispose of as a proper inheritance, on the simple condition that the company should never sell such lands to any other than the subjects of france. a company incorporated with such ample rights and privileges, did not fail to draw upon it the attention of the speculative, or to enlist the aid of the enterprising capitalists of the french metropolis. the country of the illinois was reputed rich beyond comparison: the financial estimates submitted to the view of the public, offered prospects of unusual gain, and capitalists flocked with avidity from all quarters to enrol themselves as members of the company, and partake of the promised wealth. if anything had been wanting to accelerate the pace of adventurers, or to fan the ardor of hope, it was the genius, the financial abilities, and the commanding influence of m. law, who was placed at the head of the company, and was the moving power in every transaction. hence, it is no subject for surprise that the most extravagant anticipations were entertained by the members of the company of the west, or that the unusual splendor of the mississippi scheme was only equalled by the signal disappointment in which it eventuated. in the year after the company of the west had been instituted by the royal patent of the king, they formed an establishment in the country of the illinois, at fort chartres; and in order to promote the objects of their institution, and to encourage the settlement of the country, held out the most liberal inducements to french emigrants, and made them donations of all lands which they should cultivate or improve. miners and mechanics were also encouraged to emigrate; and the city of new orleans, which had been founded during the last year of the authority of crozat ( ), received a considerable accession to its population in the fall of the same year, and settlements began to extend along the banks of the mississippi, and in the country of the illinois. among the number of adventurers to illinois, was philip francis renault, (the son of philip renault, a noted iron-founder at consobre, near to mauberge, in france,) who came over as the agent of the company of st. phillips, an association of individuals which had been formed under the patronage of the western company, for prosecuting the mining business in the upper country of louisiana and illinois. it appears also that he was a member of the company of the west, and he is spoken of as "director-general of the mines of the royal company in illinois;" a name by which not only the present state of illinois, but a vast district of the adjoining country, appears then to have been known. renault left france in the year , with two hundred artificers and miners, provided with tools, and whatever else was necessary for carrying the objects of the company into effect. in his passage he touched at the island of st. domingo, and purchased five hundred slaves for working the mines; and, entering the mississippi, pursued his voyage up that river to new orleans, which he reached some time in the year , and soon afterwards proceeded on his way to kaskaskia, in illinois. kaskaskia was then inhabited solely by the french, and was one of the earliest posts occupied by them when they began to extend themselves from canada, along the great western lakes, and down the ohio and mississippi. renault established himself in the vicinity of this town, near fort chartres, at a spot which he named st. phillips, (now called the little village,) and from this sent out his mining and exploring parties into various sections of illinois and louisiana. these parties were either headed by himself, or by m. la motte; an agent versed in the knowledge of minerals, whom he had brought over with him. in one of the earliest of these excursions la motte discovered the lead-mines on the st. francis, which bear his name; and, at a subsequent period, renault made the discovery of those extensive mines north of potosi, which continue to be called after him. other mines of lead were also found, but their distinctive appellations have not survived; and a proof of the diligence with which renault prosecuted the object, is furnished by the number and extent of the old diggings which are yet found in various parts of the country. these diggings are scattered over the whole mine country; and hardly a season passes, in which some antique works, overgrown with brush and trees, are not found. renault, being probably disappointed in the high expectations he had formed of finding gold and silver, turned his whole force towards the smelting of lead; and there is reason to conclude that very great quantities were made. it was conveyed from the interior on pack-horses (the only mode of transportation which was practicable at that early period). the lead made by renault was sent to new orleans, and thence chiefly shipped for france. that he also discovered copper, is probable, as a grant of land made to him at old peoria, on the illinois river, embraces a copper-mine. renault's operations were, however, retarded and checked, from a quarter where it was least expected. by an edict of the king, made at paris, in may, , the company of the west was united to the east india and chinese company, under the title of the company royal of the indies (_la compagnie royale des indies_). and in , the whole territory was retroceded to the crown of france, the objects of the company having totally failed; and renault was left in america, without the means of prosecuting the shining business. his exertions in behalf of the company were not, however, overlooked by the government, and four several grants of land were made to him in consideration of his services. these grants bear date june th, a. d. , and cover the mine la motte, and some other very valuable tracts, which, after having laid dormant for a period of about sixty years, have recently been claimed by the representatives of his heirs-at-law. renault, however, remained in illinois several years after the explosion of the mississippi scheme, and did not return to his native country until . with him the greater part of his workmen returned; the slaves were sold, and the mining business fell into neglect. here is a period to the first attempt at mining in louisiana. the country was ceded to spain in , and taken possession of in . after renault's departure, little or nothing appears to have been done in the way of mining; and, even after the spanish had taken possession of the country, the lead-mines were but little attended to. the force which renault had with him was sufficient to protect him from the attacks of the savages; but, after his departure, the settlements on the mississippi, feeble in themselves, could not furnish protection to such as might be disposed to work at the mines. the spanish, however, in a few years after taking possession of the country, did something; and in process of time new discoveries were made, and the mining business began to assume a more respectable character. the principal discovery made under the spanish authority was that of mine à burton, which takes its name from a person of the name of burton, or le breton,[ ] who, being out on a hunt in that quarter, found the ore lying on the surface of the ground. this man, who is still living in the vicinity of st. genevieve, at the advanced age of one hundred and nine years, had been employed while a youth under renault. the period of this discovery it would be very difficult now to ascertain, burton himself being unable to fix it. it has probably been known about forty years. the processes of mining pursued under the spanish government appear to have been very rude and imperfect, not more than fifty per cent. of lead being got from the ore. the common open log furnace was the only one employed, and the lead-ashes were thrown by as useless. in , moses austin, esq., performed a journey from the lead-mines in wythe county, virginia, to the mine à burton, in louisiana, and obtained a grant of land one league square, from the spanish authorities, in consideration of erecting a reverberatory furnace, and other works, for prosecuting the mining business at those mines. this he commenced in , previous to which time no furnace for smelting the ashes of lead had been erected. mr. austin sunk the first regular shaft for raising the ore, and introduced some other improvements which were found beneficial. he also, in , erected a shot-tower, in which patent shot of an approved quality were made. a manufactory of sheet-lead was completed during the same year, and the spanish arsenals at new orleans and havana drew a considerable part of the supplies for their navy from this source. about this time, a few other american families crossed over into louisiana territory, and settled in the neighborhood of the mines. these, from their more enlightened and enterprising spirit, were an acquisition to the mining interest; and as their earliest attention was directed to it, the lead business began to revive; and at the time the territory was taken possession of by the united states, the mines were extensively and advantageously worked.[ ] the mine à robino, mine à martin, and many others, were shortly afterwards discovered. since the year , the number of mines has been astonishingly multiplied; shibboleth, new diggings, lebaum's, and bryan's mines, are among the latest discoveries of consequence. the lead-mines did not fail to attract the earliest attention of the american government; and, immediately after the occupation of the territory, measures were taken to ascertain their situation, the method of working them, &c. several laws have since been enacted on the subject, and a reservation made of all discoveries upon public lands. the emigration to louisiana, which had partially commenced under the spanish government, took a more decided character after the cession of the country to the united states, but has been particularly great within the last few years. in , that part of louisiana bordering on the gulf of mexico, including new orleans, and extending up the mississippi to ° north latitude, was erected into a state under the name of louisiana, and the remainder formed into a territorial government by the name of missouri. there is a petition now before congress (feb. ) for the admission of missouri into the union on a footing with the original states. by this petition it is contemplated that white river will form the southern boundary; and the country between that and the northern line of louisiana, including our claims on the spanish, will be erected into a territorial government, under the name of arkansas.[ ] respecting the present state of the lead-mines, it is only necessary here to add, that they are worked in a more improved manner than at any former period; that they are more extensive than when the country came into the hands of the united states, and of course give employment to a greater number of miners, while every season is adding to the number of mines; and that the ores may be considered of the richest kind. every day is developing to us the resources of this country in minerals, and particularly in lead; and we cannot resist the belief that, in riches and extent, the mines of missouri are paralleled by no other mineral district. in working the mines, in raising and smelting the ore, and in the establishment of the different manufactures dependent upon it, there is much to be done. though the processes now pursued are greatly superior to those in use under the french and spanish governments, there is still ample room for improvement. the earth has not yet been penetrated over eighty feet! we know not what may be found in the lower strata of the soil. there is reason to believe that the main bodies of ore have not yet been hit upon; that they lie deeper, and that we have thus far only been engaged upon the spurs and detached masses. there is also reason to believe that bodies of the ores of zinc exist in the district of the mines, and that copper will be afforded by the lower strata of earth. it is found overlaid by lead-ores in many of the european mines; and the geognostic character of the country leads us to conclude that it may also be found here. the want of capitalists in the mine country, and of practical skill in the boring, blasting, sinking shafts and galleries, oppose obstacles to the successful progress of mining. there is but one regular hearth-furnace for smelting in the whole district; and that is on the modern plan of english furnaces. there are not over four or five regular shafts in about forty mines; there is not an engine, either by horse, steam, or water power, for removing water from the mines, several of which have been abandoned on this account, with rich prospects of ore in view. in fine, there is little of that system which characterizes the best-conducted european mines, and which, by an application of the most recent discoveries in mechanics, chemistry, and philosophy, render them the admiration of every intelligent visiter. should the subject attract the attention of mining capitalists, the circumstance would form a new era in the history of the mining operations of this country. something also remains to be done by the government; the existing laws are inadequate to the purposes for which they were enacted. that feature restricting leases to three years, is injudicious; the period is so short, that it deters those who are most able from engaging in it at all. it is desirable that such a system should be established as would indicate the annual produce of the mines, number of hands employed, and such other facts as are necessary in forming a series of statistical tables on the subject. the want of such data has hitherto prevented us from properly estimating the importance of the mines in a national point of view. the acquisition of a scientific knowledge of minerals should also be facilitated in this quarter. there should be a mineralogical school located in the country, where students might be instructed in that useful science. in a country so rich in minerals, and whose wealth will always so much depend upon a proper development of these resources, the knowledge of mineralogy should be laid open to every one, and should be within the reach of such as do not wish, or cannot get, the other branches of a liberal education. to obtain this knowledge now, a person would be compelled to travel to remote parts of the union, and to incur an unreasonable expense. no one who is conversant with the advantages which germany has derived from such a seminary, will deny the utility of a similar one in the united states. yet, with all the disadvantages under which the lead-mines have been viewed, there are many who may be surprised to find their annual products, from the best information, stated at three millions of pounds; and from this some idea may be formed of their riches and extent, and, when they come to be properly and regularly worked, how greatly they will contribute to the national wealth.[ ] section ii. topographical and geological outline of the mine country. the district of country formerly known as the lead-mines of louisiana, extends from the head waters of the st. francis, in a north-west direction, to the maramec, a distance of seventy miles, by about forty-five in width, having the mississippi on its eastern borders. it is included, very nearly, between ° and ° north latitude, and comprises an area of about three thousand square miles. most of the mines are situated within a circle of this general area, of which potosi and mine à burton constitute a centre. the rock formation of the country appears to be simple and uniform. at the lowest depths observed in valleys, there is a crystalline sandstone, which often consists of transparent quartzose grains, adhering by the force of aggregation. the lead-bearing limestone reposes upon this. both formations are deposited in perfectly horizontal strata. valleys which carry streams have been worn down into this formation, presenting this order of arrangement very satisfactorily. a stratum of red, marly clay, spreads over the limestone. above this, constituting the top layer, or surface soil, rests a bed of diluvial materials, filled with broken-down fragments of rock, masses of radiated quartz, and chips of hornstone. vegetable matter and black sand form a covering over such parts of this diluvial deposit as constitute valleys and agricultural plains. the mississippi river lays open this formation along its western banks, from the influx of the missouri to cape girardeau. beneath this metalliferous column lie the primitive rocks. the most striking feature of this kind is found in the occurrence of a primitive formation at the sources of the river st. francis. my attention was arrested by this fact, soon after i began to examine the mine country. this formation consists of sienite, rather than granite; the mica being generally replaced or represented by hornblende. the feldspar, which constitutes three-fourths of the mass, is of a dull red hue. the rock in connection is greenstone trap, which is sometimes porphyritic. i observed small masses of sulphuret of iron in some parts of this rock. the upheaval of this formation appears to have been of the most ancient era of geological action; for the stratified limestones and sandstones, which lie upon or in juxtaposition to these elevations, have not been disturbed in their horizontality. the altitude of this primitive tract does not probably exceed one thousand feet above the waters of the st. francis river. vast blocks of the red sienite have been detached, and scattered southwardly over the secondary rocks, apparently by the force of some antique deluge, setting from the north. the whole series of formations may be judged of by the following diagram: [illustration] the general aspect of the country is sterile, though not mountainous. the lands lie rolling, like a body of water in gentle agitation. in some places they rise into abrupt cliffs, where the rock formations appear. generally, they present the form of diluvial ridges, sparingly covered with forest, and bearing a growth of prairie-grass and herbage. the western banks of the mississippi, between st. genevieve and herculaneum, present a mural front to this district, in a series of elevated perpendicular cliffs of compact limestone. the whole coast extending to st. louis, appears to be sufficiently elevated to have served as a former barrier to waters covering the low grounds of illinois. the strata exhibit ancient water-marks of a diluvial character. they are broken through, from the west, by small streams draining the mine country. no indications of lead-ore have been found in these cliffs. the mines are situated at considerable distances west of them; and when the observer has arrived at their localities, he finds the ore often lying in the unconsolidated soil. this soil is a stiff, reddish-colored clay, filled with fragments of cherty stones, quartz, and small gravel, clearly attesting its diluvial character. this soil extends to the depth of from ten to twenty feet, or more, and is based on limestone rock. it is so firm, in some places, as almost to resist the pick-axe; in others, it partakes more fully of marl, and is readily penetrated. the ore lies in this marly clay, and is often accompanied by sulphate of barytes and calcareous spar. the country is particularly characterized by radiated quartz, which is strewn in detached pieces over the ground, and is also found imbedded in the soil at all depths. this substance is here called _blossom of lead_, or _mineral blossom_. pyrites, and some other ores of iron, are also found in detached masses upon the surface, and, very rarely, lead-ore. such is the general character of the mineral lands, which are covered with a stunted growth of oaks, denominated post-oaks. walnut is found in some instances out of the valleys. a ridge of yellow pine extends west of the mines, between the st. francis and maramec, and is more decidedly barren than the grounds covered with oak. all the open, elevated tracts, are clothed with herbage, which hides their flinty aspect, and gives the country a picturesque appearance. the minor slopes and ravines are often rendered almost impassable by hazel, vines, and other bramble, which appear to be indicative of a better, or rather a deeper soil. the whole area of upland soil, which rests as a mantle over the rocks, is a diluvium, which must, we think, be referred to an early period of diluvial action. the only true alluvium of the mines appears to be confined to the valleys or plains, which are, consequently, the principal seats of cultivation, and thus derive an additional value from their contiguity to the barren tracts. this alluvium rests on the red marl-clay, or mineral diluvium; the latter of which is uniformly found on penetrating it. some of the mines exist in, and have been pursued beneath, this top alluvion, across the valleys. others are seated beneath an arable soil, bearing a forest. many of the most barren and stony parts of the elevated lands are, on the contrary, destitute of mines. the depth of the mineral soil varies exceedingly. it barely conceals the rock formations in many of the more elevated positions, and frequently does not conceal them. it is deepest in the plains and depressed grounds, being accumulated much in the manner we should expect, on the supposition of a general diluvial submersion. the principal objection to a general diluvial action, involving the whole mississippi valley, appears to arise from the admission of the limestone rock's being the true locality of the ore. but we think there are too many facts in support of this opinion, to leave any reasonable grounds for questioning it. several of the mines in the mineral soil have been traced down into the rock, and have been pursued through apertures, closing and expanding in the manner of true veins. in the numerous cases where the rock has put a stop to further mining, and it has exhibited no signs of ore, it may be supposed that the ore has been moved, by diluvial force, from the original position of the mine, and been finally deposited, with the soil, upon unmetalliferous portions of the rock. and could we with certainty determine the course of diluvial action, the principles of mining might be, in some respects, employed in searching for the original vein. it is evident, from the unscratched and unbroken surface of much of the ore and its spars, that it could not have been transported far; while the portions of it called gravel ore, which evince its diluvial character, are manifest proofs of a change, more or less extensive, in the general position of the ore. with respect to the character of the limestone, we have been perplexed with its protean character, and, to avoid apparent contradictions, were led, at first, to adopt distinctions of strata, which we very soon saw were untenable. it is evidently the american equivalent for the metalliferous limestone of england, and, as a formation, is of the transition era. in a specimen of this rock, now before us, taken from a fresh excavation at potosi, forty feet below the surface of the soil, and thirty-one feet below the original surface of the rock, the structure is in part compact, and in part granular; the compact portions having minute shining crystalline points, and the granular being without any appearance of crystallization, but changing, in the width of about forty lines, from compact granular to a dull arenaceous structure, quite friable between the fingers. part of the mass is vesicular, and the vesicles are studded over with minute crystals of white opaque quartz. the two extremes of this specimen have the appearance of totally different formations, yet are both calcareous. by experiment, i found a portion of the lower arenaceous part almost completely soluble, in the cold, in nitro-sulphuric acid; and the actual residuum was, in part, owing to a defect in trituration. most of the limestone rock disclosed by excavation in the mines, is of the granulated kind; while the structure of the rock above the surface, where the strata are exposed to the weather, as in cliffs and hill-sides, is of the solid, glistening, pseudo-compact variety. both these varieties, as shown in the specimen, are geologically identical, notwithstanding their striking differences in hardness, structure, colour, and particularly in crystalline lustre. this lustre is, however, as shown by examination with the magnet, owing almost exclusively to minute facets of calcareous crystals, which render it rather sparry than crystalline. we have examined large portions of this rock, in all its varieties, for organic remains; but have not succeeded in finding any well-characterized species, although a further and fuller search might, and probably would, disclose some species. we observed a single mass of the rock, an imperfectly columniform structure, apparently organic. the rock is rather vesicular than cavernous in its structure. the heavy deposit of diluvium conceals the surface. but if the appearances in the mine-diggings are to be received as general indicia, the surface of the concealed rock is extremely rough and irregular, standing up, in the mineral soil, in huge lumps, which renders the general depth at which it may be reached, a question of great uncertainty. it has been intimated that the sparry-compact, and the dull granulated varieties of the limestone, are often contiguous; and we have seen, by the examination of a hard specimen, that they are geologically identical as a formation. if this compact variety from the mines be compared with the principal formation in the precipitous cliffs forming the western banks of the mississippi, in front of the mine tract, they will be found to coincide in so many points, that these two localities may be deemed parts of the same formation, and as being identical in age. the principal differences consist in the occurrence of organic remains in the strata along the banks of the mississippi; a discovery attributable to the more full exposure of these cliffs to observation. there is also an apparent absence of the granulated, or sand-lime variety. these two calcareous tracts are not, however, continuous, being separated by a formation of granular quartz, or white crystalline sandstone, which runs nearly parallel with the mississippi for a distance, a few miles west of it. this stratum of rock, which appears to be rather a quartzose sandstone than a granular quartz, reappears west of potosi, in the barren area called the pinery, and is also apparent at several localities between the waters of the maramec and the st. francis. at a point thirty miles west of the mississippi, in about the latitude of st. genevieve, the primitive formation reveals itself in a series of mountain masses of granite, which cover a comparatively extensive area. this tract appears to be the nucleus of the country, rising through the great secondary formations which intervene between the alleghany and the rocky mountains. its western limits have not yet been explored; but it probably covers an area of not less than a hundred square miles. the mines lie north of it. this granite is composed almost exclusively of reddish feldspar and quartz. the proportion of mica is small, and this mineral is often absent. it has been employed as a material for millstones. it is connected with greenstone, which is sometimes porphyritic. we have now three formations of rock, as constituting the mine series; and it only remains to point out their relative position and extent, with the best means at our command. this might seem to be a very simple process, and would indeed be so, were it not that the area over which the formations extend is extensive, and is covered with deep formations of the diluvial and alluvial character, bearing a forest. the primitive is immediately succeeded by the two latter. mine à la motte is situated in the mineral diluvium, and is distant about two miles from the granite on blackford's fork. the first appearance of rock, in situ, north of this point, is at rock creek, a few miles distant, where the granular quartzose sandstone appears. there is no further appearance of rock in this direction for many miles. the white crystalline sand-caves of st. genevieve are seated in this formation. it is again disclosed on the platten creek, and in the elevations west of the joachim creek, called fort rock, and in the white sand-caves near herculaneum. whether it is continued farther in the approach to the maramec, cannot be stated; but the line of country which is thus traversed by it, is probably sixty miles. the only point where this rock appears on the banks of the mississippi, is in the range of the cornice rocks. proceeding west across this formation, the mineral diluvium succeeds, and conceals the rock formations; but, wherever they are disclosed by the action of the streams, and by excavations, the metalliferous limestone appears, which constitutes the lowest stratum yet found in the mine region proper. but it is to be observed, that no excavations of any considerable depth have been made; the rock has not been penetrated to any great depth. the principal seat of the mines consists of the area included within the circuits of the grand river and mineral fork, constituting the main tributaries of the maramec. these streams extend something in the shape of a horse-shoe around the mines. immediately west and south-west of this area, the white sandstone reappears, extending south towards the granite. the position of the two formations may be represented by a pair of expanded dividers, opening northward; the two shanks of which denote the sandstone ridges, and the head, or rivet, the primitive. the most valuable mineral products of the mines, in addition to lead, are iron and salt; the latter of which is made, in limited quantities, at a saline spring at madansburgh, in the county of st. genevieve. other indications of it exist at one or two localities in the township of bellevieu, and on the maramec river, where efforts were formerly made to manufacture salt. iron-ores are found at numerous points; but no body of the ores of this metal is known, comparable, in extent or value, to the locality of bellevieu, called the iron mountain. the ore exists, at this place, in a very massive form. it is in the state of a micaceous oxide. it has been tried in a slag furnace, and smelted easily, without a flux. the iron obtained was of a very malleable quality, and spread freely under the hammer. this locality is embraced by the waters of cedar creek, which, at the distance of seven miles, are stated to afford a water-power adequate for the reduction and working of the ore. about five miles distant, at stout's settlement, occurs another body of this ore. zinc is found, in the form of a sulphuret, in small quantities, at several of the lead-mines in washington county. a single mass of the sulphuret of antimony has been discovered in the granitical district, which affords also a locality of coarse graphite, and some other minerals, which will be noticed in the sequel. a sulphur spring exists a few miles west of the mississippi, in jefferson county. the water issues, in a copious stream, from an aperture, situated near a cliff of the compact limestone. it is of a bright, transparent quality, but indicates, by its taste, its sulphureous impregnation, and deposits sulphur, in a whitish pulpy form, on the pebble-stones and fallen vegetation of the brook which issues from the spring. topographically considered, the mine country is a hilly and uneven tract, having a considerable elevation above the waters of the mississippi. it is well watered, with numerous springs, brooks, and streams, and, from the prevalence of a firm diluvial soil, affords facilities for roads. the climate is favorable to health. the manner in which the smelting of the ores is performed, being in the open air, is probably less injurious to those engaged in it, than if the furnaces were enclosed with buildings. some losses are sustained in the death of cattle, which die with a disease called the mine sickness. cows and horses, which are frequently seen licking around old furnaces, often die without any apparent cause. cats and dogs are taken with violent fits, which never fail, in a short time, to terminate their lives. this is usually attributed, by the inhabitants, to the effects of sulphur, driven off from the ores in smelting. it is more probable that it arises from the sulphurous acid in its combination with barytes, which may operate as a poison to animals. the sickness is wholly confined to quadrupeds.[ ] the soil thrown out of the pits, at the abandoned mines, is found to produce some plants, and even trees, which are not peculiar to the surface. such are the cotton-wood and the beech-grape, species which are usually confined to the arenaceous alluvions of valleys. and we think their growth here is not promoted by the mineral clay, which is manifestly of a fertilizing property, when cast on the surface; but to the disintegration of the sand-lime, producing a soil favorable to such productions. the sensitive brier, observed in the mine district, is evidently not of this class, as it is found remote from any mine excavations. section iii. local position of the several mines. since the first discovery of lead in this territory, the number of mines has been much increased, and hardly a season passes without some new discovery. every discovery of importance soon becomes the centre of mining attraction. as the ore is found in the diluvial soil, it is generally exhausted on reaching the solid rock; and after penetrating a considerable area of the surface with any, or but partial success, the locality is abandoned, and a new one sought. as the mines are worked without capital, and the ore is dispersed over a wide area, the number of localities is almost indefinite. upwards of forty principal sub-districts are known, most of which are appropriately denominated _diggings_. the earliest discovery, at mine à burton, has been one of the most valuable, and still continues to afford the ore. mine à la motte has also proved an extensive deposit, and is still unexhausted. new diggings, shibboleth, and richwoods, are among the discoveries of later date, which have yielded very large quantities of ore. but the mode of mining in the diluvial soil must exhaust it of its mineral contents, and direct miners, in after years, to the true position of the ore, in the calcareous rock. so long as the search continues in the soil, the business will partake of the uncertainty which now attends it, and which renders it rather an object of temporary enterprise, than a fixed employment. in the search for ore in the soil, scarcely any uniform principles can be certainly relied on. generally, rocky and barren localities are avoided, and large and deep beds of the red metalliferous clay sought for. the occurrence of crystallized quartz, or spars, on the surface, is regarded only as a general indication, but cannot be depended on to ensure local success. these masses are found to be distributed on and through the top soil, as other debris, being sometimes contiguous to, and sometimes remote from, ore. but they are never, so far as i have observed, found with the ore. the method of searching for and raising the ore, is simple. having fixed on a spot for digging, the operator measures off about eight feet square. a pick-axe and shovel are used for removing the earth. a practised hand will pitch the earth from a depth of eight or ten feet. a windlass and bucket are then placed over the pit, and the excavation thus continued. small detached masses of ore, or spars, are often found in the soil, in approaching a larger body. the ore is the sulphuret, or galena. it has a broad, glittering grain, and is readily divisible into cubical fragments. it occurs in beds, or detached masses, which are deposited horizontally in the soil. they are often accompanied by the sulphate of barytes, or by calcareous spar; sometimes by blende, or iron pyrites. the ore is often connected with the barytic spar, indicating the latter to be a true matrix. the direction of these beds of ore appears to be irregular. veins of ore are confined to the rock. the variety of ore called _gravel ore_, differs from the preceding chiefly by its marks of attrition, and connection with diluvial pebble-stones. no spars have been noticed in these gravel-beds, although it is probable that a careful search might detect them. the calcareous spar is most abundant in connection with rock diggings. it is translucent, or transparent, and often exhibits the property of double refraction. the miners, who employ their own conventional terms, call this substance _glass tiff_, to distinguish it from the sulphate of barytes, which is denominated _tiff_. much of the radiated quartz of this district bears the marks of diluvial action. it is not uncommon to find masses of it, in which the angles of the crystals are quite defaced. veins of ore in the rock correspond generally, in their course, i think, with the cardinal points, in the instances of their being pursued horizontally. but they dip at various angles with the plain, or sink perpendicularly into the rock. the horizontal position of the ore-beds in the red clay soil, may be regarded as an evidence of its being a diluvial deposit. the metalliferous, red, marly clay, is, in fine, the most interesting geological problem connected with the mines, and is calculated to show us how little we know of the true eras of the diluvial deposits. after every examination which we have been able to make, we are decidedly of the opinion that this formation belongs to the diluvial, and not to the alluvial era. it seems, indeed, to assert a claim to be considered, among the western strata, as immediately succeeding the secondary. it lies directly next to, and upon, the limestone rock. we have witnessed the progress of an excavation on the public square of potosi, in which the soil was removed down to the rock, and a clean area of its surface was exposed. there was no other stratum below it, and between the clay and rock. and such we believe to be its general position. the radiated quartz and pebble drift is above it, and, consequently, constitutes a subsequent deposit. and hence it is that the numerous fragmentary masses of the former, called _mineral blossom_, are no sure indications of the subterraneous presence of ore. the gravel-ore and mixed diluvial gravel is likewise a newer deposit, coinciding with the era of the primitive and secondary boulders. no large primitive boulders, however, exist in the mine district, if we except the angular fragments of granite, south of st. michael, which are, indeed, just without the lead-yielding area. pebbles of common quartz, granite, and greenstone, are found in the surface soil, and are also to be observed, in accumulated masses, in the beds of brooks. occasionally an orbicular mass of these rocks, of the size of a melon, is observed. it is evident, from these appearances, that no formations of the primitive exist, towards the sources of the mississippi, for a great distance, as it is from this direction that diluvial action appears to have been propagated. this clay soil is free from boulders, and is of a homogeneous texture. it partakes, in its qualities, so largely of marl, as to operate as a manure, on being thrown out of the pits, and, after a few years, is covered with a very rank growth of trees, vines, &c. this is a characteristic trait of the locality of abandoned diggings. the following is a catalogue of the mines. it comprises those of most note, which are now worked, or have been at some former period. . mine à burton. . tapley's diggings. . mine à robino. . lambert's diggings. . mine à martin. . old mines. . new diggings. . mine shibboleth. . citadel diggings. . elliot's mines. . perry's diggings. . belle fontaine. . hawkins's mine. . cannon's mines. . rosebury's mine. . little diggings. . austin's shaft. . becquet's diggings. . jones's shaft. . mine liberty. . rocky diggings, (prairie de roche). . renault's mines. . gravelly diggings. . miller's mine. . brushy-run diggings. . mine silvers. . stricklin's diggings. . fourche à courtois. . bibb's diggings. . pratt's mine, big river. . tebault's diggings, (pinery). . lebaum's mine, richwoods. . mine astraddle. . mine à joe, flat river. . masson's diggings, or partney's. . bryan's mines, hazel run. . j. scott's diggings. . dogget's mine, hazel run. . t. scott's diggings. . mine la motte, st. michael. . micheaux's diggings. . gray's mine, big river. . henry's diggings. . m'kain's mine, dry creek. . moreau's diggings. the most noted mines are mine à burton, new diggings, shibboleth, richwoods, old mines, and the numerous mines on the waters of the mineral fork of grand river. mine à la motte, mine à joe, and bryan's mines, are east and south of the principal group of mines in washington county, and at a considerable distance from them. a few general remarks may be applied to all these mines. the mines possess one general character, although there are some peculiarities which i shall hereafter mention. the ore is found in detached pieces and solid masses, in beds, in red clay, accompanied by sulphate of barytes, calcareous spar, blende, iron pyrites, and quartz. the ore is of that kind called, by mineralogists, lead-glance, or galena, and is the sulphuret of lead, of chemistry. as it is dug up or quarried from the adhering spar, it presents a very rich appearance. it has a broad, glittering grain, of a lead-gray colour, which passes into a bluish shade. the ore is easily broken by the blow of a hammer, and may be pounded to a fine powder, still preserving its glittering appearance. in breaking it, it always separates in cubes. sometimes detached lumps of four or five pounds weight, of a cubical form, are found imbedded in the clay. its primitive figure of crystallization is particularly observable after the ore has been desulphurated by heat, which, at the same time, increases its splendor, and renders the lines of intersection between the facets more plainly discoverable. the clay, or red earth, in which the ore is found, appears to partake largely of marl; and a difference of quality is to be observed at the different mines. it all, however, operates more or less as a stimulant to vegetation, on being thrown out of the pits. mixed with the clay are innumerable pieces of radiated quartz, very beautiful in appearance. this forms the first stratum, and is about fourteen inches in depth; then succeeds a stratum of red clay, four or five feet thick, and sparingly mixed with substances of the same kind; after this, a layer of gravel and rounded pebbles, of a silicious character, ensues; these are about a foot in depth, and lead-ore, in small detached lumps, is then found. this is of the description called gravel-ore, and no spars are found accompanying it. the greatest proportion of lead-ore is, however, found imbedded in marly clay, accompanied by the sulphate of barytes, and resting on limestone rock. the rock is struck at a depth of from fifteen to twenty feet, and is a metalliferous limestone, of a semi-crystalline structure, lying in horizontal beds. it is traversed by veins of lead-ore. sometimes these expand in the shape of caves, where masses of galena occur. the most valuable substance accompanying the lead-ore, is an ore of zinc, which is found at several of the mines. another substance, found with the ore in considerable quantities, is the sulphate of barytes. this is sometimes in immediate connection with the ore, but more frequently in contiguous masses, in the clay. the sulphate of barytes, called _tiff_ by the lead-diggers here, is the same substance called _cawk_ by english miners. it is very white, opaque, and very heavy, and may be considered as the proper matrix of the lead-ore. there are also found considerable quantities of calcareous spar, particularly in the caves and veins in rock. this substance is often observed in large orbicular or irregular masses, which have the appearance of external attrition. on breaking them, they fall into rhombs, which are very transparent and glittering; in color, they are either white, or honey-yellow. pyrites are common at the mines, sometimes crystallized in regular cubes of a beautiful brass-yellow color, and, at others, found in tabular masses, or mixed with blende, sulphate of barytes, or calcareous spar. quartz is found throughout the whole mine district, both on the surface of the ground, and at all depths below. it is generally in the form of tabular pieces, whose surfaces are thickly studded over with small pyramids of transparent rock-crystal, and present an appearance of the utmost beauty and splendor, looking like so many diamonds set over the surface of white stone. these crystals are frequently grouped in the form of a hemisphere, circular, or oviform, solitary or in clusters, forming the different varieties of mamillary and radiated quartz, and, when met with in their pristine beauty, present a very rich and brilliant appearance. it has acquired the popular name of _blossom of lead_, or mineral blossom, a term perfectly significant of its supposed affinity. the exterior stratum of red clay, with its ores and minerals, will be best understood by comparing it to a garment thrown over the rock-formations of the country. the search for ore has been generally confined to these clay diggings, which are pursued, very much, with the apparatus of common well-digging. if, on reaching the rock, no vein of ore is discovered, the work is generally dropped. on viewing the district on a large scale, this external clay stratum appears to have originally derived its mineral contents from veins in the calcareous, lead-yielding rock. this metalliferous rock has evidently, in former ages, been scooped out by rivers and streams, forming valleys and vast diluvial plateaux, where the abraded materials were deposited. the original subterranean veins were concealed by these geological changes. some of the mines exhibit traits that may be mentioned. mine la motte is one of the oldest mines in the territory, having been discovered in , by the person whose name it bears. the mines are very extensive, and a large quantity of ore is annually raised. they are situated within two miles of st. michael, madison county, and on the head-waters of the river st. françois. no spars are found accompanying the ore; iron pyrite is occasionally met with, and plumbago is found in the vicinity. the ore, which is less brilliant, and differs in other characters from any other in the mine tract, is at the same time more refractory; in some instances, the greatest difficulties have been experienced in the smelting. hence, an idea has originated that it is combined with other metals; but no experiments, i believe, have been made to ascertain this point. on a visit to these mines, i observed the inside of the ash-furnace beautifully tinged with a blue color of considerable intensity. this furnace is built of a white sandstone, which becomes vitrified on the surface, forming glass. we are acquainted with no substance which will communicate a blue color to glass in fusion but cobalt; hence, it is not unreasonable to infer that this metal is volatilized during the smelting, and is thus brought into contact with the liquefied surface of the stone, imparting to it the color noticed. that the ores of la motte contain an unusual portion of sulphur, is very probable. i draw this inference both from its refractory nature and dull appearance. sulphur always renders an ore refractory; for, when it is expelled by torrefaction, the ore melts easily. its dull aspect is not less conclusive; for, the more an ore is roasted, and the more sulphur there is driven off, the brighter it grows. this is evident to every smelter, who cannot fail to observe the surprising brilliancy the ore assumes after it has gone through the first operation in the log furnace. that the difficulties daily experienced in smelting the la motte ores are, therefore, attributable to the extraordinary quantity of sulphur they contain, is extremely probable; for, even if they were united with other metals, with silver or with cobalt, these would not increase their infusibility, except by the extra quantum of sulphur they brought with them. at least, we have no facts to prove that a simple alloy does not melt as easily as a pure metal, while there are many to show that alloys are of the most easy fusibility. the quantity of ore raised at new diggings has been very great, a regular vein having been found; but they were abandoned several years ago on account of the water, which rushed in with such rapidity, that to remove it every morning with a common windlass and bucket was found a work of such labor as to render the business unprofitable. the mines were left with the most flattering veins of ore in view. the general character of these mines is such as to justify the erection of a steam-engine, and other works for prosecuting the business on an extensive scale; and their revival at some future period may be confidently looked for. mine renault is situated about six miles north-north-west of mine à burton, in a very rocky part of the country, which affords some of the most picturesque views of mountain scenery. the region is strongly marked by mineral appearances, rendering it probable that other substances of value, besides lead, may exist in that vicinity. ores of zinc are abundant at this mine, and a body of micaceous oxide of iron is found in the neighborhood. bryan's mines are seated on hazel run, and are among the most recent discoveries of consequence. near a million pounds of lead were made here during the first year of the discovery. the mine is characterized by yielding no heavy spar; sometimes a little calcareous spar is found, and then adhering to the ores; a circumstance which i have nowhere else observed. much of the ore of these mines is found in tabular pieces, which are sonorous in a considerable degree; the ore is brilliant, and smelts readily, yielding the same as at mine à burton. gray's mine, situated on big river, in the northern extremity of the mine tract, is remarkable for a body of white clay, which was discovered in searching for ore. in sinking several pits at this mine, a stratum of clay of an unusual appearance was struck at the depth of from eight to ten feet, and no ore was procured at those places; the diggings were abandoned in consequence of the clay, which covers a considerable area of ground on the banks of big river. this mineral substance bears a striking resemblance to specimens of a pyrous crucible clay. elliott's mines lie upon the mineral fork, and are characterized by the abundance of pyrites, and the beauty of the calcareous spar found there. considerable quantities of blende were also met with, and strong indications of the existence of copper are furnished. during the remarkable earthquakes of , a fine spring of water at the mouth of the mines suddenly became warm and foul, and in a few days dried up entirely, and no water has run there since. illuminations in the atmosphere (arising doubtless from phosphorus) are frequently observed in this vicinity on the approach of night. at mine à burton, there is found adhering to the sides of the log-hearth furnace, a grayish-white sublimated matter, of great weight, which i take to be a sublimate of lead. it is considered as chiefly sulphur or arsenic by the lead-smelters, and is thrown by as useless. it is found at every furnace, and a very large quantity could be annually collected. this induced me to undertake some experiments on the subject. i was convinced, on reflection, that there could be no sulphur, at least no considerable quantity of sulphur, in it, from the fact that all sulphur, or other inflammable matter, expelled from the ore in the furnace, would undergo immediate combustion. this is also observable in the color of the flame while the ore is torrified. indeed, every person conversant with the nature of this substance must know that it cannot be otherwise. the furnace is entirely open, and does not rise over seven or eight feet in height; consequently, there is no opportunity for it to condense. that the sulphuric acid is driven off, is undoubted; for, whenever sulphur is burned, this acid is set at liberty; but it has no opportunity for entering into a new combination within the body of a log furnace. the idea of arsenic in the substance alluded to, is perfectly erroneous, and has originated in an ignorance of the nature of the ores of these mines. it is the _sulphuret of lead_, and not the _arseniate_. that there is a small portion of silver and antimony in combination with the ore, is probable; but they too are mineralized by sulphur. reflecting on this, i became convinced of the popular error, and, to ascertain the point, made the following experiments: a. i took a lump of the sublimated matter, freed from adhering impurities, and reduced it to the state of a fine powder by pulverizing in an agate mortar, and trituration. of this i mixed six parts with four of pulverized borax, and a little charcoal, and submitted it to the intense heat of a small chemical furnace. on removing the crucible, i found a button of metallic lead in the bottom, weighing nearly four. b. dissolved a quantity of the powdered sublimate in nitric acid; it effected a ready solution, with violent effervescence. poured on liquid carbonate of potash until no more precipitate fell. i then collected the precipitate, and washed away the superfluous alkali by clear water, and dried it in the shade. the result was a very fine, and a very white powder, of considerable weight. this was a carbonate of lead (white lead). with a quantity of the white lead thus made, i mixed linseed oil, and painted a board. the color was of the most delicate white, and it gave a good body. on inspecting this board several months afterwards, i found the color inclining a little to yellowish. but perhaps it stands as well as any white lead would, prepared from litharge, by solution in nitric or acetic acids, and precipitation by carbonated alkali. c. mixed eight parts of sublimate with twelve of muriate of soda, and fused in a crucible, with a tight cover, in a high heat. result, a yellow, hard, heavy, vitrified mass, resembling muriate of soda and lead. m'kain's mine is situated on a small stream called dry creek, running into big river not far from its junction with the maramec. the mine is worthy of remark only on account of a body of steel-grained lead-ore found there. this ore is found to yield less lead in smelting than the common broad-grained ore, and, as may be inferred from its texture, contains silver. so little has been done, of late years, in mining in the rock, that the character of the veins must be judged of from limited facts. but there can be no question, from what is known, that the true scene of mining operations is the rock. along the west banks of the mississippi, and also in some of the interior valleys, we observe that the metal-bearing limestone rests on crystalline sandstone. both preserve a horizontal position, and both are deposited, at the distance of about seventy miles south of potosi, upon pre-existing formations of sienitic granite, embracing hornblende rock; some of the latter of which is porphyritic. these primitive formations mark the geography of the country at the sources of the st. francis. they form alpine peaks, through which the river forces its way. mine à la motte is within two miles east of this tract. these peaks have been raised to their present position without disturbing the horizontality of the limestones and sandstones. hence the conclusion of their prior elevation. at a still further southern point, and before reaching the banks of the st. francis at bettis's ferry, the horizontal rocks again appear. but, in this instance, sienitic and granitic boulders are scattered over the southern series of the calcareous strata, showing, with equal clearness, that the geological era of the boulder stratum was posterior to the deposition of the horizontal strata, and that the force which scattered the boulder stratum was from the north. section iv. method of working the mines. the method of raising the ores, and the processes pursued in separating the metal, are, upon the whole, extremely simple. a pick-axe and shovel are the only tools in use for removing the earth; and the drill, rammer, and priming-rod, are added when it is necessary to blast. having determined on the spot for digging, the process commences by measuring off a square of about eight feet, and throwing out the earth, spar, and gravel, until the miner sinks beneath the depth he can throw the earth. an expert hand will pitch his earth clear out of the pit from a depth of ten, twelve, and even fifteen feet. at this depth a common windlass and bucket are placed over the centre of the pit, and the digging continued by drawing up the earth, spar, and ores, if any are found, in the manner pursued in sinking a well. during his progress, the miner is notified of his approach to a body of ore, by small detached lumps occasionally found imbedded in the soil, within a few feet of the surface. sometimes lumps on the top of the ground determine on the place for digging. the spar is also a sign by which he judges, as there is seldom a body of spar found without lead-ore. there are also other signs by which an experienced digger is advertised of his prospects, and encouraged to proceed with cheerfulness in his work. these are, peculiar appearances in the texture of the spar, and sometimes minute specks of ore scattered through it, the changes in the color, and other qualities of the earth, gravel, &c. if these appearances are promising, and bits of ore are occasionally met with, he is encouraged to sink down a great depth; but if they should fail, he is generally induced to abandon the pit, and commence at another place. in searching for ore, the soil, the slope of the hills, spar, blossom, trees, &c., are taken as guides, and some are obstinately attached to these signs. others, who have been fortunate in finding ore where these appearances were least promising, wholly disregard them, and pay no attention to rules. in general, there is a greater disposition to trust to luck and chance, and stumble upon ore, than by attending to mineral character, to be sure of success. as those who search by rules are generally incapable of those minute remarks on the distinguishing character and geological situation of minerals, which are necessary in order to ensure success, it frequently happens that they meet with disappointments. an incident of this kind is enough to perplex a man who has not habituated himself to reasoning on the subject, and to weaken his belief in the affinity of ores and stones. such a man will not stop to compare and reconcile facts, which are seemingly opposite, or to investigate the nature of general principles. hence miners exclaim on the uncertainty of finding ores by rules drawn from the observations of science; that the strata of the earth are irregular, and not to be depended upon like the rock formations in europe; and that, in fine, we have no guides by which its mineral treasures are to be sought, and that, in so confused a soil, chance is the best guide. such a man is more ready to follow the mysterious guidance of the divining-rod than the light of reason, and would be easily persuaded that fortune is more surely the result of blind chance, than of feasible schemes, well planned and well executed. there would be, nevertheless, some truth in the uncertainties and the confusion complained of, were those circumstances among the observations of scientific men. but it will be hazarding little to say, that when such observations are made, there will be found as much regularity, harmony, and order, in the superposition of the strata, as generally exist. the few facts i have noticed, lead to this conclusion. having raised a sufficient quantity of ore for smelting, the next process consists in separating the spar, and cleaning the ore from all extraneous matter. this is done by small picks, tapered down to such a point that a careful hand may detach the smallest particle of adhering spar. it is necessary that the ore should be well cleaned, as it would otherwise prove refractory in smelting. if there be any lumps of uncommon size, they are beaten smaller. the object is to bring the lumps as near as may be to an uniform size, so that the heat may operate equally in desulphurating the ore. it is desirable that the lumps should be about the size of a man's two fists, or perhaps fifteen pounds' weight; if too small, a difficulty and a waste is experienced in smelting. in this state, the ore is conveyed to the primary furnace, (see plate i.) and piled on the logs prepared for its reception. when the charge is put in, which may in a common way be about five thousand pounds, it is surrounded by logs of wood, and covered over at the top, the fire being lit up at the mouth below. a gentle warmth is created at first, which is raised very gradually, and kept at this point for about twelve hours, to allow the sulphur to dissipate; the heat is then increased for the purpose of smelting the ore, and, in twelve hours more, the operation is completed, and the lead obtained. wood is occasionally added as the process goes on, and there is a practical nicety required in keeping the furnace in proper order, regulating the draught of air, &c., so that some smelters are much more expert, and thereby extract a greater quantity of lead from a like body of ore, than others. this furnace is called the log furnace, and, so far as i know, is peculiar to this country. it is of a very simple construction, consisting of an inclined hearth, surrounded by walls on three sides, open at top, and with an arch for the admission of air below. upon the whole, it appears well adapted to the present situation and circumstances of the people. it is cheap, simple, may be built at almost any place, and answers the purpose very well. a good furnace of this kind may be built at a cost of from fifty to sixty dollars, every expense considered; and one of the most considerable items in the sum total is the bill of the mason, who cannot be hired, in this region, to work for less than two dollars per day. plate i., figure . _a perspective view of the log furnace._ a, the front wall, feet long, feet in height, and feet in thickness. b b, the side walls, feet long, and feet thick. c, the hearth, feet wide, and feet in length. d d, the ledges on each side of the hearth, inches in height, and foot wide. these serve to elevate the logs above the hearth, at the same time creating a draught for the air, and passage for the lead. e, the eye of the furnace, or arch, feet across at bottom, with an arch thrown in a half circle, or a flat stone laid across at the height of the ledges. f, the iron ladle for dipping out the melted lead. g, the iron mould. every bar of lead cast in this, is called a _pig_. h, the hole in the ground, for the reception of the lead as it runs from the furnace. figure , is a perspective view of the furnace from the back or open part. the same letters used in figure apply to the same parts of the furnace in this figure. figure . _ground plan._ _a_, the eye or arch in front. _b b_, the side walls. _c_, the hearth. _d d_, the ledges. [illustration: _log hearth furnace_ no. . _for smelting lead ore_] the process of charging the furnace may be mentioned. three large oak logs, rolled in from the back side, and resting at each end on these ledges, fill up the width of the furnace; small split logs are then set up all around on the two sides and front; the ore is then piled on until the furnace is full, and logs are then piled over it, beginning at the back, and continuing over to the front, so that the ore is completely surrounded by wood. this furnace is always built on the slope of a hill, as represented in plate i., fig. ; and the hearth is laid on an angle of °, so that it falls four feet in a distance of eight. two furnaces of the size here described are generally built together, by which there is a saving of the expense of one wall, and the work is rendered stronger, one serving as a support to the other. not only so, but the same number of hands will keep a double-eyed furnace in blast, which are required at a single one. it takes three hands, one to cart wood during the day-time, and the other two to relieve each other alternately, every twelve hours, at the furnace. when a charge is melted off, the furnace is cooled, new logs and upright pieces put in, and the whole operation begun anew. twenty-four hours is the time generally allotted for each smelting, but it often takes thirty-six; and when there is bad wood and want of attention, it requires still longer, and indeed the result is never so good. the ore is estimated to yield, in the large way, fifty per cent. the first smelting. a considerable portion of what is put in, however, does not become completely desulphurated, and is found in the bottom of the furnace after cooling. this is chiefly the smallest lumps, which have fallen through the apertures that burn between the logs, before they were thoroughly roasted, and thus, getting out of the way of the heat, lie entangled with the ashes. some lumps, which are too large, also escape complete desulphuration, and either remain unmelted, or else, when the fire is raised, melt altogether into a kind of slag, and produce little or no metallic lead. this constitutes what are called the lead-ashes. the larger pieces, consisting of ore but partially desulphurated, are carefully picked out from among the ashes, and added at the next smelting in the log furnace; while the remainder is thrown by in heaps for further examination. the lead-ashes are still rich in lead, and, when a sufficient quantity has accumulated from repeated smeltings, it is taken off to a proper place contrived for the purpose, and separated from the cinders, wood-ashes, and other adhering impurities. this is done by washing the whole in _buddles_, one set below another, in the manner of the potter, when it is necessary to _search_ his clays. the ashes, which consist of clotted lumps of a moderate hardness, are first pounded to a gross powder, and then introduced into the water through a sieve. the wood-ashes and other impurities, being lighter, swim on the top, and, by letting off the water, are thus carried away. fresh water is added, the ashes briskly stirred with a hoe, and the water again let off, carrying a further portion of impurity with it. by repeating this operation several times, the lead-ashes are brought to the required degree of purity. thus washed, they are carried to a furnace of a different construction, called the ash furnace (see plate ii.), and undergo a second smelting. plate ii., figure . _a perspective view of the ash furnace._ _a_, the ash-pit, feet wide, feet long, and inches in height. _b_, the mouth of the fire-arch, a foot square. _c_, the mouth of the flue, where the charge is put in. _d_, the iron pot for the lead to flow in, when the furnace is tapped. figure , is a longitudinal section through the furnace, at right angles with the front, showing the curve of the arch, flue, &c. _a_, the ash-pit. _b_, the grates, inches square, and feet long; these are pieces of hewn stone. _c_, the mouth of the fire-arch. _d_, the _santee_, consisting of two stones, feet long, and feet inches wide, with a thickness of or inches. they reach from the bottom of the ash-pit to a foot above the basin-stone, the interstice between them being rammed full of clay, and the whole measuring inches across. (this keeps the lead, slag, &c., from running into the fire-arch, and is an important part of the furnace, requiring considerable skill and accuracy in the construction.) _e_, the basin-stone, feet square, and foot thick. _f_, the flue, or throat, feet long, inches wide, and inches in height. this must be continued a foot and a half over the mouth of the flue, or apron, making the whole length eleven and a half feet; some prefer the flue twelve and a half feet. _g_, the mouth of the flue or apron, where the furnace is charged; this flares from inches to feet, in a distance of feet, (as shown in fig. .) _h_, the fire-arch, feet high in the centre, inches high where the arch begins to spring, and the same over the centre of the basin-stone. figure . _ground plan._ from _a_ to _b_, feet; from _b_ to _c_, feet inches; from _a_ to _d_, feet inches; from _e_ to _f_, feet; from _e_ to _g_, feet. _h_, the basin, feet long, and inches wide, except in the centre, where it is inches wide. _i_, the flue. _k_, the mouth of the flue, or apron, feet at the front, and inches in the rear. _l_, the santee. _m_, the fire-arch, with grates at bottom. (this is inches wide at each end, inches in the centre, and feet long from the inside of its mouth to the santee.) _n_, the mouth of the fire-arch. _o_, the iron pot for the lead to flow into, set in the curve made in the wall for convenience of tapping. _p_, the curve in the wall for drawing off the slag. figure , is a perspective view of the mouth of the flue where the furnace is charged. from _a_ to _b_, feet; from _a_ to _c_, feet; from _a_ to _d_, foot. _c_, the mouth of the flue, inches wide, and high. (this flares out to feet in the distance of feet, the flue covering half of it, so that the heat may be thrown down on the ashes.) [illustration: _ash furnace_ no. _for smelting lead ashes. missouri._ fig. i. fig. ii. fig. iii. fig. iv.] one of the principal points to be attended to in building an ash-furnace is the elevation of the flue. it should rise ½ feet in ; some prefer ½ in . if the ascent be too steep, the ore will run down into the basin before it gets hot, which is detrimental. if the ascent be too low, the bottom of the flue next to the basin will soon be eaten away by the heat, and thus in a short time undermine and destroy the furnace. the flux employed is also a matter of moment. sand, and pulverized flinty gravel, are mixed with the lead-ashes before smelting. the object of this is to promote the vitrification of the slag, which would otherwise remain stiff; the particles of revived lead would not sink through to the bottom, but remain entangled with it, and thus be lost. lime is also sometimes employed for the same purpose; and indeed any earth would operate as a flux to the scoriaceous part of the lead-ashes, if added in a due proportion, particularly the alkaline earths. lime and barytes, both of which are afforded in plenty at the mines, might therefore be advantageously employed, when no sand or easy-melting silicious gravel could be obtained. good fusible sands are readily attacked and liquefied by submitting to heat with oxides of lead, alkaline salts, or any other alkaline or metallic flux; hence their extreme utility in glass, enamels, and all other vitrescent mixtures. when, therefore, silicious sand can be obtained, it will be found a more powerful flux to lead-ashes than either gravel, lime, spars, or any other substance, if we except the fluor spar. this is probably better adapted as a flux than even silicious sands; but it has not yet been brought to light at the lead-mines. perhaps the lower strata of the earth may afford it. it is found at a lead-mine near cave-in-rock, on the right bank of the ohio river, in the state of illinois, and, with the exception of a little found at northampton, massachusetts, is the only place where this rare, useful, and beautiful mineral, occurs in the united states.[ ] the situation for an ash-furnace is always chosen on the declivity of a hill, as represented in the plate. the inside work, or lining, consists of slabs of hewn limestone, laid in clay-mortar, and backed by solid masonry. although a stone less adapted for furnaces could hardly be found, yet it is made here to answer the purpose, and is an evidence of the ingenuity of men in making a bad material answer when a good one cannot be found. no sandstone or freestone, of that refractory kind used in glass and iron furnaces, is afforded in this vicinity; and the smelters seem to prefer rebuilding their furnaces often, to incurring the expense of transporting good infusible sandstones from a distance. it is not perhaps duly considered, that a furnace built of refractory materials, although expensive in the erection, would be sufficiently durable to warrant that expense, and outlast several built of limestone, which burn out every blast, and have to be rebuilt from the foundation. limestone is a combination of the pure earth _lime_ with _carbonic acid_ and _water_; it is a carbonate of lime. when subjected to a red heat, it parts with its carbonic acid and water, and, if the operation be continued long enough, is converted into quicklime. this effect, therefore, takes place as well in the lead-furnace as in the limekiln, and with this difference only--that in the former it is laid in a wall, protected in some degree from the heat, and will not part with its carbonic acid readily; while in the latter it is broken into comparatively small lumps, exposed to the heat on all sides, and is easily and readily converted into quicklime. nevertheless, although this calcination is constantly progressing, an ash-furnace will last from fifteen to twenty days, according to the skill which has been displayed in its construction, and the particular quality of the stone employed. when the stone partakes of clay (alumina), it runs into a variety of argillaceous limestone, and is manifestly better adapted to resist the effects of fire. whenever the furnace is cooled, so that the stone can attract moisture from the atmosphere, it falls into quicklime. this change does not, however, take place rapidly; for the burning has seldom been uniform, and the stones have either been over-burned, or not burned enough; so that it requires several days, and even weeks, to assume the powdery state. an ash-furnace, built of limestone, is estimated to cost a hundred dollars. this includes every expense, and such a furnace lasts during one blast, say fifteen or twenty days; perhaps, with great care, it will run a month. during this time, from sixty to ninety thousand pounds of lead ought to be made. when a furnace is completed, it requires several days to dry it, and bring it to the proper state for smelting. about ten days are usually spent in this. the fire is begun very moderately at first, being only the warmth of a hot smoke, and is kept so for the first five days, by which means the moisture of the mortar and stone is gradually expelled, and without any danger of cracking the stone, or otherwise injuring the furnace. it is then raised a little every day until the furnace is brought up to a full red heat, when it is ready for the first charge of ashes. the operation begins by shovelling a layer of ashes on the mouth of the flue, then adding a thin layer of sand or flinty gravel as a flux, and then more ashes; and so adding gravel and ashes alternately, until the required quantity is shovelled up. this is suffered to lie here and grow thoroughly hot before it is shoved down the flue into the basin; for, if introduced cold, it would check the heat too suddenly, and prove injurious in the result. when hot, the charge is shoved down the flue with a long-handled iron hoe, and another portion of ashes and gravel immediately shovelled on the mouth, suffered to heat, and then pushed down as before. this operation of heating and charging is continued until the furnace has a full charge, which may require about six hours, and in two hours more the furnace is ready for tapping. the slag, which is in a very fluid state on the top of the lead, is first drawn off, and the aperture closed up with stone and mortar. the smelter then goes to the opposite side of the furnace, and prepares for drawing off the lead by driving a stout sharp pointed iron bar through the side of the furnace, at a particular place contrived for this purpose. on removing the bar, the metallic lead flows out into a large iron pot set in the ground, and accompanied by a considerable quantity of a semi-metallic substance, called _zane_. this is lead not perfectly revived, being combined with some earthy particles, and oxide of lead. the zane occupies the top of the pot, and is first ladled out into hemispherical holes dug in the clay near by. this substance is of the consistence of the prepared sand used by brass-founders when hot, but acquires considerable solidity when cold. the metallic lead is then ladled into iron moulds of about eighteen inches in length, and yielding a pig of lead of about fifty pounds each. the quantity of zane made at each tapping is about equal to that of metallic lead. this is afterwards taken to the log furnace, and readily converted into lead. the lead made at the ash-furnace is not thought to be of so pure a quality as that of the first smelting made at the log furnace. it undoubtedly contains any other metals that may be combined with the ore, and is therefore more refractory. such lead is thought to be a little harder, and some pretend to discover a lighter color. the lead-ashes are reckoned to yield fifteen per cent. of lead (zane and all), which, added to the first smelting, makes an average product of sixty-five per cent. this estimate will hold good uniformly, when the ores have been properly dressed, and the smelting well performed. any spar adhering to the ore, renders it refractory; blende and pyrites have the same effect. the latter is particularly injurious, as it consists chiefly of sulphur; a substance known to render all ores refractory. the slag created by the ash-furnace is a heavy, black, glassy substance, well melted, and still containing a portion of lead. some attempts have been made to obtain a further portion of lead from it, by smelting with charcoal in a blast-furnace; but the undertaking has not been attended with complete success, and is not generally thought to warrant the expense. the per centage of lead recovered from the slag is not estimated at over ten, and, with the utmost success, cannot be reckoned to exceed twelve. some practical and miscellaneous observations may here be added. metallic lead in the pig is now (feb. ) worth $ per cwt. at the mines. it sells for $ on the banks of the mississippi, at st. genevieve and herculaneum; for $ in new orleans; and is quoted at $ in philadelphia. this is lower than has ever been known before, (except at one period,) and a consequent depression in the mining business is felt. there is a governmental duty of one cent per pound on all bar and pig lead imported into the united states; but it does not amount to a prohibition of foreign lead from our markets. perhaps such a prohibition might be deemed expedient. it is what the lead-smelters here call for; and certainly the resources of this country are very ample, not only for supplying the domestic consumption, but for exportation. those who dig the ore do not always smelt it. the merchants are generally the smelters, and either employ their own slaves in raising the ore, or pay a stipulated price per cwt. to those who choose to dig. for every hundred pounds of ore, properly cleaned, the digger receives two dollars. he works on his own account, and runs the risk of finding ore. it is estimated that an ordinary hand will raise a hundredweight per day, on an average of a year together. this, however, depends much upon luck; sometimes a vast body is fallen upon, with a few hours' labor; at others, many weeks are spent without finding any. he who perseveres will, however, generally succeed; and the labor bestowed upon the most unpromising mine, is never wholly lost. the above average has been made by those long conversant with the business, and upon a full consideration of all risks. custom has established a number of laws among the miners, with regard to digging, which have a tendency to prevent disputes. whenever a discovery is made, the person making it is entitled to claim the ground for twenty-five feet in every direction from his pit, giving him fifty feet square. other diggers are each entitled to twelve feet square, which is just enough to sink a pit, and afford room for throwing out the earth. each one measures and stakes off his ground, and, though he should not begin to work for several days afterwards, no person will intrude upon it. on this spot he digs down, but is not allowed to run drifts horizontally, so as to break into or undermine the pits of others. if appearances are unpromising, or he strikes the rock, and chooses to abandon his pit, he can go on any unoccupied ground, and, observing the same precautions, begin anew. in such a case, the abandoned pit may be occupied by any other person; and sometimes large bodies of ore are found by the second occupant, by a little work, which would have richly rewarded the labors of the first, had he persevered. in digging down from fifteen to twenty feet, the rock is generally struck; and as the signs of ore frequently give out on coming to the rock, many of the pits are carried no further. this rock is invariably limestone, though there are many varieties of it, the texture varying from very hard and compact, to soft and friable. the former is considered by the diggers as a flinty stone; the latter is called rotten limestone; and, from its crumbling between the fingers, and falling into grains, there is a variety of it called sandstone. it is all, however, a calcareous carbonate, will burn into quicklime, and, as i find on experiment, is completely soluble in nitric acid. as no remains or impressions of shells, animalculæ, or other traces of animal life, are to be found in it, i conclude it to be what geologists term metalliferous limestone; a conclusion which is strengthened by its semi-crystalline fracture. it exhibits regular stratification, being always found in horizontal masses. how far this formation extends, it would be difficult to determine; but, so far as my observation goes, it is invariably the basis on which the mineral soil at mine à burton, and the numerous mines in its vicinity, reposes. it is overlaid by secondary limestone in various places on the banks of the mississippi, between cape girardeau and st. louis. it is also seen passing into a variety of secondary marble, in several localities. i have seen no specimens of this mineral, however, which can be considered as a valuable material in sculpture. i have already mentioned the per centage of lead obtained by smelting in the large way. i shall here add the result of an assay made on the ore. one hundred parts of ore yielded as follows: metallic lead sulphur driven off by torrefaction earthy matter, and further portion of sulphur, either combined with the scoria, or driven off by heat by estimation. --- the ore experimented upon was the common ore of mine à burton, (galena.) i took a lump of the purest ore, completely freed from all sparry and other extraneous matter, beat it into a very gross powder, and roasted for an hour and a half in a moderate heat, with frequent stirring. on weighing the mass, it had lost of sulphur. i now beat this to a very fine powder, and treated it with a strong flux of nitre and dry carbonate of soda, adding some iron filings to absorb the last portions of sulphur. the whole was enclosed in a good hessian crucible, previously smeared with charcoal, with a luted cover, and exposed for twenty minutes to the high heat of a small chemical blast-furnace. the richest species of galena, of which we have any account, is that of durham, england. an analysis of a specimen of this ore by dr. thompson, gave the following result: lead sulphur oxide of iron ----- many of the english, and nearly all the german ores, are, however, much poorer. of five several experiments made by vauquelin on ores from different mines in germany, sixty-five per cent. of lead was the richest, and all were united with uncommon portions of carbonated lime and silex. the button of metallic lead found at the bottom of the crucible in chemical assays, contains also the silver, and other metals, if any should be present in the ore. so also, in smelting in the large way, the metallic lead is always united with the other metals. when ores of lead contain any considerable portion of silver, they assume a fine steel grain; and the crystals, which are smaller than in common galena, oftener affect the octahedral, than the cubical figure. they are also harder to melt; and the lead obtained is not of so soft and malleable a nature as that procured from the broad-grained, easy-melting ore. the proportion of silver in lead varies greatly. it is sometimes found to yield as high as twelve per cent., and is then called argentiferous lead-glance; but, in the poorest ores, it does not yield more than one ounce out of three hundred. to separate the silver from the lead, a process is pursued called the refining of lead, or cupellation. this is effected by exposing the lead to a moderate heat in a cupel, and removing the oxide as soon as it forms on the surface, until the whole is calcined, leaving the silver in the bottom of the cupel. the lead in this process is converted into litharge, the well-known substance of commerce; and the silver is afterwards refined by a second process, in which the last portions of lead are entirely got rid of. this process is known at the german refineries under the name of _silber brennen_, burning silver. the rationale of cupellation is simply this. lead on exposure to heat, with access of air, is covered by a thin pellicle or scum, called an oxide; and by removing this, another is formed; and so, by continuing to take off the oxide, the whole quantity of lead is converted into an oxide. it is called an oxide, because it is a combination of lead with oxygen (one of the principles of air and of water.) by this combination, an increase of weight takes place, so that a hundred pounds of bar-lead, converted into the state of an oxide, will weigh as much over a hundred, as the weight of the oxygen which it has attracted from the atmosphere. silver, however, on being exposed to heat in the same situation, cannot be converted into an oxide; it has no attractive power for oxygen. hence, when this metal is contained in a bar of lead, the lead only is oxygenated on exposure in a cupel; whilst the silver remains unaltered, but constantly concentrating and sinking, till the lead is all calcined. this is known, to a practised eye, by the increased splendor assumed by the metal. i do not think the ore of mine à burton contains a sufficient quantity of silver to render the separation an object. this is to be inferred from its mineralogical character, from the mathematical figure and size of the crystal, its color, splendor, &c. the territory is not, however, it is believed, deficient in ores which are valuable for the silver they contain. the head of white river, the arkansas, the maramec, and strawberry rivers, all afford ores of lead, the appearance of which leads us to conclude they may yield silver in considerable quantity. section v. annual product, and number of hands employed. on this head, it is very difficult to procure proper information. the desultory manner in which the mines have been wrought, and the imperfect method in which accounts have been kept, when kept at all, with other circumstances, which are in some measure incidental to the operations of mining in a new country, oppose so many obstacles in the way of obtaining the desired information, that i find it impossible to present a correct statement, from authentic sources, of the annual product of the mines for any series of years. when louisiana was first occupied by the united states, mine à burton and mine la motte were the principal mines wrought; but the few americans who had emigrated into the territory, under the spanish government, were fully aware of the advantages to be derived from the smelting of lead, and, united to the emigrant population which shortly succeeded, made many new discoveries, and the business was prosecuted with increased vigor, and to a much greater extent. the interior parts of the country, and such as had before been deemed dangerous on account of the indians, were now eagerly explored; and the fortunate discovery of several immense bodies of ore near the surface of the ground, whereby the discoverers enriched themselves by a few days' labor, had a tendency greatly to increase the fame of the mines, and the number of miners. but, as generally happens in new countries, among the number of emigrants were several desperate adventurers, and men of the most abandoned character. hence, the mines soon became the scene of every disorder, depravity, and crime, and a common rendezvous for renegadoes of all parts. it is by such persons that many of the mines were discovered, and several of them wrought; and it is, therefore, no subject of surprise, that, on inquiry, no accounts of the quantity of lead made, and the number of hands employed, are to be found. to secure the public interest, and remedy, in some degree, the irregularities practised at the mines, a law was passed in congress, a few years after the cession of louisiana, reserving all lead-mines, salt-springs, &c., which should be discovered on the public lands, subsequent to that period; and the governor of the territory was, at the same time, authorized to grant leases to discoverers for three years. the great defect of that law appears always to have been, that a specific agent was not at the same time authorized to be appointed for the general superintendence, inspection, and management of mines--an office which, from its nature, can never be properly incorporated with that of the territorial executive, and which, with every inclination, it is presumed his other avocations would prevent him from discharging either with usefulness to the public, or satisfaction to himself. but, whatever be the defect of the law, certainly the advantages which the government proposed to derive from it have not accrued. no revenue, it is understood, has yet been realized under it, and we are now as much at a loss how to arrive at a true statement of the mineral product of missouri, as if the mines had never been a subject of governmental legislation. when a discovery of lead has been made, the miners from the neighboring country have flocked to it, and commenced digging as usual, no one troubling himself about a lease; and thus the provisions of the act have been in a great measure disregarded. men of respectability, and of sufficient capital to carry on mining in a systematic manner, have, it is believed, been frequently deterred from making applications for leases, from the short period for which only they can be granted. it would not warrant the expense of sinking shafts, erecting permanent furnaces, galleries, and other works necessary for prosecuting the business to advantage; for, no sooner would such works be erected, and the mines begin to be effectually wrought, than the expiration of the lease would throw them into the hands of some more successful applicant. but, although we have no data to form an authenticated schedule of the annual product of the mines for any required number of years, there is something to be obtained by collecting and comparing facts, detached and scanty as they are. something also is to be acquired by consulting the books which have been kept of late years in the warehouses on the mississippi, where the lead is sent for exportation, and some information is also to be gleaned from various other sources. it is from information thus obtained that i proceed to an enumeration of the products of the different mines, and the number of persons to whom they furnish employment and support, satisfied, at the same time, that although the information may not be all that could be desired, yet it is all which, without the most extraordinary exertions, could be obtained. the amount of crude ore delivered at the furnaces of mine shibboleth, during one of its most productive years ( ), was something rising of , , of pounds. the ore of this mine is estimated to yield, in the large way, from to per cent., reckoned at ½, which is probably a fair average. the product of the mine in was , , pounds. shibboleth is, however, one of the richest mines in the territory, and this is the product of one of those years in which it was most profitably worked. it was then a new discovery, vast bodies of ore were found near the surface, and the number of miners drawn together by the fame of its riches was uncommonly great. it has since declined, although the ore is still constantly found; and i am informed by colonel smith, the present proprietor, that the product this year ( ) will be about one million of pounds. the number of persons employed in digging lead at mine à burton has been constantly lessening for the last four or five years; and this celebrated mine, which has been worked without interruption for more than forty years, and is stated to have yielded as high as three millions per annum, is manifestly in a state of decline. during the last summer ( ), the greater part of which i resided at that place, there were not more than thirty miners employed; and the total product of the different pits, shafts, and diggings, composing this mine, did not exceed half a million of pounds. of this quantity, messrs. samuel perry & co. were the manufacturers of about , lbs. they contemplate realizing an increased quantity during the present year. john rice jones, esq., is also engaged in penetrating the rock in search of ore, with the most flattering prospects, and is determined, as he informs me, to sink through the upper stratum of limestone, and ascertain the character of the succeeding formations. it is highly probable, reasoning from geognostic relations, that the lower formations will prove metalliferous, yielding both lead and copper; a discovery which would form a new era in the history of those mines. the present mode of promiscuous digging on the surface would then be abandoned, and people made to see and to realize the advantages of the only system of mining which can be permanently, uniformly, and successfully pursued, viz., by penetrating into the bowels of the earth. several other persons of intelligence and capital are also engaged in mining at this place, and it is probable that the total amount of lead manufactured at this mine during the year will fall little short of one million of pounds. it is not to be inferred, however, that because the number of miners at potosi has decreased, the mines are exhausted. on the contrary, there is reason to conclude, as already mentioned, that the principal bodies of ore have not yet been discovered, and that it is destined to become the seat of the most extensive and important mining operations. the ore heretofore raised at these mines has been chiefly found in the stratum of earth which forms the surface of that country, and is bottomed on the limestone. this stratum consists of a stiff red clay, passing in some places into marl, and in others partaking more of the silicious character forming a loam, and imbedding the ores of lead, accompanied by the various mineralogical species before mentioned. these minerals are often of a very attractive character for cabinets. the depth of this soil is sometimes thirty feet; and in this the diggings have been chiefly done, requiring no other machinery than is used in well-digging; and the stratum of rock has generally put a stop to the progress of the miner, although veins of ore penetrating it have often invited him in the pursuit. but it requires different tools, machinery, and works, for mining in rock; the process is also more tedious and expensive, and is considered especially so by those who have been accustomed from their youth to find bodies of ore by a few days' digging in the earth, and who, if they should work a fortnight at one place, and not fall upon a bed of ore, would go away quite disheartened. the principal search has therefore been made in the sub-stratum of clay, where large bodies of ore are sometimes found by a day's, and sometimes by an hour's work. hence, in the neighborhood of potosi, the ground has been pretty well explored, and more search and labor is required to find it than in other and more distant places, where new mines continue annually to be discovered. but, with the exception of austin's shaft, who sunk eighty feet, and the mines opened by jones, the rock at this mine remains unpenetrated. austin found large quantities of ore filling crevices in the rock, and the appearances were flattering when the last work was done. in sinking down, a change in the rock was experienced, passing from compact solid gray limestone, by several gradations, into a loose granulated limestone, very friable, and easily reduced to grains. this stone was in some instances completely disintegrated, forming a calcareous sand; and the most compact bodies of it, on a few weeks' exposure at the mouth of the shaft, fall into grains. these grains are, however, wholly calcareous, and readily soluble in nitric and muriatic acids. the portion which i submitted to experiment was taken up completely, nor was any sediment deposited by many months' standing. on going deeper, the rock again graduated into a compact limestone, very hard, and of a bluish-gray color, in which were frequently found small cavities studded over with minute pyramids of limpid quartz. these variations in the structure of the earth and rock in that place, are still observable by the stones, spars, and other minerals, lying around the mouths of the mines; and, upon the whole, the appearances are such as to justify a conclusion that the lower strata of rocks at potosi, and the numerous mines in its vicinity, are of a highly metalliferous character, and such as to warrant the expenditures incident to a search. from a statement lately drawn up, and certified by the proprietors of warehouses at herculaneum, it appears that the total quantity of pig and bar lead, and shot, exported from that place, from january , , to june , , a period of eighteen months, was , , pounds. herculaneum may be considered the depôt for the lead of mine shibboleth, richwoods, bellefontaine, a portion of the lead of mine à burton and potosi, and a few other mines in that neighbourhood. perhaps nearly or quite half of the whole quantity of lead yearly smelted at the missouri mines, is shipped from this place. here then is an average product of , , pounds per annum, for the years and , from those mines which send their lead to herculaneum. assuming the ground that these mines produce only half of what is annually made at the whole number of mines, which i conclude may be a true estimate, we shall arrive at the conclusion, that the annual product of the missouri mines for those years was four millions, seven hundred and ninety-one thousand, three hundred and thirty-four pounds. this, estimated at the present price of four cents per pound, gives us a sum of one hundred and ninety-one thousand, six hundred and fifty-three dollars. this is the produce of one year; and supposing the mines to have produced the same average quantity during every year since they have been in possession of the united states, we have a sum of three millions, sixty-six thousand, four hundred and forty-eight dollars; which is more than the original cost of louisiana, as purchased from france during the administration of president jefferson. let those who have any doubts of the value of our mines, reflect upon this, and consider that it was the product of a year when the mines were in a manifest state of decline, and wrought wholly by individuals, with a foreign competition to oppose, and without the benefits resulting from a systematic organization of the mining interest. nearly all the lead smelted at the missouri mines is transported in carts and wagons from the interior to st. genevieve and herculaneum. as it must necessarily be deposited for storage at those places, it was naturally expected that authentic accounts of the lead manufactured in the territory for many years, might be obtained on application. but in this, i experienced some degree of disappointment. at st. genevieve, although a warehouse has been kept at the landing for many years, the lead sent to town has not all been stored. from the earliest time, and before the establishment of a warehouse by mr. janies, the french inhabitants of st. genevieve had all been more or less engaged in the storage, purchase, and traffic of lead. every dwelling-house thus became a storehouse for lead, and, in these cases, no regular accounts were kept of the quantities received or delivered. the same practice has, in some measure, continued since, so that it is impossible to obtain, with any precision, the amount shipped from this place. at herculaneum, a warehouse has been kept since the year ; and on application to mr. elias bates, the proprietor, he was so obliging as to allow me permission to peruse his book of receipts, for the purpose of making extracts. the following details embrace the receipts of lead at that place for a period of two years and eleven months, ending may , . i. _a series of receipts, from june , , to december of the same year, being a period of six months and fourteen days._ fol. . aggregate of receipts , lbs. . , . , . , . , . , . , . , -------- aggregate of separate individual acc'ts during same period. , -------- total. , ii. _a series of receipts from st dec. , to st dec. ._ fol. . aggregate of receipts. , lbs. . , . , . , . , . , . , . , . , . , . , . , ------- , aggregate of separate individual acc'ts during same period. , --------- total , , iii. _a series of receipts from st dec. , to st dec. ._ fol. . aggregate of receipts , lbs. . , . , . , . , . , . , . , . , -------- , aggregate of separate individual acc'ts during same period. , -------- total , iv. _a series of receipts from st dec. , to th may ._ fol. . aggregate of receipts , lbs. . , . , ------- , aggregate of separate individual acc'ts during same period. , ------- total , recapitulation. , lbs. , , , , --------- total , , during eighteen months of the same period, from dec. st, , to june st, , there was deposited with, and shipped by, sundry other persons in herculaneum, as ascertained by colonel s. hammond and m. austin, esq., , pounds of lead, together with patent shot, manufactured by elias bates and christian wilt, to the amount of , pounds. for the remaining part of the estimated term, (two years and eleven months,) it is reasonable to presume that a like quantity of lead was exported through private channels at herculaneum, and a like quantity of shot manufactured by messrs. bates and wilt. this will make the quantity of pig and bar lead shipped by individuals, , , pounds, and the quantity of patent shot manufactured, , , pounds; which two sums, added to the receipts of mr. bates's warehouse, as detailed above, gives us an aggregate amount of , , pounds, for the period of two years and eleven months. st. genevieve, as has already been mentioned, is probably the storehouse for one-half of the mines, and may therefore be estimated to have received and exported the same quantity of pig and bar lead during the same period, making a total of , , pounds, which gives an average product of more than three million of pounds of lead per annum. it would be interesting to know in what proportion the different mines have contributed to this amount. the above details show us their collective importance; but we should then be enabled to estimate their individual and comparative value. with this view, i have compiled, from the best information, the following: estimate. mines. pounds of lead. no. of hands. mine à burton , , mine shibboleth , , mine la motte , , richwoods , , bryan's mines } dogget's mines } , perry's diggings , elliot's mines } old mines } , bellefontaine } mine astraddle } mine liberty } renault's mines } , mine silvers } miller's mines } cannon's diggings } becquet's diggings } , little mines } rocky diggings } citadel diggings } lambert's mine } , , austin's mines } jones's mines } gravelly diggings } scott's mine } mine à martin } , mine à robino } ---------- ---- , , , in this estimate are included all persons concerned in the operations of mining, and who draw their support from it; wood-cutters, teamsters, and blacksmiths, as well as those engaged in digging and smelting lead-ore, &c. the estimate is supposed to embrace a period of three years, ending st june, , and making an average product of , , lbs. per annum, which is so near the result arrived at in the preceding details, as to induce a conclusion that it is essentially correct, and that the mines of missouri, taken collectively, yield this amount of pig-lead annually. the united states acquired possession of the mines in the year , fifteen years ago last december; and, assuming the fact that they have annually produced this quantity, there has been smelted, under the american government, fifty-five million pounds of lead. on the view which has now been taken of the missouri mines, it may be proper here to remark-- . that the ores of these mines are of the richest and purest kind, and that they exist in such bodies as not only to supply all lead for domestic consumption, but also, if the purposes of trade require it, are capable of supplying large quantities for exportation. . that although at different periods the amount of lead manufactured has been considerable, yet this produce has been subject to perpetual variation, and, upon the whole, has fallen, in the aggregate, far short of the amount the mines are capable of producing. to make these mines produce the greatest possible quantity of lead of which they are capable, with the least possible expense, is a consideration of the first political consequence, to which end it is desirable that the reserved mines be disposed of, to individuals, or that the term for which leases are granted be extended from three to fifteen years, which will induce capitalists, who are now deterred by the illiberality of governmental terms, to embark in mining. that there be laid a governmental duty of two and a half cents per pound on all imported pig and bar lead, which will exclude foreign lead from our markets, and afford a desired relief to the domestic manufacturer. the present duty is one cent per pound. but this does not prevent a foreign competition; and the smelters call for, and appear to be entitled to, further protection. . that although the processes of mining now pursued are superior to what they were under the spanish government, yet there is a very manifest want of skill, system, and economy, in the raising of ores, and the smelting of lead. the furnaces in use are liable to several objections. they are defective in the plan, they are constructed of improper materials, and the workmanship is of the rudest kind. hence, not near the quantity of metallic lead is extracted from the ore which it is capable, without an increase of expense, of yielding. there is a great waste created by smelting ore in the common log furnace, in which a considerable part of the lead is volatilized, forming the sublimated matter which adheres in such bodies to the sides of the log furnaces, and is thrown by as useless. this can be prevented by an improvement in its construction. to pursue mining with profit, it is necessary to pursue it with economy; and true economy is, to build the best of furnaces, with the best of materials. at present the furnaces are constructed of common limestone, which soon burns into quicklime, and the work requires rebuilding from the foundation. not only so, but the frequency with which they require to be renewed, begets a carelessness in those who build them, and the work is accordingly put up in the most ordinary and unworkmanlike manner. instead of limestone, the furnaces ought to be constructed of good refractory sandstone, or apyrous clay, in the form of bricks, which will resist the action of heat for a great length of time. both these substances are the production of that country, and specimens of them are now in my possession. . from the information afforded, it has been seen that the mines are situated in a country which affords a considerable proportion of the richest farming-lands, producing corn, rye, wheat, tobacco, hemp, flax, oats, &c., in the greatest abundance, and that no country is better adapted for raising cattle, horses, hogs, and sheep. the country is well watered, and with the purest of water; the climate is mild and pleasant, the air dry and serene, and the region is healthy in an unusual degree. every facility is also afforded by its streams for erecting works for the manufacture of white and red lead, massicot, litharge, shot, sheet-lead, mineral yellow, and the other manufactures dependent upon lead. the country also abounds with various useful minerals besides lead, which are calculated to increase its wealth and importance. it is particularly abundant in iron, zinc, manganese, sulphur, salt, coal, chalk, and ochre. . that a systematic organization of the mining interest would have a tendency to promote the public welfare. to this end, there should be appointed an officer for the inspection and superintendence of mines. he should reside in the mine country, and report annually to the proper governmental department on the state of the mines, improvements, &c. his duty should consist in part of the following items, viz.: _a._ to lease out public mines, and receive and account for rents. _b._ to prevent the waste and destruction of wood on the public lands. _c._ to see that no mines were wrought without authority. _d._ to keep the government informed, periodically, of the quantity of lead made at the different mines, and of new discoveries of lead, or any other useful minerals; and, _e._ to explore, practically, the mineralogy of the country, in order fully to develop its mineral character and importance. connected with these duties, should be the collection of mineralogical specimens for a national cabinet of natural history at washington. the superintendent of mines should be a practical mineralogist, and such a salary attached to the office as to induce a man of respectable talents and scientific acquirements to accept the appointment. to allow the manufacturers of lead every advantage consistent with the public interest, the rent charged on mines should not exceed two and a half per cent. on the quantity manufactured, which is equivalent to the proposed governmental duty on imported lead, whereby the revenue would not only be kept up, but might be considerably enhanced. the foregoing details exhibit an annual produce of , , pounds of lead, which, it is presumable, may be half the quantity the mines are capable of producing, with proper management. but, estimating the lead at four cents per pound, and taking that as the average quantity, the annual rents, at two and a half per cent., will create a revenue of thirty-two thousand four hundred and ninety dollars. this subject is believed to be one that commends itself to the attention of the government, which has, from a policy early introduced, reserved the mineral lands on the public domain. no one can view it in the light of these facts, without perceiving the propriety and necessity of an efficient organization of this branch of the public interest. footnotes: [ ] the following sketch of the life of burton is given by colonel thomas h. benton, of st. louis, in the enquirer of that city, october , :--"he is a frenchman, from the north of france. in the fore-part of the last century, he served in the low countries, under the orders of marshal saxe. he was at fontenoy when the duke of cumberland was beat there by that marshal. he was at the siege of bergen-op-zoom, and assisted in the assault of that place when it was assailed by a division of marshal saxe's army, under the command of count lowendahl. he has also seen service upon this continent. he was at the building of fort chartres, on the american bottom; afterwards went to fort du quesne (now pittsburgh), and was present at braddock's defeat. from the life of a soldier, burton passed to that of a hunter; and in this character, about half a century ago, while pursuing a bear to the west of the mississippi, he discovered the rich lead-mines which have borne his name ever since. his present age cannot be ascertained. he was certainly an _old soldier_ at fort chartres, when some of the people of the present day were little children at that place. the most moderate computation will make him a hundred and six. he now lives in the family of mr. micheaux, at the little rock ferry, three miles above st. genevieve, and walks to that village almost every sunday to attend mass. he is what we call a square-built man, of five feet eight inches high, full chest and forehead; his sense of seeing and hearing somewhat impaired, but free from disease, and apparently able to hold out against time for many years to come." [ ] the following is a list of the principal mines worked under the spanish government, with their situation: mine la motte head of st. francis river. mine à joe on flat river. mine à burton on a branch of mineral fork. old mines on a branch of mineral fork. renault's mines on mineral fork, or fourche arno. [ ] a law erecting the territory of arkansas from the southern part of missouri, has since passed; but its northern boundary is extended so as to include all white river above the latitude of ° '. [ ] the following are the principal historical epochs of louisiana, chronologically arranged: a. d. discovered by ferdinand de soto, and named florida visited by the french from canada settlement made by la salle a settlement made at beloxi granted to crozat by louis xiv., th september new orleans founded by the french retroceded to the crown by crozat granted to the company of the west retroceded by the company of the wes ceded by france to spain first occupied by the spanish ceded to the united states taken possession of by the united states, th december louisiana became a state, august missouri territory erected, th june [ ] on this passage, mr. silliman remarks, "that sulphur is not poisonous to men or animals.... the _carbonate_ of barytes is eminently poisonous; but we have never heard that the sulphate is so. may not the licking around the furnaces expose the cattle to receive lead, in some of its forms, minutely divided? or, if it be not active in the metallic state, both the oxide and the carbonate, which must of course exist around the furnaces, would be highly active and poisonous. is it not possible, also, that some of the natural waters of the country may, in consequence of saline or acid impregnations, dissolve some of the lead, and thus obtain saturnine qualities? we must allow, however, that we are not acquainted with the existence of any natural water thus impregnated."--jour. sci., vol. iii. [ ] i was mistaken in supposing this the only locality of the fluate of lime in the united states. it has also been found "in virginia, near woodstock or miller's town, shenandoah county, in small loose masses, in the fissures of a limestone containing shells. (barton.)--in maryland, on the west side of the blue ridge, with sulphate of barytes. (hayden.)--in new jersey, near franklin furnace, in sussex county, disseminated in lamellar carbonate of lime, and accompanied with mica and carburet of iron; also near hamburg, in the same county, on the turnpike to pompton, in a vein of quartz and feldspar. (bruce.)--in new york, near saratoga springs, in limestone; it is nearly colorless, and penetrated by pyrites.--in vermont, at thetford.--in connecticut, at middletown, in a vein, and is accompanied by sulphurets of lead, zinc, and iron. (bruce.)--in massachusetts, at the lead-mine in southampton, where it is imbedded in sulphate of barytes, or granite; its colors are green, purple, &c.--in new hampshire, at rosebrook's gap, in the white mountains, in small detached pieces. (gibbs.)"--cleveland's mineralogy. mineralogy. a catalogue of the minerals of the mississippi valley. in the arrangement of this catalogue, the order introduced in professor cleveland's mineralogical tables, has been chiefly observed. it is the commencement of an investigation into the physical history, character, and mineral resources of the west, which it will become the duty of future observers to continue and perfect. the field is an extensive one, and invites attention. the order and beauty that are observed in this branch of natural history, afford as striking proofs as any of the other departments of it, of that design which, in so remarkable a manner, pervades the organization of the various classes of bodies, animate and inanimate, on the surface of the globe. so far as respects mineralogy, its species and varieties have not all been seen, in crystallized forms, agreeably to our imperfect state of microscopical knowledge; but as far as the species have been brought within observation, in the classes of crystals and crystallized ores, they rival, in their colors and exact geometrical forms, other systems of bodies. in revising the list, those specimens are dropped, respecting which further reflection or examination has shown, either that the early descriptions were imperfect, or that the quantity of the mineral was deficient. i. alkaline and earthy salts. . nitrate of potash. nitre. . muriate of soda. salt. . sulphate of barytes. heavy spar. . carbonate of lime. calc. spar. _a._ rhombic crystals. _b._ concrete forms. . fluate of lime. fluor spar. . sulphate of lime. gypsum. . sulphate of magnesia. magnesia. . sulphate of alumine and potash. alum. ii. earthy compounds and stones. . quartz. _a._ hexagonal crystals. _b._ radiated. _c._ chalcedony. _d._ agatized wood. _e._ agate. _f._ jasper. _g._ hornstone. _h._ red ferruginous quartz. _i._ tabular quartz. _j._ granular quartz. _k._ hoary quartz. _l._ carnelian. _m._ buhrstone. _n._ opalized wood. . pumice. . mica. . feldspar. . hornblende. . greenstone porphyry. . clay. _a._ native alumine. _b._ indurated clay. _c._ reddle. . basanite. . indian pipestone. opwagonite. . schoerl. . novaculite. iii. combustibles. . sulphur. _a._ crystallized. _b._ concrete. . graphite. . coal. _a._ slaty-bituminous. _b._ wood-coal. bituminous shale. iv. metals. . native copper. . iron. . sulphuret of iron. . iron glance. . micaceous oxide of iron. . brown oxide of iron. . ironstone. . argillaceous oxide of iron. . ochrey oxide of iron. . sulphuret of lead. _a._ common galena. _b._ specular. _c._ granular. _d._ cobaltic. . carbonate of lead. . earthy oxide of lead. . sulphuret of zinc. . sulphuret of manganese. first class. . nitre--saltpetre. this salt, in its efflorescent state, exists extensively in the limestone caves of missouri and arkansas. it also impregnates the masses of earth found in these recesses. this earth is lixiviated with wood-ashes, which allows the nitre to take a crystalline form. i visited a large cavern, about eighty miles south-west of potosi, where this salt was manufactured, and observed its efflorescences in other caves in the ozark range. . muriate of soda. about one hundred and fifty thousand bushels of common salt are annually made from the united states' saline on salt river, in illinois. it appears, from the remains of antique broken vessels found in that locality, to have been manufactured there by the ancient inhabitants. there is a saline, which has been profitably worked, on saline creek, in st. genevieve county. two salt springs are worked, in a small way, in jefferson county, mo. the springs in arkansas are reported to be extensive, and rumors of rock-salt on its plains have been rife, since the purchase of louisiana. the hunters whom i met in the ozark range, invariably affirmed its existence, in crystalline solid masses, in that quarter; from which also, it is to be recollected, de soto's scouts brought it, in . . sulphate of barytes--heavy spar. this mineral is found, in considerable quantities, at the principal lead-mines of missouri, west of the mississippi. it presents its usual characters--it is heavy, white, shining, opaque, and easily fractured. it is sometimes found crested, columnar, prismatic, or in tabular crystallizations. its surface is frequently covered by a yellowish, ochrey earth, or ferruginous oxide. it sometimes exists as the matrix of the sulphuret of lead--more frequently, as one of its accompanying minerals. . carbonate of lime. a. _calc. spar._ this form of the carbonate of lime is common in the lead-mine regions of missouri. at hazel run, it constitutes, to some extent, the gangue of the lead-ores. it is generally imbedded in lumps in the red clay mineral soil. these lumps are round, externally; but, on being broken, reveal a rhomboidal structure, and are beautifully transparent. b. _stalactites._ this form of the carbonate of lime is found in a cave on the head-waters of currents river, in missouri. the stalactites are found in concretions resembling icicles hanging from the roof, or in columns reaching to the floor. the specimens are translucent. stalactites are also found in a very large cave (winoca) on findley's fork, one of the tributaries of white river, arkansas. they form two large vases in this cave, which are filled with the most crystalline water. c. _stalagmite_ (calcareous alabaster). the cave which has just been mentioned on findley's fork, affords this mineral in small, solid globules, which strew the floor of the cave. . fluor spar. the elevated lands on the west banks of the ohio, near the picturesque shores of cave-in-rock, in illinois, disclose this mineral. it exhibits its well-known character. it is generally of a purple, or amethystine hue, and crystallized, as its primary form, in cubes. externally, these crystals are dull. its association here is with the ores of lead, which have been extensively searched for in former times. it is plentifully found, sometimes in large crystals, which have an external appearance as if they had been subjected to the influence of turbid water. it has been thus far, chiefly, explored in the diluvial stratum. . gypsum. foliated masses of this mineral occur in the river cliffs in st. clair county, illinois. it is found in large quantities near the salines in upper arkansas. dr. sibley, speaking of the formation in that vicinity, says: "it is a tract of about seventy-five miles square, in which nature has arranged a variety of the most strange and whimsical vagaries. it is an assemblage of beautiful meadows, verdant ridges, and rude misshapen piles of red clay, thrown together in the utmost apparent confusion, yet affording the most pleasing harmonies, and presenting in every direction an endless variety of curious and interesting objects. after winding along for a few miles on the high ridges, you suddenly descend an almost perpendicular declivity of rocks and clay, into a series of level and fertile meadows, watered by some beautiful rivulets, and adorned here and there with shrubby cotton trees, elms, and cedars. these meadows are divided by chains formed of red clay, and huge masses of gypsum, with here and there a pyramid of gravel. one might imagine himself surrounded by the ruins of some ancient city, and that the plain had sunk by some convulsion of nature more than one hundred feet below its former level; for some of the huge columns of red clay rise to the height of two hundred feet perpendicular, capped with rocks of gypsum, which the hand of time is ever crumbling off, and strewing in beautiful transparent flakes, along the declivities of the hill, glittering like so many mirrors in the sun." . sulphate of magnesia. a large and curious cavern has been discovered in the calcareous rocks at corydon, near the seat of government of indiana, which is found to yield very beautiful white crystals of this mineral. to what extent these appearances exist, is unknown; but the cavern invites exploration. . alum. efflorescences of the sulphate of alumina exist in a calcareous cavern in the elevated ranges of bellevieu, in the county of washington, mo. no practical use is made of it. . quartz. this important family of mineral bodies exists, in many of its forms, on the west banks of the mississippi. they will be noticed under their appropriate names. a. _granular quartz._ there is a very large body of this mineral about eight miles west of st. genevieve, near the potosi road. it is known as the site of a remarkable cave. the sides, roof, and floor of the cave, consist of the most pure and white granular quartz. it is quite friable between the fingers, and falls into a singularly transparent and beautiful sand. each of these grains, when examined by the microscope, is found to be a transparent molecule of pure quartz. it possesses no definable tint of color, is not acted upon by either nitric or muriatic acids, and appears to be an aggregation of minute crystals of quartz. it occurs in several caves near the road, whose sides are entirely composed of it; and its snowy hue, and granular structure, give it the appearance of refined sugar. it appears to me to be composed of silex nearly or quite pure, and possesses, as i find on treatment with potash, the property of easy fusibility. could the necessary alkali and apyrous clays be conveniently had at this spot, i cannot conceive a more advantageous place for a manufactory of crystal glass. b. _radiated quartz._ this mineral is found in great abundance at the missouri lead-mines, where it bears the striking name of mineral blossom, or blossom of lead--an opinion being entertained that it indicates the presence or contiguity of lead-ore. examined with care, it is found to consist of small crystals of quartz, disposed in radii, which resemble the petals of a flower. these crystals are superimposed on a basis consisting of thin lines, or tabular layers, of agate. it is found either strewn on the surface of the soil, imbedded in it, or existing in cavities in the limestone rock. c. _chalcedony._ this species is brought down the mississippi or missouri, and deposited in small fragments along the missouri shore. it also constitutes the principal layers in the thin tabular, or mamillary masses, which constitute the basis of the radiated quartz. most commonly, it is bluish-white, or milk-white. d. _agatized wood._ fragments of this mineral are brought down the missouri, and deposited, in occasional pieces, along the banks of the mississippi. e. _hornstone--chert._ this substance appears to have been imbedded extensively in the calcareous strata of the mississippi valley; for it is scattered, as an ingredient, in its diluvions. frequently it is in chips, or fragments, all of which indicate a smooth conchoidal fracture. sometimes it consists of parts of nodules. sometimes it is still solidly imbedded in the rock, or consolidated strata, as on the coast below cape girardeau, mo. indeed, so far as observation goes, it characterizes all the district of country between the western banks of the mississippi river, and the great prairies and sand deserts at the foot of the rocky mountains. its color is generally brown, with different shades of yellow, black, blue, or red. it appears nearly allied to flint, into which it is sometimes seen passing. it runs also into varieties of jasper, chalcedony, and common quartz; and the different gradations from well-characterized hornstone, until its distinctive characters are lost in other sub-species of quartz, may be distinctly marked. the barbs for indian arrows, frequently found in this region, appear to have been chiefly made of hornstone. f. _jasper._ this mineral also appears to have been imbedded in the silico-calcareous rocks of the western valley; and it is found, in the fragmentary form, on the banks of the mississippi, and also on its plains below the rocky mountains. the fine yellow egg-shaped pebbles of white river, are common jasper. several specimens, picked up in a desultory journey, possess striking beauty. the first is a uniform bottle-green, very hard, and susceptible of a high polish. the second is the fragment of a nodular mass, consisting of alternate concentric stripes of green, brown, and yellow; the colors passing by imperceptible shades into each other. a specimen found in potosi consists of alternate stripes of rose and flesh red. g. _agate._ this mineral is picked up, in a fragmentary form, along the banks of the mississippi. its original repository appears to have been the volcanic and amygdaloidal rocks about its sources, which have been extensively broken down by geological mutations, during ante-historical periods. the fragments are often beautifully transparent, sometimes zoned or striped. sometimes they are arranged in angles, presenting the fortification-agate. the colors are various shades of white and red, the latter being layers of carnelian. all the pieces found in this dispersed state are harder than the imbedded species, and are with difficulty cut by the lapidary. h. _opal._ a single specimen of this mineral, from the right banks of the ohio, near cave-in-rock, illinois, is of a delicate bluish-white, and opalesces on being held to the light. it is not acted on by acids. this locality is remarkable as yielding galena, heavy spar, blende, calcareous spar, fluor spar, pyrites, coal, and salt. it belongs to the great secondary limestone formation of the ohio valley. it is cavernous, and yields some fossil impressions. i. _red ferruginous quartz._ this occurs as one of the imbedded materials of the diluvion of the mississippi valley. k. _rock crystal._ very perfect and beautiful crystals of this mineral are procured near the hot springs of arkansas. they consist, generally, of six-sided prisms, terminated by six-sided pyramids. some of these are so perfectly limpid, that writing can be read, without the slightest obscurity, through the parallel faces of the crystals. l. _pseudomorphous chalcedony._ lake pepin, upper mississippi. this appears to have been formed by deposition on cubical crystals, which have disappeared. m. _tabular quartz._ west bank of the mississippi, missouri. of a white color, semi-transparent. the plates are single, and the lines perfectly parallel. n. _hoary quartz._ west banks of the mississippi, mo. the character of hoariness appears to be imparted by very minute crystals, or concretions of quartz, on the surface of radiated quartz. o. _common quartz._ this mineral is found in veins of from one to eight or ten feet wide, in the argillaceous rock formation in the vicinity of the hot springs of washita. it is also seen, in very large detached masses, on the south bank of white river. the character of these rocks will not be recognized on a superficial view; for they have a gray, time-worn appearance, and are so much covered by moss, that it was not until i had broken off a fragment with a hammer, that i discovered them to be white quartz. pebbles of quartz, either white or variously colored by iron, are common on the shores of white river, and, joined to the purity and transparency of the waters, add greatly to the pleasure of a voyage on that beautiful stream. p. _buhrstone._ raccoon creek, indiana. this bed is noted throughout the western country, and affords a profitable branch of manufacture. it covers an area of from ten to fifteen acres square. its texture is vesicular, yet it is sufficiently compact to admit of being quarried with advantage, and the stones are applied to the purposes of milling with the best success. q. _sedimentary quartz--schoolcraftite._ this mineral occurs three miles from the hot springs of washita. it is of a grayish-white color, partaking a little of green, yellow, or red; translucent in an uncommon degree, with an uneven and moderately glimmering fracture, and susceptible of being scratched with a knife. oil stones for the purpose of honing knives, razors, or tools, are occasionally procured from this place, and considerable quantities have been lately taken to new orleans. it gives a fine edge, and is considered equal to the turkish oil-stone. it appears to me, from external character and preliminary tests, to consist almost entirely of silex, with a little oxide of iron. its compactness, superior softness, specific gravity, and coloring matter, distinguish it from silicious sinter. it has been improperly termed, heretofore, "novaculite." it contains no alumine. it sometimes reveals partial conditions, or spots, of a degree of hardness nearly equal to common quartz. r. _carnelian._ banks of the mississippi, above the junction of the ohio. traces of this mineral begin to be found, as soon as the heavy alluvial lands are passed. it is among the finest detritus of the minerals of the quartz family, brought down from upper plains. the fragments, in these lower positions, are small, transparent, and hard, colored red or yellowish. s. _basanite--touchstone._ this mineral is found in the mississippi detritus; but no fixed locality has been ascertained. . pumice. the light, vesicular substance, found floating down the missouri and mississippi, is not, properly speaking, a true pumice, capable of the applications of that article in the arts; but it cannot be classified with any other species. it is more properly a pseudo-pumice, arising from partial volcanic action on the formations of some of the tributaries of the missouri, which originate in the rocky mountains. it is brought down by the june flood, sometimes in large masses, which, as the waters abate, are left on the islands or shores. it is incompletely vitrified, consisting of spongy globules. the masses are irregularly colored, agreeably to the vitrified materials, red, black or brown. its tenacity is very great. . mica. in the granitical, or primitive district, at the sources of the st. francis. the great body of these rocks is a sienite, or sienitic granite, or greenstone. like the northern granitical tracts, the mica is generally replaced by hornblende. the folia, usually, are small. . feldspar. with the preceding. the great bulk of these granitical formations consists of red feldspar. where the greenstone becomes porphyritic, the feldspar is a light green. . hornblende. with the preceding. this mineral assumes its crystalline form, in large areas of the sienite rock. with the two preceding minerals, mica and feldspar, and common quartz, it constitutes the mountain peaks of that remarkable district. it is the only locality, except the washita hills, where these formations rise to an elevation above the great metalliferous sandstone, and carbonaceous deposits of the central area of the mississippi valley, south of the sauk rapids, above st. anthony's falls, and the head-waters of the st. peter's, or minnesota river. the latter constitute the northern limits of the great horizontal, sedimentary, semi-crystallized rocks west of the alleghanies. . greenstone porphyry. with the preceding. . puddingstone. in the tongue of land formed by the junction of the ohio with the mississippi, directly beneath the alluvial lands at the old site of fort massac, and at the village called "america." also, in large, broken blocks, along the west shores of the mississippi, near the "chalk banks," so called, in cape girardeau county, and at cape garlic, on the west banks of the mississippi. . native alumine--white, friable, pure clay. at the head of tiawapeta bottom, little chain of rocks, west banks of the mississippi, cape girardeau county, missouri. this remarkable body of white earth is locally denominated chalk, and was thus called in the first edition of this catalogue. it is employed as a substitute for chalk, but is found to contain no carbonic acid, and is destitute of a particle of calcia. it appears, from mr. jessup,[ ] to be nearly pure alumine. the traveller, on ascending the mississippi from the mouth of the ohio, passes through a country of alluvial formation, a distance of thirty-five miles. here the first high land presents itself on the west bank of the river, in a moderately elevated ridge, running from south-east to north-west, and terminating abruptly in the bank of the river, which here runs nearly at right angles with the ridge, and has been worn away by the action of the water. this ridge consists of secondary limestone, overlying a coarse reddish sandstone, which, at the lowest stage of the water in summer, is seen in huge misshapen fragments, at the immediate edge of the water, and at intervals nearly half way across the river, as well as on the illinois shore. the mineral occurs in mass, abundantly. it is nearly dry, of a perfectly white color, and chalky friability. it embraces masses of hornstone, resembling flint. it also occurs at a higher point on the same shore, two miles below the grand tower. . plastic white clay. gray's mine, jefferson county, mo. . opwagunite[ ]--geognostic red clay. prairie des couteau, between the sources of the st. peter's river and the missouri. it exists in lamellar masses, beneath secondary masses. it is of a dull red color, is soft, compact, easily cut, and is a material much employed and valued by the indians for carving pipes, and sometimes neck ornaments. occasionally it has brighter spots of pale red. it is also found on the red cedar, or folle avoine branch of chippewa river, wisconsin, of a darker color, approaching to that of chocolate. it is polished by the indians with rushes. iii. combustibles. . sulphur. in flocculent white deposits, in a spring, jefferson county, missouri. . mineral coal. bituminous, slaty coal, constitutes a very large geological basin in the ohio and mississippi valleys, where it appears to have resulted from the burial of ancient forests. at pittsburgh, i found it composing thick strata in elevated grounds, on the south banks of the monongahela river. in an excursion up that stream, it characterizes its banks at intervals for forty miles. it inflames easily, burns with a pitchy smoke and bituminous smell, and throws out a great heat. it occurs in veins in limestone, along with argillaceous slate, indurated clay, red sandstone, and bituminous shale, which are arranged in alternate strata, one above the other, preserving an exact parallelism with the waters of the alleghany, monongahela, and ohio rivers. the coal always constitutes a vein between the shale and clay which are found immediately above and below it. the clay appears to have originated from the decomposition of shale; for it may be observed in all stages of the decomposition, from a well-characterized argillaceous slate, to plastic clay. the veins of coal are from a foot to nine feet in thickness, and the strata of coal, shale, limestone, &c., are repeated; so that the sides of the hills which afford coal, exhibit several strata, with the rock intervening, one above another. the greatest distance, in a perpendicular direction, from one stratum to another, is perhaps one hundred feet; and such is the regularity of the coal formation in this region, that the description of one pit, or bed, will apply almost equally to any other within a circuit of two hundred miles, every section of which is characterized by coal. sometimes pyrites of a tin-white color are found mixed among the coal. in missouri, it occurs at florrisant. . graphite--plumbago. twelve miles south of potosi, washington county, mo., in a large body. . sulphuret of lead. a. _galena._ one of the most remarkable formations of this ore in america, if not in the world, is furnished by the metalliferous limestones of the mississippi. of these, missouri furnishes one of the most celebrated localities. these mines were first explored by the renowned mississippi company, in , and have continued to be worked during the successive changes which it has experienced under the french, spanish, and americans, to the present period. the number of mines now wrought is about fifty, and the quantity of lead annually smelted is estimated at three millions of pounds. the ore is the common galena, with a broad glittering grain, and bluish-gray color, and is found accompanied by sulphate of barytes, blende, pyrites, quartz, and calcareous spar. it yields, on assay, eighty-two per cent. of metallic lead, the remainder being chiefly sulphur. (vide "view of the lead-mines.") b. _granular sulphuret of lead._ mine la motte, madison county, missouri. c. _cobaltic sulphuret of lead._ with the preceding. . oxide of lead. earthy, yellow. wythe county, virginia. . carbonate of lead. lead-mines of missouri. it occurs in some of the mines as a crust, or thin layer, on ores of galena. . sulphuret of zinc. in the form of black blende. lead-mines of missouri. . oxide of zinc. earthy, grayish-white. in the mineral called "dry-bone." missouri lead-mines. . iron. a. _iron glance._ in the iron mountain and pilot knob, on the sources of the river st. francis, missouri. it occurs in vast masses, granular, and sometimes specular, without iridescence. also, on white river, arkansas. b. _micaceous oxide of iron._ sources of the st. francis river, missouri. a vein of this ore, several feet wide, is found in red sienite, on the banks of the river st. francis, at the narrows, madison county, missouri territory. its unusual appearance has for several years attracted the attention of the inhabitants. it is situated four miles south of the extensive lead-mines of la motte, and in the centre of a highly interesting geological and mineralogical section of country. the rocks at that place are the old red granite and sienite, in mountain masses, with veins of greenstone, greenstone porphyry, and gneiss. c. _red oxide of iron._ flint river, tennessee. d. _brown hæmatite._ on the dividing ridge between strawberry and spring rivers, arkansas. e. _argillaceous oxide of iron--ironstone._ banks of the monongahela, pennsylvania. f. _sulphuret of iron._ accompanying the ores and vein-stones of the missouri lead-mines. g. _magnetic oxide of iron._ fifteen miles below the hot springs, on the washita river, arkansas. in quantity. . black oxide of manganese. on big sandy river, kentucky. also, on the sources of the maramec and spring rivers, missouri, accompanied by the brown oxide of iron. . native copper. scattered masses of this metal have been found on big river, and also in a shaft sunk near harrisonville, illinois. nothing, however, is known in america, to equal the vast quantities of this metal found in the trap veins on the banks of lake superior. . sulphate of copper. on the washita river, fifteen miles below the hot springs, arkansas. footnotes: [ ] long's expedition. [ ] from "opwaguu," (algonquin) a pipe; and "lithos," (gr.) a stone. catalogue of minerals and geological specimens, (continued.) october, . . sulphate of lime. arkansas. . sulphuret of lead, in quartz. washington county, mo. . agate, from persia. brought by captain austin. . serpentine. derby, conn. . galena upon crystallized quartz. missouri. . limpid quartz. hot springs, arkansas. . striped agate. st. genevieve county, mo. . sienite. persia. . silicious breccia. illinois. . sulphuret of lead. shangum mountain, ulster county, n. y. . garnet, in micaceous schistus. watertown, litchfield county, conn. . galena, iron pyrites, &c., in quartz. northampton, mass. . serpentine. derby, conn. . red granite. river st. francis, madison county, missouri territory. . red oxide of zinc. sussex county, n. j. . metalliferous limestone. missouri. . agate. strawberry river, arkansas territory. . dolomite. stockbridge, mass. . lamellar galena. bryan's mines, st. genevieve county, mo. . shell-limestone. bermuda. . arseniate of cobalt, with nickel, in actynolite. chatham, conn. . galena in quartz. shangum mountain, n. y. . regulus of antimony. . granular argillaceous oxide of iron (pea ore). staten island, n. y. . olivine. europe. . indicolite in lamellar feldspar. chesterfield, mass. . brucite, (gibbs,) silicious fluate of magnesia, in transition carbonate of lime, with graphite. sussex county, n. j. . sulphate of lime. nova scotia. . serpentine. hoboken, n. j. . sulphuret of antimony, with crystals of carbonate of lime. cornwall, england. . chalcedony. easthaven, conn. . arseniate of iron, in quartz. connecticut. . arseniate of cobalt, with iron pyrites and copper. ireland. . indurated talc. hoboken, n. j. . primitive granular limestone. kingsbridge, n. y. . galena in quartz. wales. . carbonate and sulphuret of copper, with calcareous spar, in sandstone. schuyler's mines, bergen county, n. j. . iron pyrites (cubical). haddam, conn. . ferruginous oxide of manganese. greenwich street, new york city. . green feldspar. hoboken, n. j. . chert. wales. . brown hæmatite. salisbury, conn. . indicolite, in lamellar feldspar. chesterfield, mass. . tremolite. litchfield county, conn. . sappare (cyanite of cleveland). litchfield county, conn. . chabasie. deerfield, mass. . anthracite, with quartz. rhode island. . fluate of lime. derbyshire, eng. . asbestos. milford, conn. . zeolite. giants' causeway, county of antrim, ireland. . hydrate of magnesia. hoboken, n. j. . serpentine (verte antique). milford, conn. . serpentine (pure). milford, conn. . primitive granular limestone, equalling carrara marble. stockbridge, mass. . precious serpentine. hoboken, n. j. . beryl, in granitic rock. haddam, conn. . sediment in the hot springs of washita, arkansas territory. . asbestos. milford, conn. . talc. staten island, richmond county, n. y. . graphic granite. staten island, richmond county, n. y. . amethystine quartz. easthaven, conn. . prehinite. hartford, conn. . jasper. egypt. . granite. greenfield hill, conn. . fibrous carbonate of lime, resembling zeolite. hoboken, n. j. . chalcedony. easthaven, conn. . tremolite. litchfield, conn. . sulphuret of antimony. cornwall, eng. . sulphuret of antimony, cornwall, eng. . agate. corlaer's hook, island of new york. . sulphuret of molybdena, in granite. bergen, n. j. . cellular mass of sandstone and quartz, with crystals of quartz. schuyler's mines, n. j. . crystallized carbonate of lime, with carb'te of copper. same mines. . micaceous oxide of iron. river st. francis, madison county, mo. . petrified wood. locality unknown. . sulphate of copper (blue vitriol), with carbonate of copper, in a ferruginous sandstone. schuyler's mines, n. j. . carbonate of copper. schuyler's mines, n. j. . agate. south bank of white river, arkansas territory. . sulphuret of lead, carbonate of copper, and yellow oxide of iron. schuyler's mines, n. j. , , , and . calcareous spar. lead-mines, missouri. and . sulphuret of lead, in sulphate of barytes. lead-mines, missouri. . argentiferous lead-glance. mine la motte, missouri. . specular oxide of iron, with quartz. bellevieu, washington county, missouri. . sulphuret of zinc. lead-mines, missouri. . yellow mamillary quartz, incrusted with sulphate of barytes and hæmatitic iron. old mines, missouri. . lamellar sulphate of barytes. lead-mines of missouri. . brown hæmatite. staten island, n. y. . greenstone porphyry. river st. francis, madison county, mo. . cubical lead-glance, with calcareous spar. bryan's mines, mo. . crested sulphate of barytes. lead-mines, missouri. . pyramidal sulphate of barytes (prism spar). lead-mines, missouri. . lamellar sulphate of barytes, with galena. lead-mines, missouri. . lamellar with crystals of calcareous spar. lead-mines, missouri. . blende, with iron pyrites. elliott's mines, missouri. . flint. locality unknown. . granular sulphuret of lead. mine la motte, missouri. . pumice of the missouri river. . pseudo-volcanic product of same. . ferruginous sulphate of barytes, on radiated quartz. lead-mines of missouri. . crested brown oxide of iron. jefferson county, mo. . radiated quartz, incrusted with sulphate of barytes and iron. potosi, mo. . granular lead-ore (a sulphuret). mine la motte, mo. . brown oxide of iron, crystallized in octahedrons. washington county, mo. . mamillary quartz, on a basis of agate. river st. francis, mo. . radiated quartz. lead-mines of missouri. . radiated quartz. lead-mines of missouri. , , , , and . mamillary quartz. lead-mines of missouri. . chalky clay. cape girardeau, mo. . cubical pyrites, with calcareous spar. mineral fork, mo. . radiated quartz, incrusted with crystallized oxide of iron. jefferson county, mo. . tabular galena. bryan's mines, mo. . radiated quartz. jefferson county, mo. . radiated quartz. potosi. . hoary quartz (a variety unnoticed in the books). potosi. . galena, in heavy spar. potosi. . galena, on radiated quartz. potosi. . carbonate of lime, covered by crystals of quartz. potosi. . metalliferous limestone. potosi. . metalliferous limestone. potosi. . granite. missouri. . radiated limpid quartz. lead-mines of missouri. and . sulphuret of lead. potosi. . galena, with calcareous spar. bryan's mines, mo. and . galena, partially desulphurated by beat. potosi. . chalcedony. st. genevieve county, mo. . madreporite. gallatin county, illinois. . primitive granular limestone. carrara, italy. . egyptian marble. . argillaceous porphyry. france. and . milford marble. and . philadelphia marble. . egyptian marble. . bituminous shale. . cubical iron-ore. jefferson county, mo. . regulus of nickel and cobalt. . tourmaline. greensburgh, westchester county, n. y. . graphic granite. corlaer's hook, n. y. . fibrous gypsum. nova scotia. . trap. corlaer's hook, n. y. . tremolite, in carbonate of lime. somerstown, westchester county, new york. . asbestos in steatite, on carbonate of lime. new york. . asbestos in steatite, on carbonate of lime. new york. . lamellar pyrites. sussex county, n. j. . graphite pyrites. sussex county, n. j. . pyrites, in hornblende. sussex county, n. j. . brass yellow pyrites. sussex county, n. j. . jaspery agate. corlaer's hook, n. y. . pyrites, with specular oxide of iron. sussex county, n. j. . sulphate of barytes. schooley's mountain, n. j. . sulphate of barytes. washington county, mo. . bitter spar. hoboken, n. j. . arseniate of cobalt. chatham, conn. . sulphate of lime. nova scotia. . granular quartz. st. genevieve county, mo. . sulphate of lime. nova scotia. . common striped jasper. corlaer's hook, n. y. . sulphate of lime. nova scotia. . compact limestone. herculaneum, mo. . limestone. st. louis, mo. . fibrous quartz. schuyler's mines, n. j. . quartz. dutchess county, &c., n. y. . sulphuret of zinc, in crystallized quartz. ulster county, n. y. . brown hæmatite. salisbury, conn. . greenstone porphyry. madison county, mo. . galena. missouri. shells. . murex[*] canaliculatus, with voluta mercatoria[*] included. . murex[*] canaliculatus, with voluta oliva[*] included. . murex[*] canaliculatus, with serpulæ attached and included. . murex[*] carica, with two pairs mya[*] arenaria. . helix[*] ampullacea, with two small madrepores.[*] . helix[*] ampullacea, with seven cypræa[*] monita--african money. . venus[*] mercenaria, with four small ones; a variety of species included. . venus[*] mercenaria, two valves, intermediate between the last named. . cardium[*] leucostomum. . cardium[*] edule. . buccinum[*] perdix, three shells. . murex[*] peritoideus, two shells. . venus[*] maculata. . patella[*] fornicata, six shells. . buccinum[*] testiculus, two shells. . venus[*] paphia, two valves. . larva[*] of strombus gigas, six shells. . buccinum[+] glabratum (ebuma of lamarck). and . cypræa[+] lirabica. . c. sordida,[*] linn. c. carneola, lam. . c. caput[*] serpentis. viper's head; cowry. . c. exanthema.[*] (false argus.) . buccinum[*] patulum. . voluta prunum.[*] . cypræa[*] lota, two shells. . voluta guttrata.[+] . bulla[*] gibbosa, seven shells. . ostrea[*] edulis. . peetsen.[*] . venus[*] tigerina. . tellina[*] radiata. . dentralium.[*] . nerita[*] mammilla. . bulla[*] ampulla. . voluta oryzy.[*] (rice shells.) . voluta[*] nivea. . arca[*] glycymeris. . cerea[*] noe. . mytilus[*] modiolus. [* occidental shells.] [+ oriental shells.] mineral resources of the west. a letter to charles g. haines, esq., secretary of the association for the promotion of internal improvements at new york. new york, october th, . sir: in reply to your communication of the th inst., i submit the subjoined remarks on the following questions:-- i. "to what extent are the lead, and other mines, worked in our western country, either by the united states' government, or by individuals?" in the extensive region to which this inquiry has allusion, are found numerous ores, salts, ochres, and other minerals; and the catalogue is daily increasing, by the discovery of new substances, which promise to become important to the commerce of the western country; but the only mines worked are those of lead, iron, and coal. the lead-mines are situated in missouri territory, (formerly upper louisiana,) and extend on the western bank of the mississippi for a distance of about one hundred miles, by forty in width, comprising the present counties of washington, st. genevieve, jefferson, and madison. the first lead-ore was discovered by de lochon, la motte, and others, acting under the authority of the company of the west, as early as . since which period, the number of mines has been annually increasing by new discoveries, under the jurisdiction which has been successively exercised over that country by france, spain, and the united states. the number of mines now worked is forty-five; thirty-nine of which are in washington county, three in st. genevieve, one in madison, and two in jefferson. the quantity of lead annually smelted from the crude ore, i have estimated at three million pounds; and the number of hands to whom it furnishes employment, at eleven hundred. a considerable proportion of these are, however, farmers, who only turn their attention to mining a part of the year, when their farms do not require their labor; the residue are professed smelters and miners, including blacksmiths and others, whose services are constantly required. the price of lead at the mines is now four dollars per cwt. it is worth four dollars and fifty cents on the banks of the mississippi, at st. genevieve and herculaneum, and is quoted at seven dollars in philadelphia. the ore exclusively worked is the common galena, or sulphuret of lead, with a broad glittering grain. it is found in detached pieces and beds in red clay, and in veins in limestone rock, accompanied by sulphate of barytes, calcareous spar, blende, quartz, and pyrites. it melts easily, yielding, in the large way, from sixty to seventy-five per cent. of pure metal. by chemical analysis i procured eighty-two per cent. of metallic lead from a specimen of common ore at mine à burton. the residue is chiefly sulphur, with a little carbonate of lime and silex. it contains no silver, or at least none which can be detected by the usual tests. all the lead smelted at these mines is transported in carts and wagons to the banks of the mississippi, and deposited for shipment at herculaneum or st. genevieve. the different mines are situated at various distances, from thirty to forty-five miles in the interior, and the cost of transportation may be averaged at seventy-five cents per cwt. in summer, when the roads are in good order, it may be procured at fifty cents; but in the spring and fall, when the roads are cut up, it will cost one dollar. the transportation from herculaneum and st. genevieve to new orleans, may now be procured at seventy cents per cwt. this is less than the sum paid, previous to the introduction of steamboats on the mississippi and its tributary streams. hence, it costs more to convey a hundredweight of lead forty miles by land, in wagons and carts, than to transport the same one thousand miles (the distance from herculaneum to new orleans) by steamboats. an improvement of the streams of the mine country, so as to render them navigable at all seasons for keel-boats and barges, is therefore a subject of the first moment. the maramec river, a stream of one hundred and eighty miles in length, and a hundred yards wide at its mouth, which enters the mississippi eighteen miles below st. louis, draws its waters from the mining counties of washington, jefferson, st. genevieve, and the unincorporated wilderness on the south-east, and the fertile counties of franklin and st. louis on the north-west; and its south-eastern tributaries meander throughout the mine tract. the principal of these are grand river and mineral fork, which are navigable in spring and fall for keel-boats of a small size, and might, i believe, be rendered so throughout the year, at an inconsiderable expense. the lead-mines are exclusively worked by individuals, either under the authority of leases obtained from the united states for a limited time; on lands which were granted by the french or spanish, and the titles to which have been subsequently confirmed by the united states; on unconfirmed lands; or in violation of existing laws. there are few sections of the valley of the mississippi which are not characterized by iron and coal. iron-ore is abundant on the ohio and its tributaries, particularly on the alleghany, monongahela, and muskingum. it is worked at several foundries in the counties of fayette, armstrong, and alleghany, in pennsylvania. the most noted furnaces are at brownsville, from which the extensive foundries at pittsburgh are chiefly supplied with pig-iron. it is also worked at zanesville, on the muskingum, and on brush creek, in ohio; and a foundry at cincinnati, and another at louisville, in kentucky, are supplied with pig-iron from the latter place. the ore is chiefly of that kind called the argillaceous oxide, and produces iron which is well adapted for steam-engine machinery, and for hollow-ware. stone-coal, of an excellent quality, is abundant at pittsburgh, where it is largely consumed in iron-foundries, glass-furnaces, and other manufactories, and also in private dwellings. the most extensive pits or galleries are situated immediately opposite the city, on coal hill, where it has been pursued into the hill eight or nine hundred yards. it is found breaking out on the banks of the alleghany at several places, at and near kittaning, where beds of it have been opened; and i have even observed traces of it in the vicinity of olean, near the head of genesee river, in the state of new york. on the monongahela it extends by williamsport, brownsville, and greensburgh, to the vicinity of morgantown, in virginia; and such is the abundance of this mineral, and the uniformity and regularity which the geological structure of this part of the country presents, that there is no considerable section of it, within a circle of two hundred miles in diameter around pittsburgh, which does not afford beds of good inflammable coal. pursuing the ohio down from pittsburgh, it is successively worked at wellsburg, wheeling, gallipolis, and maysville. in illinois, on great muddy river, and at alton; in missouri, at florissant, and on osage river; and in arkansas, on the washita river; this valuable mineral has also been found. ii. "what mines have been discovered?" v. "where are the most valuable mines to be found in the western country?" the reply to these inquiries has been, in part, anticipated by the preceding details. lead and other mines are, however, found in several other sections of the western country. an extensive body of lead-ore is found near prairie du chien, on the west bank of the mississippi, about five hundred miles above st. louis. the ore is in the state of a sulphuret, is easily reduced, and yields about sixty-two and a half per cent. of metal. these mines are worked in an imperfect manner by the savages, the sacs and foxes, the original owners of the soil; and considerable quantities are annually brought down to st. louis by the north-west traders. lead-ore is also found on the river desmoines of the mississippi, where it was formerly worked by the french--on the osage, gasconade, and mine river of the missouri; on the white river and its tributaries; on the st. francis; and on the arkansas, where it is combined with a small proportion of silver. it is also found at cave-in-rock, gallatin county, illinois, accompanied by fluor spar; at drennon's lick and millersburgh, in kentucky; and on new river, at austinville, in wythe county, virginia. at the latter place, it has been worked without interruption for nearly fifty years; and the mines still continue to be wrought. the ore is galena, accompanied by the carbonate of lead, and the earthy oxide of lead; the latter of which is worked in the large way, as is said, to a profit. zinc is found in washington county, missouri, in considerable quantities; but only in the state of a sulphuret. copper has been found in small masses, in a metallic state, on great muddy river, and at harrisonville, monroe county, illinois. a grant of land made to p. f. renault, in , at old peoria, on the illinois river, specifies the existence of a copper-mine upon it; but the most remarkable bodies of copper which the globe affords, are stated to exist on the western shores of lake superior, and on the upper mississippi. it is found in the metallic state, but accompanied also, as is said, by the sulphuret and carbonate of copper. the ores stretch over a very extensive region, and have been traced as low as the falls of st. anthony. there is, indeed, reason to believe that copper is disseminated from the west bank of great muddy river, in illinois, in a north-west direction, to the western shore of lake superior, as all the streams, so far as observed, which flow either north or south at right angles with such a line, afford traces of copper. thus, the kaskaskia, the illinois and its tributaries, the st. peter, wisconsin, and the southern forks of the wabash and miami, all furnish specimens of copper, as well as lead, zinc, and iron. an attempt was made by president adams to explore the copper-mines of the north-west; but i know not what success attended the undertaking. considering the certainty with which all travellers, since the days of carver, have spoken of the existence of these mines, with the daily concurrent testimony of traders from that quarter, and their great importance in a national point of view, it is matter of surprise that they have been so long neglected. is not the present an auspicious time for authorizing a mission into that quarter, for the purpose of exploring its physical geography? iron is a mineral common to all parts of the western country. one of its most remarkable localities is the head of the river st. francis, in missouri territory, where it extends through a considerable part of madison and washington counties. the most noted body is called the iron mountain, and is situated about forty miles west of the mississippi, in bellevieu, washington county. the ore is here found in immense masses, and forms the southern extremity of a lofty ridge of hills, which consists chiefly of red granite, but terminates, in a rich alluvial plain, in a mass of solid ore. it is chiefly the micaceous oxide, accompanied by the red oxide, and by iron-glance. it melts very easily, producing a soft, malleable iron. coal is not less common, and may be considered among those extensive mineral formations which stretch, in so remarkable a manner, throughout the vast basin included between the alleghany and rocky mountains. salt and gypsum may also be referred to the same great geological formations, as they are to be traced, accompanying each other, from the western section of new york, to the southern banks of the arkansas, where immense quantities of salt and gypsum exist. clay, flint, ochre of various kinds, saltpetre, alum, reddle, soapstone, plumbago, oil-stone, marble, serpentine, &c., may be enumerated among the useful minerals of less importance, which characterize that region. iii. "to what extent and advantage do you think the mines might be worked, under proper management and superintendence?" iv. "are the laws of congress, which have been passed in relation to our lead-mines, salutary in their operation?" i have stated the amount of lead annually produced by the missouri mines at three millions of pounds, which, on reflection, i think is sufficiently high. but there are numerous difficulties opposed to the successful progress of mining in that country, by the removal of which, the amount would be greatly augmented. some of these difficulties arise from the peculiar nature of the business, from a want of skill, or of mining capital in those by whom mining operations are conducted; but by far the greatest obstacle results from the want of a systematic organization of the mining interest by the united states, or from defects in existing laws on the subject. immediately after the occupation of louisiana by the united states, inquiry was made into the situation and extent of the mines; and a law was passed, reserving all mines discovered on the public lands, and authorizing the territorial executive for the time being to lease out such mines for a period of three years. a radical defect in this law appears always to have been, that there was not, at the same time, authorized the appointment of a specific agent for the general management and superintendence of mines. such an officer has long been called for, not less by the public interest, than by the intelligent inhabitants of the western country, who feel how nearly a proper development of its mineral wealth is connected with their individual prosperity and national independence. the superintendent should reside in the mine country, and such a salary should be attached to the office as to induce a man of science to accept it. his duty should be to report annually to congress the state of the mines, their produce, new discoveries, and proposed alterations in existing laws. he should lease out and receive rents for the public mines--prevent the destruction of timber on mineral lands, and the working of mines without authority, and should be charged with the investigation of the physical and geographical mineralogy of the country. at present, the most flagrant violations of the laws are practised--mines are worked without leases--wood is destroyed on lands which are only valuable for the wood and the lead-ore they contain; and the government derives but a small revenue from those celebrated mines, which, whether we consider their vast extent, the richness of the ore, or the quantity of metal they are capable of annually producing, are unparalleled by any other mineral district in the world. there is another feature in the existing law, which is not beneficial in its operation. it is that clause restricting the terms of leases to three years. to embark in mining operations with profit, it is necessary to sink shafts and galleries, build engines, and erect other necessary works, which are, in some degree, permanent in their nature, and require much time and expense in their completion. a considerable part of the period must, therefore, elapse before the mine can be put in a state for working; and no sooner is that done, and it begins to afford a profit, and promises a reward for the expense incurred, than the expiration of the lease throws all these works into the hands of some new adventurer, or more successful applicant. this prevents many from engaging in mining on the public lands, and especially those who would be best able to prosecute the business; and of the number who take leases, a great proportion continue to pursue the desultory method of mining in alluvial[ ] ground, introduced at an early period by the french, but which is attended with very great uncertainty. improvements remain also to be introduced in regard to the processes of mining, the furnaces employed, and the method of raising the ore. inseparable from this subject is the distribution of more enlarged practical and scientific views of mining and minerals generally, which might, in a great degree, be effected by the dissemination of practical treatises on the subject, or by the employment of experienced and skilful miners from europe. when such improvements shall be effected, with others to which it is not necessary here to advert--when miners are properly secured in the object of their pursuit, either by permanent purchases from government, or by leases for a long period of years--and when the facilities for transportation which that country is destined to afford, by the improved navigation of its streams, and by the introduction of turnpikes, roads, and bridges, are introduced, there is reason to conclude that the annual amount of lead produced will far surpass the proceeds of those mines under the present arrangement, and, indeed, it is impossible to calculate the extent to which it may be carried. it is, perhaps, a moderate estimate to say, that they are capable of being made to yield, by judicious management, six millions of pounds of lead per annum, and that they will furnish employment to three thousand hands. during my late tour throughout the western country, including nearly a year's residence in the interior of missouri, i devoted much time to this interesting subject, and have been enabled to collect a body of facts on the physical resources and character of that country, and particularly of its mines and minerals, which it is my design to lay before the public. i must, therefore, refer you to this work, which is now in press, for further details on this subject, and, in the mean time, i beg your indulgent perusal of this hasty outline. with respect, sir, your obedient servant, henry r. schoolcraft. footnote: [ ] this word is used in its common acceptation in . geography. missouri. when louisiana was admitted into the union as an independent state, all that part of the territory situated north of ° north latitude, and formerly known as upper louisiana, was erected into a separate territorial government, under the name of missouri. this term is the name of a tribe of indians who formerly dwelt near the missouri river. the territory also included those boundless plains and unexplored countries stretching from north to south, at the foot of the rocky mountains, and which pass into the province of texas on the south, and are bounded by the western line of louisiana on the east. in the month of march of the present year, the southern part of missouri territory, including the unincorporated regions on the west and south-west, was erected into a separate territory, under the name of arkansas. the regions to the north-west may be considered as an unincorporated wilderness, where the authority of the united states, so far as the indian title has been extinguished, is maintained in detached posts and garrisons, under the immediate government of military commandants. the bounds of missouri, as designated in the late law respecting that country, are as follows: beginning on the mississippi river, in latitude ° north, and running due west on the latitude line to the river st. francis, thence up that river to ° ' north latitude, thence west to a point due south of the mouth of the river kanzas, thence north to a point opposite the mouth of the river desmoines, thence east to the mississippi river, and down the middle of that river to the place of beginning. it embraces some of the most prominent geographical features of the western country, and, from the meeting of such mighty streams on its confines, and its relation to all the country situated north and west of it, must become the key to all the commerce of those regions, and is destined to have a commanding influence on the surrounding states, and on the political character and mutations of that country. it is bounded by the states of illinois and kentucky, from which it is separated by the mississippi river on the east and north-east, and by the territory of arkansas on the south. the country west of the mississippi differs, in some respects, from any other section of the western country, and affords a variety in its physical aspect which is nowhere else to be met with. a great proportion of the lands in this territory are of the richest kind, producing corn, wheat, rye, oats, flax, hemp, and tobacco, in great abundance, and in great perfection. the lands bordering on the missouri river, as far as the territory extends, are rich beyond comparison. they consist of black alluvial soil, of unknown depth, and partaking largely of the properties of marl; and the heavy growth of forest trees by which it is covered, indicates the strength of the soil. as you recede from the banks of the rivers, the land rises, passing, sometimes by almost imperceptible gradations, and sometimes very abruptly, into elevated barrens, flinty ridges, and rocky cliffs. a portion of the territory is, therefore, unfit for cultivation, but still serves as the matrix of numerous ores, which are distributed abundantly in the hills and mountains of the interior. there is very little land of an intermediate quality. it is either very rich or very poor; it is either bottom-land or cliff, prairie or barren; it is a deep black marl, or a high bluff rock; and the transition is often so sudden, as to produce scenes of the most picturesque beauty. hence, the traveller in the interior is often surprised to behold, at one view, cliffs and prairies, bottoms and barrens, naked hills, heavy forests, rocks, streams, and plains, all succeeding each other with rapidity, and mingled with the most pleasing harmony. i have contemplated such scenes, while standing on some lofty bluff in the wilderness of missouri, with unmixed delight; while the deer, the elk, and the buffalo, were grazing quietly on the plains below. situated between the th and th degrees of north latitude, the territory enjoys a climate of remarkable serenity, and temperate warmth. that clear blue sky, so much admired by the aborigines, is characteristic of the country; and an atmosphere of unusual dryness, exempts the inhabitants from those pulmonary complaints which are more or less the consequence of a humid atmosphere. a country so situated cannot fail to prove genial to the vegetable kingdom. it would be difficult to point out a section of country which affords a more interesting field for the botanist. its prairies and barrens are covered with a profusion of wild flowers, shrubs, and plants; and its cultivated fields yield to the hands of the planter, a great proportion of the useful vegetables of the earth. corn succeeds remarkably; no country surpasses the banks of the missouri for the vigor of its crops. wheat, rye, oats, flax, and hemp, are also raised with advantage. tobacco is an article recently introduced, but is found to succeed well, and the lands are said to be well adapted to its growth. cotton is raised in the southern part of the territory for family use, but is not an advantageous crop for market. the climate and soil are also adapted to the growth of the sweet or carolina potato, and to fruit-trees of various kinds. the peach and the apple are most generally cultivated. of wild fruits, the woods afford abundance; among which, the grape, persimmon, papaw, pecan, and filbert, are conspicuous. some varieties of the grape are delicious, and they are very common at the mines, where the inhabitants prepare a wine from them, which has a pleasant flavor. the population of the territory, exclusive of the aborigines, has been stated at , , the greatest proportion of whom have emigrated into it within the last five years. they consist of people from various parts of the united states and europe. a large number are from tennessee, kentucky, new york, and new england. the original inhabitants were french and spanish. there are few of the latter remaining; but the former constitute a respectable proportion of the population. the principal towns of missouri are st. louis, st. genevieve, st. charles, and franklin. of a lesser size, are herculaneum, potosi, new madrid, cape girardeau, jackson, chariton, florissant, and carondelet. st. louis is the capital of the territory, and by far the largest town west of cincinnati, ohio. it consists of about houses and inhabitants, and has two banks, three houses for public worship, a post-office, theatre, land-office, and museum, including forty stores, with several mills, manufactories, &c. it is eligibly situated on the western bank of the mississippi river, eighteen miles below the junction of the missouri, and, from its commanding situation, is destined to become the emporium of the western country. franklin, at boon's lick, on the missouri, has houses, is the thoroughfare for emigrants to that quarter, and is surrounded by one of the richest bodies of land west of the alleghany mountains, to which emigration is flowing with unexampled rapidity. st. charles, situated twenty-one miles above st. louis, on the missouri, is also a handsome and flourishing town. the same may be said of chariton, one hundred and eighty miles above, at the mouth of chariton river. no country in the world affords such an extent of inland navigation by its streams, as the basin lying between the alleghany and rocky mountains, whose congregated waters are carried to the ocean by those stupendous natural canals, the mississippi, missouri, ohio, and illinois. the mississippi river itself, in whose current all these majestic streams unite, and are discharged into the mexican gulf, washes the eastern boundaries of the territory, from the mouth of the river desmoines to that of the st. francis, a distance of more than five hundred miles. the missouri, swelled by its great tributaries, the yellowstone, little missouri, whitestone, la platte, kanzas, and osage, passes diagonally nearly through its centre, affording on both sides a widely-extended tract of soil transcendently rich, and bearing a luxuriant growth of forest trees and plants, interspersed with prairie. it is navigable, without interruption, from its junction with the mississippi to its falls, a distance of two thousand miles. the ohio is a thousand miles in length from its head, at pittsburgh, to its junction with the mississippi, and, in its passage, successively washes the shores of pennsylvania, virginia, ohio, kentucky, indiana, and illinois--shores which are covered with villages, towns, and settlements, and lined with an industrious and hardy population. the illinois is also a stream affording a great length of navigation, and lands of superior quality, and has a natural connection with the great north-western lakes, into which boats may, at certain seasons, uninterruptedly pass. these rivers, communicating with all parts of the country by their tributaries, afford the advantages of commercial exchange, trade, and manufactures, to a greater extent, and a richer description of country, than is anywhere to be found in europe, asia, or africa. of these advantages, the territory of missouri, occupying so commanding a position in the geography of the country, must always partake largely, and may, from the wealth already concentrated in its capital, st. louis, enjoy almost exclusively the trade of the missouri and upper mississippi. the streams which originate within the lines described by the political boundaries of the territory, and which, either during their whole course, or for a considerable distance, meander through it, are the osage, the gasconade, maramec, salt river, st. francis, and black river. of a lesser magnitude are mine river, chariton, currents, fourche à thomas, eleven-points, and spring rivers; the four latter running southerly into the arkansas territory, and discharging their waters into black river, which is itself a tributary of white river. the osage originates in a prairie country, near the ninety-sixth degree of west longitude, about one hundred miles north of the arkansas, and, after meandering in an east and north-east direction for a distance of five hundred miles, unites with the missouri one hundred and thirty miles above st. louis. in its course it is swelled by several tributaries, the principal of which is the little osage, its great south-eastern fork. this river affords, in its whole length, large bodies of the choicest prairie-land, interspersed with woodland, and occasionally with hills, and is navigable for moderate sized boats. its banks afford exhaustless beds of stone-coal, and some iron and lead is found, while its upper forks reach into the country of the pawnees--a country rich in salt. the osage indians inhabit its banks; but a part of their lands have been purchased by the united states. it is a very beautiful stream, and situated in a delightful climate; and when its borders are opened for emigration, and its resources properly drawn forth, will support a large population, and a profitable trade. its fertile soil and genial climate entitle it to the rank of one of the first tributaries of the missouri. in estimating the length of western rivers, there is one circumstance which is not properly estimated by an eastern reader. it is their serpentine course, which is so remarkable, that, in running one hundred miles on a geographical line, they will, by their great windings, measure at least double that distance; so that a river stated to be one thousand miles in length by its banks, cannot be calculated to traverse a country of more than five hundred miles in extent; indeed, i believe that a fair average of distances would show the geographical distance to be less. the gasconade enters the missouri one hundred miles above st. louis. its length is about two hundred miles, and it is navigable for half that distance. it is made up of several streams running from a ridge of high lands, separating the waters which fall on the north into the missouri, from those which flow on the south into the mississippi. its banks afford but a small proportion of tillable lands, being bordered with rocks and sterile hills. the rocks are, however, cavernous, and afford saltpetre; and the hills are covered by pine timber, which is sawed into boards and plank. in these two articles, the commerce of this river will always principally consist. the current is rapid, and affords by its fall many mill-seats, so that boats and rafts may descend with ease; but its ascent is attended with great labor. on this stream are already situated several saw-mills. the maramec also originates in high lands, two hundred and fifty miles south-west of its mouth, and is separated from the waters of the gasconade only by a dividing ridge of land. it is swelled in its course by a great number of streams, the most noted of which are the little maramec, bourbuse, fourche à courtois, big river, and mineral fork. it forms a junction with the mississippi eighteen miles below st. louis, where it is two hundred yards wide. it is only navigable about fifty miles, except in high floods in the spring and fall, when most of its tributaries may be ascended with boats. this stream waters the country of the mines, and interlocks, by its affluents, with the gasconade on the west, and the st. francis on the south. the mines of missouri are situated on its southern shores. salt river enters the mississippi one hundred and three miles above st. louis, and seventy-three miles above the mouth of the illinois. the settlements on its banks are rapidly progressing, and the lands are noted for their fertility. the st. francis originates, with big river, in broken lands in the southern part of washington and st. genevieve counties, and joins the mississippi five hundred miles below. the most noted bodies of iron-ore in the western country lie on its head, at bellevieu. the la motte lead-mines also lie along the banks of one of its tributaries. it affords, in its course, a proportion of excellent land, mixed with some that is rocky, and bordered near its mouth with much that is swampy, low, and overflown. a raft of trees, about two hundred and fifty miles above its mouth, obstructs the navigation, which would otherwise be good to within fourteen miles of st. michael, the seat of justice for madison county. black river has its origin near the heads of the gasconade and the maramec, and is swelled in its course by the river currents, fourche à thomas, eleven-points, spring and strawberry rivers, and forms a junction with white river about forty miles below poke bayou, where the road to arkansas and red river crosses it. the banks of black river, and of all its tributaries, afford rich alluvial land of more or less extent; but the intervening ridges are rocky and sterile. although there is much high land in this territory, there is perhaps none which, strictly speaking, is entitled to the appellation of a mountain. a ridge of high land, called the ozark chain, commencing on the banks of the maramec, near the fourche à courtois, extends in a south-west direction to the banks of white river, in arkansas territory, a distance of about four hundred miles, and occasionally rises into peaks of mountain height. this ridge serves to divide the waters of the missouri from those of the mississippi; the streams on one side running south into the latter, and those on the other running north into the former. the body of red granite found on the head of the st. francis, lies in mountain masses, and forms, in connection with the accompanying rocks, some of the most rude and terrific scenery, full of interest in a mineralogical, as well as a geological point of view. in the preceding view of the lead-mines of missouri, and in the catalogue of minerals subsequently introduced, i have already anticipated much that might with propriety be given here; it may therefore be sufficient to give a brief synopsis of both. the lead-mines in this territory are situated about forty miles west of the mississippi, and sixty miles south-west of st. louis. they occupy a district of country between the waters of the st. francis and the maramec, one hundred miles in length, by about forty in breadth. the first lead-ore was discovered by philip francis renault and m. la motte, acting under the authority of the company of the west, about the year ; since which period, the number of mines has been greatly augmented by new discoveries. the quantity of lead annually smelted from the crude ore, i have estimated at three millions of pounds; and the number of hands to whom it furnishes employment, at eleven hundred. iron-ore is found in very large bodies in bellevieu, washington county--on fourche à courtois, where it is accompanied by manganese--on big river--on platten and joachim creeks--and on the waters of the st. francis and black rivers. stone-coal exists in large bodies at florissant, and in various places on the osage river. on the banks of the maramec and the gasconade are found numerous caves, which yield an earth impregnated largely with nitre, procured from it by lixiviation. on the head of currents river are also found several caves, from which nitre is procured; the principal of which is ashley's cave, on cave creek, about eighty miles south-west of potosi. this is one of those stupendous and extensive caverns which cannot be viewed without exciting our wonder and astonishment, which is increased by beholding the entire works for the manufacture of nitre, situated in its interior. the native nitrate of potash is found in beautiful white crystals, investing the fissures of the limestone rock, which forms the walls of this cave; and several others in its vicinity exhibit the same phenomenon. of the number of inhabitants now resident in the territory, i have estimated eleven hundred to be engaged in mining; but the number was much greater at a former period, one thousand men having been employed at mine à burton alone. the residue of the population are farmers, mechanics, and manufacturers, including professional men. there is also another class of society, which i shall notice under the name of hunters. the farming class is by far the largest, as the fertility of the soil, and the advantage of procuring lands on easy terms, and in a mild climate, afford the strongest and surest prospects of gain to the emigrant. there are probably fewer mechanics than are required by the existing population. the wages of mechanics of all kinds are very high. a carpenter or bricklayer cannot be hired for less than two dollars per day, and often receives more. other mechanics are also in demand, particularly in the new settlements; and these are increasing with such rapidity, as to invite the emigration of skilful and industrious artisans from all parts, with the sure prospect of success. the manufactures of the territory, in addition to its grand staple, lead, consist in the distillation of whiskey from rye and corn, in the flouring of wheat, the fabrication of coarse cotton goods, and tow cloth in private families, and of patent shot. some white lead has been made at st. louis. a clothier's and fuller's works have been recently established on big river; and a number of tan-yards, where raw hides are manufactured into leather, are in successful operation in various sections of the country. made up of emigrants from all other parts of the united states, and from europe, the inhabitants can hardly be said to have acquired an uniform character. hospitality to strangers, enterprise in business, ardor in the pursuit of wealth, an elevated pride of country, and perseverance under the pressure of many difficulties growing out of the infancy of the settlements, are the most conspicuous traits in the character of the inhabitants west of the mississippi. they are robust, frank, and daring. taught, by the hardships and dangers incident to a frontier settlement, to depend for security and success upon their own individual exertions, they rely little upon extraneous help, and feel that true independence, flowing from a conviction that their own physical exertions are equal to every call, necessity, and emergency of life. observations drawn from habitual intercourse, and from witnessing their public debates, would also lead us to conclude, that their enjoyments arise more from those active scenes attendant upon adventures which require corporeal exertion, than from the arts of peace, refinement, and intellectual research. duelling is unfortunately prevalent in missouri; and the practice, while it continues to receive the sanction of men occupying the first rank in society, cannot be expected to fall into disrepute, but must, on the contrary, continue to exert its influence over other classes of the community, and to involve, in some measure, in its consequences, those who from principle are opposed to it. those scenes of riot and atrocity, however, which have been imputed to the inhabitants of the mines by former travellers, do not now exist; the most beneficial changes having been effected in the state of society in that country. emigration has added to the former population an accession of talents and intelligence, which has served to mark the society at the mines with much of the hospitality, decorum, and refinements of older settlements. the first inhabitants of this part of ancient louisiana were french and spanish; the former of whom still constitute a considerable proportion of the population, but of the latter there are very few remaining. the french language is therefore spoken, in many settlements, almost exclusively; and many of the americans have found it advantageous to acquire a knowledge of that tongue. the hunter class of the population is composed of persons from various sections of the union, who have either embraced hunting from the love of ease or singularity, or have fled from society to escape the severity of the laws, and to indulge in unrestrained passion. learning and religion are alike disregarded, and in the existing state of society among the missouri hunters, we are presented with a contradiction of the theories of philosophers of all ages; for we here behold the descendants of enlightened europeans in a savage state, or at least in a rapid state of advance towards it. these hunters are chiefly located on the white, arkansas, and red rivers. their numbers may be computed at a thousand or fifteen hundred. the late division of the territory will throw nearly all of them into arkansas. the principal tribe of indians in this territory are the osages, a powerful nation residing on the osage river. they are remarkable for their tall stature, and their fine proportions. it is very rare to see any of them under six feet. they inhabit a delightful country, and are in amity with the united states. their chiefs are hereditary, and in war they fight on horseback. their warriors are called _braves_, to which honor no one can arrive without having previously plundered or stolen from the enemy. hence, plundering and stealing are acts of the greatest merit, and demand rewards proportionate to the adroitness or extent of the act. they are also in the habit of plundering white hunters and travellers, but are never known to commit murders on such occasions. a part of the ancient and once powerful tribes of shawnees and delawares, also inhabit this territory. they are located on the banks of apple creek and fourche à courtois. many of the plantations and mines are worked by slaves, and among them are to be found blacksmiths and carpenters, whose services are extremely valuable to their masters. the introduction of slavery into this section of the western country, appears to have taken place at an early day, and it has led to a state of society which is calculated to require their continued assistance. hot springs of washita. the attention of the traveller in the interior of missouri and arkansas, is frequently arrested by the novelty of the scenery, and the wild and singularly fanciful aspect of the country; he is often induced to stop, to survey some cavern, water-fall, high, loose-hanging cliff, or other natural phenomenon. it is in this light that those natural curiosities, the hot springs of washita, will be found to reward attention. these springs, which have been known for many years, are situated on a stream called hot spring creek, which falls into the washita river eight miles below. they lie fifty miles south of the arkansas river, and six miles west of the road from cadron to mount prairie, on red river. the approach to the springs lies up the valley of the creek, which is partly made up of its waters. on leaving the banks of the washita, the face of the country almost imperceptibly changes from a rich soil, covered with a luxuriant growth of trees, to a sterile mineral tract. on the right hand rises the hot mountain, with the springs issuing at its foot; on the left, the cold mountain, which is little more than a confused and mighty pile of stones; and the view in front is terminated by a high point of land, which makes down gradually into the valley, and separates the creek into two forks, of nearly equal size. the hot mountain is about three hundred feet high, rising quite steep, presenting occasionally ledges of rocks, and terminating at top in a confused mass of broken rocks, with here and there a pine or oak tree. its sides, notwithstanding their sterility and the steepness of the ascent, are covered by a most luxuriant growth of vines, particularly muscadine, the fruit of which is delicious. the cold mountain is separated from the hot by a valley of about fifty yards wide, through which the creek flows; it is nearly as steep as the other, about of an equal height, and terminates in the same confused manner. some pine trees are found on it, but its sides are destitute of vegetation. the springs issue near the foot of the hot mountain, at an elevation of about ten feet above the level of the creek. they are very numerous all along the hill-side, and the water, which runs in copious streams, is quite hot. it will scald the hand, and boil an egg hard in ten minutes. its temperature is considered that of boiling water; but dr. andrews, of red river, tells me that it cannot be reckoned over ° of fahrenheit. there is a solitary spring, situated seventy feet higher than the others, on the side of the mountain; but it is also of an equal temperature, and differs in no respect from those below. evaporation produces a dense fog, which hangs over the springs, and upon the side of the hill, looking at a distance like a number of furnaces in blast. it is probably the condensation of this fog by the cold air at night, which produces such a rank growth of vines on the side of the mountain, where, otherwise, there would hardly exist a sign of vegetable life. an idea of the beneficial effects of this water is generally prevalent throughout the territory, and numbers annually resort to the springs. they are found serviceable in rheumatisms, paralysis, pains in the breast, and all chronic and nervous complaints. the method of using the water is various. bathing and sweating are generally resorted to. it is also drunk as hot as can be borne, and is not, like ordinary warm water, productive of nausea in the stomach. of the chemical or medicinal properties of the water, little is known, as no accurate analysis has been made. the water appears clear, pure, and beautiful; it deposits a sediment, which is sometimes red, and in other places green or yellow. some of the springs have a petrifying quality. the warmth of the water, acting along the courses of the streams, has a stimulating effect on the vegetation. there is abundance of a beautiful green moss growing in the springs, near their edges; and their devious courses to the creek below are only indicated by a more vigorous growth of grass and moss all along the borders, and a brighter green. the mineralogical character of the country around the springs is highly interesting. three miles above is a quarry of oil-stone, of a peculiar and valuable kind. it has a very compact texture, is heavy, translucent, and gives a fine edge to a razor. the rock formations here are limestone, slate, and quartz. veins of white quartz, four or five feet in width, are found running through the slate rock. fine crystals of limpid quartz are also abundant in the neighborhood. at the cove on washita river, fifteen miles below the springs, there is a body of magnetic iron-ore; sulphates of copper and zinc, and sulphuret of iron, in cubical crystals, occur in the same locality. these springs, geologically, exist in a primitive formation, which may be considered the southern termination of the ozark chain. ancient volcanic forces have raised the beds of slate, sienite, and greenstone, of the chain, to their present elevations. the waters owe their heat to these long-extinguished, but deep-slumbering fires, which may hereafter break out into new activity. unica, or white river in order duly to estimate the magnitude, position, character, and importance of any of our great western rivers, it is necessary to consider the relation they bear to each other, and to the surrounding country. a mere topographical description of an isolated section of country--a mountain, a stream, or a mine--may possess its value; but without a survey, however cursory, of the contiguous regions, it must lose much of its interest to the general reader, and much of its utility to the geographical student. it will be necessary, therefore, to cast a glance at the extensive country in which this river lies, before its individual consideration can be profitably commenced. in looking on the map of ancient louisiana, the most striking physical trait presented is the rocky mountains, extending from mexico into the unexplored regions north and west of lake superior, with the del norte, red river, arkansas, kanzas, la platte, and yellowstone, all issuing from its sides near the same point, and uniting (with the exception of the former) at different points in the vast basin below, with the missouri, the ohio, and the mississippi, in whose congregated floods they roll on to the mexican gulf. other streams traverse the country; but these are the principal rivers of louisiana, whose heads rest on the rocky mountains. immediately at the foot of these mountains commence the almost interminable plains of sand, or kanzian desert, stretching from north to south for more than a thousand miles, and with an average breadth of six hundred. to this succeed the highlands and mountains of the present territories of missouri and arkansas, which preserve a pretty exact parallelism, from north to south, with the rocky mountain chain, and give rise to several rivers of secondary magnitude. this again is bounded by the alluvial tract of the mississippi, being the third grand parallel division presented by the surface of the soil. through these, the red river and the arkansas hold their unaltered course, and reach the mississippi without a fall; while the kanzas, the la platte, and the yellowstone, bending northward, reach the missouri, without meeting any mountains to oppose their progress. the rivers of secondary magnitude, whose origin is east of the highlands bordering the western desert, are the teche, vermillion, tensaw, washita, little missouri, courtableau, boeuf, little red, grand, white, black, osage, maramec, gasconade, and st. francis rivers. of these, white river, a stream hitherto almost wholly unknown, or only known to hunters, and which has not received its deserved rank on any existing map, is one of the most considerable. it was therefore with surprise that i found, on travelling into those remote regions, so considerable a stream unnoticed by geographers, or only noticed to attest their want of information respecting its size, length, tributaries, character, productions, and importance. i therefore concluded that a summary of these particulars, as observed by myself during a tour into that quarter, would be an acceptable piece of service, and, with this view, began these observations. white river originates near the ninety-seventh degree of west longitude, and about the thirty-sixth of north latitude, and, after running in a very serpentine course for thirteen hundred miles, enters the mississippi fifty miles above the mouth of the arkansas, and seven hundred above new orleans. its waters, unlike most of the western rivers, are beautifully clear and transparent, being wholly made up of springs that gush from the diluvial hills which are found, for more than half its length, within a few miles of, and often immediately upon, its banks. so much of the country through which it runs, is, therefore, sterile and rough; but the immediate margin of the river uniformly presents a strip of the richest alluvial bottom-land, from a quarter of a mile to a mile and a half in width. on this, corn, wheat, rye, oats, flax, hemp, and potatoes, have a vigorous growth; the mildness of the climate, and the fertility of the soil, combining to render it one of the most favorable of all countries for the pursuits of agriculture. cotton also succeeds on the banks of this river as high up as settlements have extended, and will hereafter be an important item among its agricultural productions. the district of tillable land on this river, like many others west of the mississippi, is chiefly confined to its banks. bordering this, is found a chain of hills on either side, which sometimes close in upon the river's banks in perpendicular cliffs; and the adjacent country may in general be considered as sterile. to this remark, all its tributaries are exceptions; for they invariably afford, however small, tracts of the most fertile land, covered with a heavy growth of forest trees and underbrush. the cane is also common to this stream in its whole course, and affords a nutritious food for cows, horses, and hogs, who are fond of it, and fatten upon it. this plant being an evergreen, cattle and horses may feed upon it all winter; and it is accordingly given to them, as a substitute for hay, by the indians and hunters. the only inhabitants on the upper part of white river, so far as inhabitants have penetrated, are hunters, who live in camps and log cabins, and support themselves by hunting the bear, deer, buffalo, elk, beaver, raccoon, and other animals, which are found in great plenty in that region. they also raise corn for bread, and for feeding their horses. they seldom, however, cultivate more than an acre or two, subsisting chiefly on animal food and wild honey, and pay no attention to the cultivation of garden vegetables, if i except some cabbages, noticed at a few habitations. when the season of hunting arrives, the ordinary labors of a man about the house and cornfield devolve upon the women, whose condition in such a state of society may readily be imagined. the inhabitants, in fact, pursue a similar course of life with the savages, having embraced their love of ease, and their contempt for agricultural pursuits, with their sagacity in the chase, their mode of dressing in skins, their manners, and their hospitality to strangers. the furs and peltries which are collected during repeated excursions in the woods, are taken down the river at certain seasons in canoes, and disposed of to traders, who visit the lower parts of this river for that purpose. here they receive, in exchange for their furs, woollen cloths, rifles, knives, hatchets, salt, powder, lead, iron for horse-shoes, blankets, iron pots, shoes, and other articles of primary importance in their way of life. those living near the cultivated parts of lawrence county, in arkansas territory, also bring down, in exchange for such articles, buffalo beef, pork, bears' meat, beeswax, and honey, which are again sold by the traders along the banks of the mississippi, or at new orleans. very little money is paid, and that in hard cash only; no bank-bills of any kind being taken in that quarter. i happened to be present, on my return from the head-waters of white river, at one of these exchanges, where a further opportunity was offered of observing the manners and character of these people. bears' meat was sold at $ per cwt.; buffalo beef at $ ; cows' beef at $ ; pork, in the hog, at $ ; venison hams at cents each; wild turkeys, the same; wild honey at $ per gallon; beaver fur, $ per lb.; bearskins, $ each; otter skins, $ ; raccoon skins, cents; deerskins, cents per lb. these prices were considered high by the purchaser; but they were only nominally so, as he paid them off in articles at the most exorbitant rates. common three-point or mackinaw blankets were sold at $ each; butcher-knives at $ ; rifle-locks at $ ; common coarse blue cloth at $ per yard; coffee at cents per lb.; salt at $ per bushel; lead at cents per lb.; gunpowder at $ per lb.; axes at $ each; horseshoe-nails at $ per set, &c. the trade of this river is consequently attended with profits which amply repay the risks and fatigues incident to a voyage in that quarter. vast quantities of furs and skins are annually brought down this river, with some beeswax, honey, beef, bacon, &c.; and whenever the hunter population yields to the farming and mechanical class, the list of its productions will be swelled by corn, rye, wheat, oats, flax, hemp, and cotton; a sufficiency of each of which has already been raised, to show that the climate and soil are well adapted to their culture. its mineral products are also worthy of attention. iron-ore, lead, zinc, and manganese, have already been discovered; and among its earthy minerals may be enumerated marble, agate, jasper, hornstone, and rock crystal; specimens of which, with some others, i picked up during my journey there. caves with nitre are also common; and large forests of pine timber, which will be wanted in the progressing settlements on the mississippi, are situated on its northern tributaries, and may be floated down at an inconsiderable expense. white river runs through a section of country which, according to a recent political division, belongs chiefly to the territory of arkansas; but several of its tributaries originate in missouri, the chief of which are james river, great north fork, or pine river, and black river, with its auxiliaries--currents, fourche à thomas, spring, eleven-points, and strawberry rivers. about a hundred and fifty miles below the pawnee mountains, the main south fork of white river is joined by the war eagle and osage forks; a region remarkable for the abundance of beaver found in its streams. in the course of the succeeding two hundred miles, it is joined by king's river and tower creek on the south, and by roaring fork and james river on the north; the latter being by far the largest stream it has thus far received, and contributing nearly as much water as all the others put together. from the mouth of james river to its junction with the mississippi, it is successively joined by long, bull, swan, beaver, and big creeks, by the little and great north forks, black and cash rivers, on the north; and on the south by bear and crooked creeks, buffalo fork, and little red river; and it is finally connected with the arkansas river by a natural canal called the _cut-off_, about thirty miles above its junction with the mississippi, which affords a navigable water communication at all seasons. many of the above tributaries are streams of no ordinary magnitude, and afford boat navigation for many hundred miles; they are all characterized by tracts of rich alluvial lands on their banks. james river, buffalo fork, great north fork, black river, and little red river, merit individual attention. james river originates in the ozarks, a few miles south of the gasconade, in missouri territory, and, after running in a south-west direction for two hundred miles, in the course of which it is swelled by findley's river, and by other streams, forms a junction with white river a thousand miles above the mouth of the latter. its waters are as pure as crystal; it lies under a climate the most mild, salubrious, and delightful; and on its banks are situated a body of the most fertile and beautiful lands which the whole valley of the mississippi affords. the timber on its banks is abundant; a remark which cannot with justice be made of many parts of the adjacent country, and nothing can exceed the vigor and the verdure of vegetable nature on the borders of this beautiful stream. prairies are also found within a mile of its western banks, and extend towards the grand osage, as far as the eye can reach, level as a graduated plain, and waving with tall grass, on which the elk, the buffalo, and the deer, feed in countless numbers. findley river forms a junction with this stream, near the centre of this choice body of land, and about one hundred miles above its mouth. twenty miles above the junction of these streams, on the immediate banks of james river, are situated some valuable lead-mines, which have been known to the osage indians, and to a few white river hunters, for many years. the indians have been in the habit of procuring lead for bullets at that place, by smelting the ore in a kind of furnace, made by digging a pit in the ground, and casing it with some flat stones, placed so as to resemble the roof of a house inverted; such is the richness of the ore, and the ease with which it smelts. the ore has not, however, been properly explored, and it is impossible to say how extensive the beds or veins may prove. some zinc, in the state of a sulphuret, is found accompanying it. there is not one inhabitant on all this stream; my own cabin, erected for a temporary purpose at the mines in january last, being the only human habitation within two hundred miles of that place. buffalo fork originates near the north banks of the arkansas, and, after traversing a rocky country for about one hundred and eighty miles in a north-east course, joins white river at the buffalo shoals, about seven hundred miles above the mississippi. it is a fine region for game, and affords some good lands. the great north fork, or pine river, is a stream of two hundred miles in length, and a hundred yards wide at its mouth. its waters are clear, being entirely made up of springs, which are numerous all along its banks; but the navigation is interrupted by rapids. it originates with james river and the gasconade, in a ridge of high land, which throws a part of its waters into the missouri, and a part into the mississippi, the streams running in opposite directions. in travelling into that country, i accidentally arrived at the extreme head of this river, where it consists only of some drizzling springs, and pursued it down, in all its windings, to its junction with white river, about twelve miles below the mouth of buffalo fork. it is bordered on both sides by limestone bluffs, covered generally with tall pines, and affording some detached strips of valuable land. on the whole, however, it must be considered a sterile region, which will never admit of a dense population. the bottoms are overrun by cane and brier, which render travelling extremely fatiguing. this stream appears generally to have been considered by geographers as the head of white river, which is accordingly, on most maps, made to originate at this place. the error has been, in some degree, corrected in robinson's new map of louisiana, lately published at natchez, which may be esteemed the best map extant respecting that section of country. he calls it pine river. black river is a large, deep, and gentle stream, composed of numerous auxiliaries, which draw their waters from the counties of wayne, new madrid, and lawrence; the two former lying in missouri territory, and the latter in arkansas. it is navigable with boats of the largest burden, at all seasons of the year, for more than one hundred miles. little black, currents, fourche à thomas, eleven-points, spring, and strawberry rivers, are all streams of considerable size, coming in on the west, and deserve particular notice on the future maps of that country. their banks afford choice bodies of fertile lands, which are already the seat of many plantations and farms, where corn, rye, wheat, oats, flax, hemp, and cotton, are raised in the greatest perfection, and the settlements are rapidly increasing. considerable quantities of beef and pork are also put up for the new orleans market, every facility being afforded by the luxuriance of grass in the woods, and the abundance of acorns in the fall, for raising and fattening hogs and cattle. lawrence county is generally considered among the first farming districts west of the mississippi. davidsonville, the seat of justice for this county, is situated on the west bank of black river, at the junction of spring river. the settlements on strawberry river, on the currents, fourche à thomas, poke bayou, and other places, are in a flourishing condition. little red river issues near the sources of buffalo fork, and runs parallel with the arkansas for a great distance, but inclines gradually to the north-east, and joins white river about two hundred miles above its mouth. it affords a considerable body of choice land, but is subject to very sudden rises, which overflow its banks, and have retarded, to some extent, the further settlement of its valley. such are the principal tributaries of white river; a stream which is navigable, with keel-boats of thirty tons burden, to the foot of buffalo shoals, a distance of seven hundred miles from its mouth, and may be ascended with light vessels five hundred miles higher. it draws its waters from a district of country about three hundred miles in width, by seven or eight hundred in length, having on its borders and tributaries large bodies of very rich lands, mixed with much that is poor and unfit for cultivation; but, taking into view its advantageous situation for commerce, its political relation to the two territories, in a part of each of which it lies, and the extensive bodies of farming-lands on james river, buffalo fork, and black river, we may anticipate the period when a large population shall find their support on its banks--when numerous villages and towns shall decorate its shores, and the productive labor of its inhabitants swell greatly the commerce of the western country, while they themselves command an important influence in its political transactions. one of the most interesting events connected with the history of this river, is the visit paid to it by de soto in . the place of his crossing it is not certainly known. steam navigation on the mississippi. steamboats were first introduced on the mississippi about ; and, within seven years of that time, not less than fifty boats, of all classes, had been built. the following list, which i made in , embraces all the steam-vessels which are known to have been put upon that stream and its tributaries, prior to that era, and is believed to give with accuracy their names and tonnage. fulton's first successful experiment in the application of savary's steam-engine, as improved by watt and bolton, to the propulsion of vessels, dates in ; so that but five years elapsed before the invention was introduced, and twelve years before it was spread, on the western waters. the impracticability of navigating those waters by the force of sails, caused the invention to be hailed there with acclamation; and this explains the cause of its rapid multiplication. no. names. tons. no. names. tons. . etna . st. louis packet . vesuvius . ramapo . orleans . rising states . alabama . maid of orleans . columbus . hamlet . tamerlane . perseverance . james ross . johnson . united states . eagle . paragon . vesta . thomas jefferson . harriet . ohio . constitution . general jackson . louisiana . maysville . governor shelby . exchange . franklin . volcano . rifleman . madison . newport . kentucky . expedition . hecla . general clark . napoleon . henderson . washington . tornado . buffalo . elizabeth . james monroe . missouri packet . cincinnati . post-boy (for . st. louis pas'gers only) . general pike . western engineer . independence ----- total , in addition to these, there are two new boats building at pittsburgh, one at wheeling, one at steubenville, one at marietta, two at cincinnati, one at frankfort, two at shippingport, one at madison, and two at new albany, making a total number of sixty-three. there are also several more in contemplation, so that it is probable another year will considerably augment the number. the first steamboat on the western waters was built at pittsburgh in , eight years ago. hence it appears there has been an average increase of eight boats per annum; but by far the greatest proportion have been built within the last three years. tons, at cents per lb. freight up from new orleans, amounts to $ , tons, at cent per lb. freight down to new orleans , passengers down in each boat, at $ , passengers up in each boat, at $ , ----------- $ , it is presumable that each boat will perform three trips to and from new orleans per annum, which will make an aggregate amount of freight and passage money of $ , , per annum. from this, some idea of the trade, population, and business of the vast valley of the mississippi, may be formed. and let it be remembered, at the same time, that the transportation of merchandise is not wholly done by steamboats. the ohio and mississippi are still lined with keel-boats and barges; and much of the produce is still carried to market in flat-bottomed boats, of a temporary construction, which are not calculated to ascend the stream, and are therefore generally sold for a trifle, or abandoned. the following is extracted from a comparative statement of the increase of the principal articles of produce which arrived at the new orleans market during a period of three years. productions. . . . bacon and hams, cwt. , , , butter, lbs. , cotton, bales , , , corn, bushels , , , flour, barrels , , , molasses, gallons , , , , pork, barrels , , , sugar, hhds. , , , taffia, gallons , , , tobacco, hhds , , , wheat, bushels , whiskey, gallons , , , antiquities and indian history. some articles of curious workmanship found in an ancient barrow. an opinion is entertained by many well-informed persons in the united states, that the country has, at some remote period, been inhabited by a civilized people, prior to its settlement or subjugation by the savages. to the many evidences furnished to strengthen this opinion, by the remnants of fortifications, tumuli, &c., may be added the discovery of several articles of antiquarian value, and of singular workmanship, of glass, or antique enamel, lately made on the eastern shores of lake erie. i have had an opportunity of examining a specimen of these antique glasses, and, on the authority of my informant, am enabled to remark that they were taken up about two months ago, from an ancient barrow in the town of hamburg, where they were found deposited in an earthen pot. contiguous to this pot were also found a skull, and some other human remains, thought to be of an unusual size. this mound, or supposed repository of the dead, is situated in an uncultivated part of the town, and several trees were growing upon it at the time the excavation was made; some of which were judged to be upwards of two feet in diameter. the glass relic which i had an opportunity to examine, (and i am told they are all alike,) is in the form of a large barrel-shaped bead, consisting of a tube of transparent green glass, covered with an opaque coarse red enamel. its length is nine-tenths of an inch, its greatest width six and a half tenths of an inch, and the bore of the tube two-tenths of an inch. near the circle of the bore of this tube, is an aperture of the size of a large needle, perforating the tube from one end to the other. the enamel which covers the tube of transparent glass appears to have been ornamented with painting, in figures resembling a spindle, or two inverted sections of a circle; but they are now hardly perceptible, as the bead appears to have been considerably worn. but the circumstance most indicative of art in the making of this bead, is a species of enamelling which has been performed both on the external and internal surfaces of the tube, previous to its being covered by the coarse red enamel. this second enamel is white, and, as the external surface of the tube was not smooth, but in parallel _strie_ or veins, exhibits the appearance of a white vine between the green tube and the red enamel. this enamelling appears to have been done, not by melting on any vitreous composition, as is practised at the present day, but by the effect of calcination for some time in a low red heat. this, it is known, will deprive glass, especially green glass, of its transparency, and render the surface white to a certain depth. the composition of the tube of glass, i have judged to be simply a silicious sand and an alkali, probably with a small addition of lime or vegetable ashes. it is hard, and will not receive scratches like the lead glasses; and i conclude from this circumstance that there is no lead in the composition. its color seems also owing to the impurity of the materials employed, like the common window and bottle glass, and is probably caused by a minute portion of iron, in the state of an oxide, combined with the sand and alkali. the red enamel covering the tube, and the pot in which these glasses were found, seem to have been constructed of similar materials, as they differ very little in color, texture, or other external character. probably a very fusible brick-clay, highly impregnated with the oxide of iron, and pulverized fragments of green glass, are the principal ingredients of both. the earthen pot is manifestly constructed of different materials from those employed for brown pottery at the present period. it is a more imperishable substance, of a close texture, and vitreous appearance. i shall not presume to speculate in opinions which discoveries of this interesting nature are calculated to create; it may, however, here be added, that the fabrication of these glasses would suppose a perfection in the arts, which none of the indian tribes inhabiting this country at the period of its discovery, had arrived at. that if introduced by the french from canada, in their earliest communications with the indians inhabiting the western parts of the state of new york, a sufficient time would hardly have elapsed for the growth of trees of such size as were found upon the mound from which these relics were taken. and that, if not introduced by the french at the period alluded to, we must refer their manufacture back to a very remote date, and one on which indian tradition is wholly silent. since visiting the western country, i have had occasion to notice a similar discovery on big river, in the territory of missouri. on opening an indian grave (or what was considered such) on the bank of this river, several beads of glass, of a similar character, were found. they were accompanied by many bones of the human frame, of extraordinary size, and which indicated, to common observation, a stature of seven or eight feet in height. the person appeared to have been deformed, either by birth or accident, as the right jaw-bone ran in a straight line from the mouth back, while the left preserved the usual curve. the excavation was made near the edge of the stream, where the soil is a rich alluvion, and covered by a heavy growth of forest trees, such as are peculiar to the richest ohio and mississippi bottom-lands. we may add, that it corresponds best with history and probability to attribute these relics to the early period of the fur-trade. ancient indian cemetery in the valley of the maramec river. in the autumn of , the existence of a number of small tumuli, or antique indian graves, was made known in the valley of the maramec. this discovery was made about fifteen miles south of st. louis. curiosity led several persons to visit the spot and examine them, and my attention was thus called to the subject. it was conjectured that the bones found in these graves were the remains of a race of beings much smaller than those of the present day. the essential facts connected with these discoveries, are these:--the tumuli, which are small, occupy a wood near the dwelling of a mr. long. the attention of this gentleman was arrested by this smallness of cemeterial dimensions, or place of burial. drs. walker and grayson, of st. louis, proceeded to the spot, opened several of the graves, and examined their contents. the length of the stature of the interred persons, measured by their stony casings, varied from twenty-three inches, to four feet two or three inches. but the skeletons, with the exception of the teeth, were reduced to a complete limy substance, and their forms destroyed. the graves had originally been cased with rude flat stones at the sides, and also at the head and feet. a flat stone had also, in some instances, been laid over the top, and earth piled on the grave, above the surface of the ground, to the general height of three feet. this was a characteristic feature, and seemed designed to mark the locality. in this stony coffin, all the softer and destructible parts of the body had submitted to decay, with the exception before mentioned--the teeth. the examination of these became, therefore, the principal source of interest. they found the enamel perfect, and were surprised to discover that they were the teeth of rather young persons, who had, however, passed the age of puberty. the molars and incisors were of the ordinary dimensions and character of second teeth. the jaw-bone of the first specimen examined, appeared to have its full complement, except the dentis sapienta, which physiologists do not generally recognize until after the ages of eighteen to twenty-three. many graves were examined, which differed more or less in length, between the extremes stated, but agreed in their general conformity of parts; from all which, these gentlemen came to the conclusion that the remains denoted a stature of inferior size, while appearances indicated a remote antiquity as the epoch of burial, which might as well be supposed to be five centuries as one. this antiquity was inferred, as well from the reduction of the bones to their elements, as from the growth of large trees upon the graves, the roots of which penetrated into their recesses. upon this exhibition of facts, a legal gentleman[ ] of intelligence calls attention, with great pertinency, to the ancient manners and customs of the indians, in the burial of their dead. "as yet, i have seen no attempt to account for the size and appearance of these skeletons, upon any other supposition than that they are the remains of a people far less in size than any known at the present day. unwilling to adopt a belief so contrary to the general order of nature, and to the history of the human species, so far as it has been transmitted to us, i shall hazard some conjectures upon the subject, which i think will, in some measure, tend to dissolve the mystery that hovers over these bones, and to reconcile their appearance with the general history of our race. to be sure, nature, in her sport, has now and then produced monsters. a taste for the marvellous among travellers and historians, has occasionally conjured up a race of giants, or a nation of pigmies; but when the light of truth has reached us from the distant corners of the earth, where they were said to dwell, we have found them to assume the size, shape, and attitude of men, and nothing more. so far as observation or history extends, we find the species nearly the same in all ages and in all countries. climate has had some effect upon the size, and upon the complexion. the excessive cold of the north has shortened an inch or two the necks of the esquimaux, and the heat of the south has colored the african. but what, in this genial climate, should make dwarfs? it is here, if anywhere, that we should naturally expect to find giants! all the other productions of nature are here brought forth in the highest perfection. and shall _man_ here grow a pigmy? unless we are ready to adopt the opinion of certain naturalists, that the human species are the legitimate descendants of the apes, and that they once wore tails, and were of their diminutive size--unless we are ready to believe the history of the lilliputians, and of tom thumb--i think we shall discard the idea of a nation of dwarfs, as wholly preposterous. but how, on any other supposition, shall we account for the appearances upon the farm of mr. long? "none of the graves found there exceed four feet in length, many of them fall short of three, and the teeth found in all of them show that they contain the remains of human beings who had arrived at years of maturity. the manners and customs of the indians with respect to the treatment of their dead, will, i think, solve all difficulties, and satisfactorily account for these appearances, without doing violence to nature. according to the testimony of travellers and historians, it has been the custom among many tribes of indians to hang their dead in baskets upon trees and scaffolds, until their flesh was consumed, and then to take them down, clean their bones, and bury them. there existed an order of men among them called _bone-pickers_, with long nails like claws, whose business and profession it was to clean the unconsumed flesh from the bones, previous to burial. this custom still exists among the indians on the waters of the missouri, and rationally accounts for the appearances upon the farm of mr. long. the bones of a skeleton of the ordinary size, when separated, would naturally occupy a grave of three or four feet in length. it appears that in all the graves which were opened, the bones, except the teeth, were reduced to a chalky substance, so that it would be impossible to know, with any certainty, in what state, condition, or form, they were deposited there. these skeletons are said to rest on their sides. taking this fact to be true, it goes to strengthen my ideas on this subject. in burying a corpse, it is natural, and, so far as we are acquainted, universally the custom, to bury them with the face upwards. we can look upon our dead friends with a melancholy complacency--we cast a long and lingering look after them until they are completely shut from our view in the grave; and nothing is more hard and heart-rending than to tear our last looks from them. it is natural, then, that the body should be placed in such a position as most to favor this almost universal desire of the human heart. but, in burying a skeleton, it would be as natural to avert the horrid grin of a death's-head from us. to face the grinning skeleton of a friend, must fill us with horror and disgust. 'turn away the horrid sight,' would be the language of nature. if we adopt my supposition as correct in this case, all the facts correspond with nature. but if we adopt the opinion of a recent writer, our conclusions will be at war with nature, reason, and universal observation." the following observations by the rev. j. m. peck, of st. louis, may also here be added: "one grave was opened which measured four feet in length; this was formed by laying a flat stone at the bottom, placing one on each side, one at each end, and covering the mouth with another. in the last circumstance, this grave differed from the others that were opened; the contents were a full-grown skeleton, with the head and teeth, part of the spine, the thigh and leg bones, in a tolerable state of preservation. the leg-bones were found parallel with the bones of the thighs, and every appearance indicated, either that the corpse had been entombed with the legs and thighs placed so as to meet, or that a skeleton had been deposited in this order. the first opinion seems the most probable, from the fact that a large stone pipe was found in the tomb, which i understand is now in the possession of mr. long." both implements of war, and of domestic use, are buried with the dead bodies of the indians; but it admits of a query if they are ever deposited with the mere skeleton. "it is a well-known fact," says bishop madison, while writing on the supposed fortifications of the western country,[ ] "that, among many of the indian tribes, the bones of the deceased are annually collected and deposited in one place, that the funeral rites are then solemnized with the warmest expressions of love and friendship, and that this untutored race, urged by the feelings of nature, consign to the bosom of the earth, along with the remains of their deceased relatives, food, weapons of war, and often those articles they possessed, and most highly valued, when alive." this fact is substantiated from various respectable sources. the pious custom of collecting the relics of the dead, which accident, or the events of a battle, might have dispersed through the wilderness, easily accounts for the graves on the maramec, as well as explains the origin of the artificial mounds in the vicinity. if these were opened, there would be found promiscuously deposited the bones of the aborigines, which pious veneration, from year to year and from century to century, industriously collected. the cemetery alluded to, on the plantation of mr. long, may be viewed as the public burial-place of some powerful nation of the same size, and similar customs, with other indians. footnote: [ ] rufus pettibone, esq., of st. louis. osages. this tribe claims, as original possessors, the territories of the ozarks, over which my journeys have chiefly laid. they claim all the country north of the arkansas, to the maramec. the term ozark appears to me to be compounded from osage and arkansas. they are manly, good-looking, stout-limbed men, erratic in their mode of life, living a part of the year in fixed villages, and roving with their families through the forests, in search of game, the remainder. their territories are immense. the osages, if we may judge from popular opinion, are very much in the condition of the sons of ishmael--"their hand is against every man, and every man's hand against them." it is remarkable that they possess so much skill as they do in public negotiations, which they manage with address, with a bold, direct air, employing enlarged thoughts and phrases, which are calculated to impress the hearer favorably as to their mental abilities. but little opportunity has been had of personal observation on their manners and customs. their mode of encampment has been seen, and is so arranged as to place the chiefs of the village, or camp, in the position of honor. it is stated that, at daybreak, a public crier makes proclamation of the expected events and duties of the day, which, to ears uninitiated, sounds like a call to prayer. i fancy the prayer of indians, if they pray at all, is for deer and buffalo. it appears from the manuscript records of general william clark, at st. louis, which i have been permitted to see, that they have a tale, or fiction, of their origin from a snail and beaver. if this is an allegory, we are to suppose that persons bearing these names were their progenitors. i avail myself of the public interpreter of the language to submit the following vocabulary of it.[ ] footnotes: [ ] see american philosophical transactions, vol. vi. [ ] omitted. extracts from the american journal of science. notice of "a view of the lead-mines of missouri, including some observations on the mineralogy, geology, geography, antiquities, soil, climate, population, and productions, of missouri and arkansas, and other sections of the western country; accompanied by three engravings. by henry r. schoolcraft, corresponding member of the lyceum of natural history of new york." . as this work has been more than a year before the american public, and is already well known, it may seem superfluous to make any remarks upon it at so late a period. it was our purpose to have given it an early notice, but circumstances which could not be controlled, prevented. still, as it is devoted to subjects which form a prominent object in this journal, and is, as far as we are informed, the only elaborate and detailed account of a mining district in the united states, we are not disposed to remain silent, especially as the discharge of the duty is not likely to be painful, either to ourselves or to the author. reviews in form, although within the plan of this journal, do not constitute one of its most leading objects, and we do not hold ourselves responsible for analyses or even for notices of new american books, unless they appear particularly interesting or important, or hold a very intimate connexion with the great design of our work. we have already intimated that we regard mr. schoolcraft's work in this light. we take it for granted that the statements of facts made by this author, are both faithful and accurate; the information which we have incidentally derived from other sources, certainly countenances this impression, but the whole amount of it is small, compared with the details contained in the present volume. mr. schoolcraft's opportunities for observation were extensive, particularly in relation to the mines of lead in the missouri region. among those mines he spent a year. "i have made (says he) a personal examination of every mine of consequence, with a view to ascertain its general character and value and its peculiarities. i have travelled on foot over the whole mine country, exploring its minerals, its geological structure, its geographical position, soil, climate, productions, towns, streams, settlements, and whatever else appeared to me to be necessary to describe, explain and illustrate the subject before me." mr. schoolcraft appears to have made good use of the advantages which he enjoyed, and his countrymen are indebted to him for a great amount of valuable information. he appears also to have studied the observations of preceding writers, and, with their works before him, it was in his power to correct errors and to supply deficiencies. he has prefixed an historical sketch which we presume will be acceptable to every reader. the french, as is well known, were the original discoverers and settlers of the missouri, and illinois regions, which were embraced in their vast scheme of forming a chain of posts and settlements from the mouth of the st. lawrence, to that of the mississippi. they did not occupy the country of the missouri and illinois till more than a century after the settlement of quebec, and about a century before the present period. at that time, ( ,) the lead mines were discovered by philip francis renault, and m. la motte, and by them they were wrought, although they and the adventurers under them were disappointed in their expectations of finding gold and silver. at the end of about half a century, the country passed into the hands of the spaniards, and under their dominion, probably about forty years since, the principal mine was discovered by a man of the name of burton, and from him it has derived the name of mine à burton. it appears that the processes of mining under the spaniards were very imperfect, as they obtained only fifty per cent. of lead from the ore, threw away the lead ashes, and did not attempt any manufactures of shot or any other articles. they employed only the open log furnace. in , moses austin, esq., a native of connecticut, who had been occupied with lead mines in wythe county, in virginia, obtained from the spanish government, a grant of a league square in the mining district in consideration of his introducing a reverberatory furnace. he sunk the first regular shaft--the mining having, till that time, been prosecuted solely by open digging, in the manner of quarries. mr. austin also introduced the manufacture of shot, and that of sheet lead soon followed. about the same time several other american families collected at the mines, and infused new spirit and enterprise into the mining operations, so that they were carried on with considerable vigour at the time when (in ) the country was transferred to the united states. mr. schoolcraft, from whom these facts are taken, remarks, that since , the number of mines has been astonishingly multiplied--population has flowed rapidly in--the processes on the ore have been much improved--better furnaces have been constructed, and "every season is adding to the number of the mines." "every day is developing to us the vast resources of this country, particularly in lead," and the author expresses his opinion that "the mines of missouri are paralleled by no other mineral district in the world." from the specimens which we possess of this ore, and from the documents produced by the author respecting the produce of the mines, we believe his opinion is correct, especially if we consider the fact that "the earth has not yet been penetrated over eighty feet;" "we know not what may be found in the lower strata." "there is reason to believe that the main bodies of ore have not been hit upon, that they lie deeper, and that we have thus far been only engaged upon the spurs and detached masses." mr. schoolcraft informs us that although the mining business is much improved, there is still a great deficiency both of capital and of skill--there is in the whole district but one regular hearth furnace for smelting, and that not the best;--among forty mines, there are only four or five regular shafts--there is among all the mines, no engine of any description for raising water, and some of the richest mines with the best prospects in view, have been in consequence abandoned. yet, under all these disadvantages, the annual produce of the mines is estimated at three millions of pounds of lead. the author suggests the expediency of establishing a school of mines and minerals in the midst of the mines themselves; this would, without doubt, be a very proper measure, but in the meantime, skilful practical miners, and captains of mines, such as are found in every mining district in europe, would supply the immediate demands of the country. the mining district, formerly called the lead mines of louisiana, is situate between the th and the th degree of north latitude, and between the th and d degree of west longitude, covers three thousand one hundred and fifty square miles--it is from seventy to one hundred miles long by forty or forty-five, extending in width from the mississippi south-west to the fourche à courtois, and in length from the head waters of st. francis northerly to the maramec. lead ore is found in almost every part of this district. mr. schoolcraft says, "the general aspect of the country is sterile, though not mountainous: the lands lie rolling, like a body of water in gentle agitation. in some places the hills rise into abrupt cliffs, where the great rock formations of the country may be seen; in others, they run into level plains--a kind of highland prairie." "the soil is a reddish colored clay, stiff and hard, and full of fragments of flinty stones, quartz and gravel; this extends to the depth of from ten to twenty feet, and is bottomed on limestone rock. it is so compact in some places, as almost to resist the pick-axe; in others it seems to partake of marl, is less gravelly, and readily penetrated. the country is particularly characterized by quartz, which is strewed in detached pieces over the surface of the ground, and is also found imbedded in the soil at all depths. this is here called blossom of lead. iron ores and pyrites are also scattered over the surface of the ground, and occasionally lead ore. such is the general character of the mineral hills, which are invariably covered by a stinted growth of oaks." walnut is also found on the hills, and there is a ridge of yellow pine, not more than six or eight miles wide, running nearly south-east and north-west, but it is nearly or quite destitute of lead--the mines lie generally east of it. in summer the flinty aspect of the country is veiled by a luxuriant growth of grass, which gives it a very pleasing and picturesque appearance. the valleys have a rich alluvial soil, well fitted for cultivation; but our limits will not allow us to mention the vegetable productions of the country. this region is well irrigated, and very healthy, being possessed of a fine climate. mr. schoolcraft remarks, that during a residence of ten months he never heard of a death; the country is free from the fevers which infest some of the neighboring regions. it seems, however, that the animals are visited by what is called the mine sickness. "cows and horses are frequently seen to die without any apparent cause. cats and dogs are taken with violent fits, which never fail, in a short time, to kill them." it is said that the inhabitants impute these affections to the sulphur exhaled in smelting the lead, as the cattle are often seen licking about the old furnaces. but sulphur is not poisonous either to men or animals. the author imputes it to the sulphate of barytes, with which the district abounds, which he states is a "poison to animals." the carbonate of barytes is eminently poisonous; but we have never heard that the sulphate is so. may not the licking around the furnaces expose the cattle to receive lead in some of its forms, minutely divided? or, if it be not active in the metallic state, both the oxides and the carbonate, which must of course exist around the furnaces, would be highly active and poisonous. is it not possible, also, that some of the natural waters of the country may, in consequence of saline or acid impregnations, dissolve some of the lead, and thus obtain saturnine qualities? we must allow, however, that we are not acquainted with the existence of any natural water thus impregnated. among the mineral productions of this region, certainly not the least remarkable mentioned by mr. schoolcraft, is the iron mountain, where the ore is piled in such enormous masses as to constitute the entire southern extremity of a lofty ridge, which is elevated five or six hundred feet above the plain: the ore is the micaceous exide, and is said to yield good malleable iron. there is another body of iron ore five miles west of the iron mountain, scarcely inferior to that mentioned above, and it appears that several other beds exist in the same vicinity. zinc is abundant, but as the ore is the sulphuret, it is not very valuable. it is not mentioned that calamine, which is the useful ore of zinc, has been found. as to the geological nature of the country, in which the lead mines are situate, he informs us that "bellevue abounds in granite;" that the only vein of granite rock in the mine country (as far as he had opportunity to observe) passes across the south-western end of madison county--runs into bellevue--is four or five miles wide, and twenty or thirty miles in a direction from south-east to north-west. the granite is spoken of in another place, (p. ,) as being a geological phenomenon, as containing imbedded in it or lying upon its surface, gneiss, green stone, porphyry, iron ores, &c.; it is spoken of as a red granite, containing very little mica, and as being used for millstones. it is mentioned as the "only mass of granite known to exist between the primitive ranges of the alleghany and rocky mountains," and as being surrounded on all sides, and to an almost immeasurable extent, with secondary limestone. again, (p. ,) the granite is cited as the "old red granite in mountain masses, with some veins of green stone, green stone porphyry, and gneiss;" it is said to terminate in very rough and broken high lands. at page , it is mentioned, still again, as giving origin to the river st. francis, whose "springs gush out among these stupendous piles of red granite." besides the ores of iron, lead and zinc, "quartz, feldspar, shorl, mica, and graphite are among the minerals furnished by that region," and "green stone, gneiss, and green stone porphyry, are among the larger masses of rock." the green stone, it seems, "is found in large isolated fragments, lying promiscuously among the fragments of granite which have tumbled down from the lofty cliffs above, and is rendered porphyritic by crystals of green and flesh-colored feldspar." we have no right to doubt that the rock described is granite, as the principal features delineated, correspond with that supposition. as it is described as being solitary, the only granite between the alleghanies and the rocky mountains, we are led to ask, is it a portion of the nucleus of our globe, covered on every side, for many hundred miles, with secondary rocks, and here heaving its head through the superincumbent strata, and standing alone? but what are we to conclude of the limestone? we should have liked especially to have had the relations of this limestone with that remarkable granite region pointed out. does this latter repose on the granite, where it dips obliquely under, as it probably does, in order to find its way beneath the other rocks, and to vindicate its claim to a fundamental position? but, perhaps we are asking more than is reasonable, for, it may be that there are no such sections in the strata as would expose all these facts to view, and enable the observer to decide. these hints we have dropped, not, we trust, from a captious disposition, but because we have found a real difficulty in conceiving clearly of the geological nature of this limestone, which, it seems, is the basis of the lead-mine country, and therefore it is very important that its characters should be indubitably fixed. we have not been so fortunate as to see mr. schoolcraft's specimens; possibly a view of them would have rendered the preceding remarks, in part at least, unnecessary. leaving the geological features of the lead-mine district, we proceed to cite some interesting and important facts from mr. schoolcraft's work:--"the soil," he remarks, "is a reddish colored clay, stiff and hard, and full of fragments of flinty stone, quartz and gravel; this extends to the depth of from ten to twenty feet, and is bottomed on limestone rock. it is so compact in some places as almost to resist the pick-axe; in others it seems to partake of marl, is less gravelly, and readily penetrated. the country is particularly characterized by quartz, which is strewed in detached pieces over the surface of the ground, and is also found imbedded in the soil at all depths. this is here called blossom of lead. iron ores and pyrites are also scattered over the surface of the ground, and occasionally lead ore. the mineral productions of the country, in addition to lead, are zinc, iron, ochre, red chalk, saltpetre, sulphur, alum and salt." the ore (the author remarks) is the lead glance, galena, or sulphuret of lead. it is very rich and beautiful, and specimens in our possession fully confirm mr. schoolcraft's account; they have a very broad and perfectly foliated fracture, and a high degree of metallic lustre; they break in cubical fragments, and the minutest portions still retain this form. we have already observed that large fragments are found loose in the earth: they sometimes weigh four or five pounds; we have such specimens from these mines; they are of a cubical form, and are surrounded, except where they have been broken, by an earthy incrustation. it is observed that the marly earth thrown out from the pits, enriches the ground, so that in a few years it is covered with a very rank growth of trees, vines, &c., and this is a regular characteristic of old diggings. innumerable portions of radiated quartz, and sharp fragments of flinty stones are mixed with the clay, and form the first stratum of about fourteen inches. the next is of a red clay, and is four or five feet thick, and less mixed with similar siliceous substances. then comes a layer of gravel and rounded siliceous pebbles, about one foot thick, containing small portions of lead ore. the thickness of the bed of ore is generally a foot; and the lumps of ore appear to have been rounded by attrition, like common gravel. "this is the character of what is called the gravel ore, and no spars are found accompanying it. the greatest proportion of lead ore is, however, found imbedded in, and accompanied by, the sulphate of barytes, resting in a thick stratum of marly clay, bottomed on limestone rock." they invariably arrive at the rock at the depth of from fifteen to twenty, or sometimes thirty feet; a new process by boring and blasting is now necessary, and most diggers abandon their pits rather than prosecute them at this expense. if, however, as there can be little doubt, the limestone is the real matrix of the lead ore, the time will come when the present diggings will be considered as merely superficial beginnings, and the work will be resumed where hitherto it has been abandoned. it seems that the almost invariable practice of the miners is, to persevere till they strike the rock, and then to go and dig elsewhere; they cannot, if disposed, prosecute the business by levels or galleries, for they are not permitted to carry on their mining except immediately under the surface that is covered by their respective leases, or by twelve feet square, which, if unoccupied, an adventurer may cover by occupancy. among the substances accompanying the lead, blende and the sulphate of barytes are said to be very abundant; the latter in specimens which we have, is particularly brilliant and white;[ ] the quartz is often prettily crystallized, and is so invariable a concomitant of the ore, that the miners, as we have before remarked, give it the meaning appellation of mineral blossom. a curious fact is mentioned by mr. schoolcraft, respecting the elliott's mines. "during the remarkable earthquakes of , a fine spring of water at the mouth of the mines suddenly became warm and foul, and in a few days dried up entirely, and no water has run there since." "illuminations in the atmosphere are frequently observed in this vicinity on the approach of night."[ ] it seems there is a considerable quantity of a greyish white sublimate collected at the log hearth furnaces, and rejected by the workmen upon the supposition that it is sulphur and arsenic; but mr. schoolcraft, by unquestionable experiments, ascertained that it was lead, as would appear, in the form of a carbonated oxide. a considerable loss is in this manner sustained, and in a more advanced state of the metallurgic operations of these mines, the author's valuable suggestions will not be neglected. there is one mine (m'kain's) where the ore is of the steel-grained variety--it is said to yield less lead, and is inferred to contain more silver than the common ores; we are aware that this is the common impression, but our own experiments on different varieties of lead ore would induce us to think that it cannot be relied upon. we have examined fine steel-grained ore which contained very little silver; in one specimen only one five-thousandth part, and in another, and that a foliated specimen, we found three and a half per cent, of silver. the methods of digging for the ore are sufficiently simple. "a pick-axe and shovel are the only tools used for removing the earth, and the drill, hammer and priming rod are added when it is necessary to blast." the process is carried on as in digging a common well. we must refer our readers to the book itself for a clear account of the furnaces and furnace operations, employed for smelting the lead; it will be the more intelligible, as it is accompanied by two good plates containing views and sections of the furnaces. a circumstance which appears very extraordinary is, that the furnaces are most commonly built of limestone, which is of course calcined, and brought to the condition of quicklime by a few blasts, and then it crumbles and the furnaces must be rebuilt. the ore yields at first fifty per cent., and then the ashes give fifteen per cent, more--sixty-five[ ] in the whole.[ ] custom, says the author, has established a number of laws among the miners, with regard to digging, which have a tendency to prevent disputes. whenever a discovery is made, the person claiming it is entitled to claim the ground for twenty-five feet, in every direction from his pit, giving him fifty feet square. other diggers are each entitled to twelve feet square, which is just enough to sink a pit, and afford room for throwing out the earth. each one measures and stakes off his ground; and though he should not begin his work for several days afterwards, no person will intrude upon it. on this spot he digs down, but is not allowed to run drifts horizontally, so as to break into or undermine the pits of others. if appearances are unpromising, or he strikes the rock, and chooses to abandon his pit, he can go on any unoccupied ground, and, observing the same precautions, begin anew. in such a case, the abandoned pit may be occupied by any other person; and sometimes large bodies of ore are found by the second occupant, by a little work, which would have richly rewarded the labors of the first had he persevered. mr. schoolcraft, from various particulars, infers that the average annual produce of the missouri lead mines, as mentioned before, is three million pounds per annum, and the lead was worth in , at the mines, four cents per pound. for the last three years, up to inclusive, the produce of the mines was estimated at three million seven hundred twenty-six thousand six hundred and sixty-six pounds per annum of pig lead, which the author supposes to be not more than one half what the mines are capable of yielding. the number of miners is between eleven and twelve hundred, and the number of hands employed in labor at different mines is from twenty to two hundred and forty, including in both cases persons of all descriptions. many miscellaneous topics connected with the general subject of his work, are introduced by mr. schoolcraft, such as the sections relating to the manufactures, and uses of lead, &c., but it is not our object to advert to these topics. among the miscellaneous mineral productions of the western regions, there are some that are interesting; and it will be seen from the author's table of minerals, that the list is various. there are several caverns which produce nitrate of potash by the usual treatment; and ashley's cave, about eighty miles from potosi, is said to be one of stupendous size, and to "afford native nitrate of potash in beautiful white crystals." the novaculite is mentioned as occurring on washita, as described by mr. bringier in the present number. steatite exists in abundance at the falls of st. anthony, on the mississippi, and is used by the indians for pipes. the fluate of lime, near shawneetown, was described in the first volume of this journal. among other minerals, mr. schoolcraft mentions chalcedony in several varieties, earthy oxide of lead, native copper, alum, manganese, opalized and agatized wood, opal, jasper, coal, gypsum, native epsom salts, pumice stone, agate, onyx, burr millstone, native iron, &c.; for the localities and descriptions of which, we must refer to the book itself. those facts of mr. schoolcraft's volume which relate to statistical and political topics, do not come within the plan of these remarks. during our cursory notice of this work, we have cited a number of the most prominent facts which it contains, both because they are in themselves important, and because we were willing to call the attention of our readers both to them, and to the volume in which they are contained. both are, in our view, entitled to great respect; and we confess ourselves very much indebted to mr. schoolcraft for a great mass of valuable information, which, in a connected form, is, we believe, nowhere else to be found. his statements (as regards the most valuable part) are drawn from his own research and observations, and have evidently been the result of much effort, and of no small share of fatigue and personal privation. we trust that so valuable a work will not stop with a single edition, and perhaps we might venture to suggest to the author, that in a second, he might advantageously condense into one view some facts which are several times repeated in different parts of the volume--such as those respecting the granite and its connected rocks, the lead ore and its associated minerals, &c. we consider the present work as an acquisition to our means of information respecting our mineral resources, and believe that it must be a regular volume of reference for all those who are interested in the investigation of these subjects. footnotes: [ ] it is mentioned by the author, as a chemical test or reagent: it may, by decomposing it by ignition with charcoal, or with an alkaline carbonate, be made to afford its earth for the preparation of barytic tests, but we are not aware that it is itself ever used as a test. [ ] they are attributed by the author to phosphorus. is it supposed to be in the form of phosphuretted hydrogen? may not these be electrical phenomena? [ ] according to dr. meade, the missouri ore affords only a trace of silver. (see bruce's minl. journal, vol. , p. .) [ ] mr. schoolcraft thinks it may yield seventy per cent.--it gave him by analysis eighty-two per cent. the end. +--------------------------------------------------+ | transcriber's note: | | | | inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the | | original document have been preserved. | | | | typographical errors corrected in the text: | | | | page musquitoes changed to mosquitoes | | page develope changed to develop | | page m'gary's changed to m'garey's | | page th changed to th | | page brandt changed to brant | | page gasconage changed to gasconade | | page quiquate changed to quiguate | | page emigate changed to emigrate | | page philips changed to phillips | | page peora changed to peoria | | page scientic changed to scientific | | page borers changed to borders | | page m'kane's changed to m'kain's | | page octohedral changed to octahedral | | page precicision changed to precision | | page develope changed to develop | | page date in paragraph a may be | | page irridescence changed to iridescence | | page octohedrons changed to octahedrons | | page annnally changed to annually | | page some changed to same | | page coutained changed to contained | +--------------------------------------------------+ internet archive (https://archive.org) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see https://archive.org/details/monksmissouri willrich transcriber's note: text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). [illustration: colonel monks and wife.] a history of southern missouri and northern arkansas being an account of the early settlements, the civil war, the ku-klux, and times of peace. by william monks west plains, mo. west plains journal co. west plains, mo. copyright by william monks introduction. now the author was born in the state of alabama, in jackson county, on the north side of the tennessee river, near huntsville. he was the son of james monks and nancy monks. the father of james monks came over from ireland during the revolutionary war and served in that war until the independence of the united states was acknowledged. afterwards he married a lady of english descent and settled down in the state of south carolina. his father died when he was but an infant. his mother removed to the state of tennessee, being left with five children, james being the youngest. growing up to manhood in that state, he removed to the north part of the state of alabama and there married nancy graham, who was a daughter of jesse graham. they were originally from the state of virginia. james monks enlisted in the united states army and served in the indian war that was known as the seminole war, in the state of florida. after his term of service had expired he returned home and sold his farm and had a flatboat built and placed in the tennessee river near gunters landing, with the intention of moving to the state of florida. taking his brother-in-law, a mr. phillips, on the boat with him, they went down the river by decatur, were piloted through the mussell shoals, and at the foot of the shoals at what is known as tuscumbia, the writer remembers seeing a part of the cherokee indians that were being removed from the state of alabama to their present location. the writer can remember seeing the cherokee indians before they were removed from the state of alabama. on reaching southern illinois, eight miles from paducah, my father landed his boat and looked over the country and came to the conclusion that that country was good enough, and located in what was then pope county. afterwards they cropped a piece off of pope and a piece off of johnson, and created a new county and named it massack, after the old government fort, and located the county seat, named metropolis. my father resided nine years in that state, then sold out and started to move to the state of texas. on arriving in fulton county, arkansas, he concluded to locate in that county. soon after his arrival, in the latter part of june or july, , the writer was employed to carry the united states mail from salem, the county seat of fulton county, to rockbridge, then the county seat of ozark county, missouri. my father and mother taught me to be loyal to my government from my earliest remembrance, and i don't think that two persons more honest than they ever lived. they taught me from my earliest recollection to be honest and upright, and i have tried, and believe i have lived up to their teaching to the very letter; and no man or woman before the war, during the war, nor since the war, can say anything else and tell the truth. religiously, my father and mother were baptists, and i believe that they were christians. early settlements. in the year father sold out and in may started to move to the state of texas; crossed the mississippi river at green's old ferry, came by the way of jackson, missouri, and traveled the old military road made by the government troops in removing the cherokee indians from the state of alabama to their present location--only road leading west--and in july of the same year (learning that it was very dangerous for a man to take his family into the state of texas on account of the indians), he concluded to locate in fulton county, arkansas, purchased an improvement and located on what is known as bennett's river, about miles from where west plains is now located. the family at that time consisted of six persons, to-wit: father, mother and four sons, the author then being in his fifteenth year; father, being a farmer by occupation, went to work on the farm. the country at that time was very sparsely settled. the settlements were confined to the creeks and rivers, where were found plenty of water and springs. no place at that time was thought worth settling unless it had a spring upon it. the vegetation was luxuriant, the broom sedge and blue stem growing as high as a man's head--and he upon an ordinary horse. the table lands, which were thought at that time to be worthless, had very little timber growing on them, but were not prairie. there were what were known as post oak runners and other brush growing on the table lands, but the grass turf was very heavy and in the spring of the year the grass would soon cover the sprouts and the stranger would have taken all of the table lands, except where it was interspersed with groves, to have been prairie. the country settled up--some of the settlements being miles apart--yet the early settlers thought nothing of neighboring and assisting each other as neighbors for the distance of miles. at that time fulton county contained all of the present territory that now includes baxter, fulton and a part of sharp counties; and but a short time previous to the organization of fulton, all of the territory that now embraces fulton, baxter and sharp; izard belonged to independence county and batesville was the county seat. my father located about five miles from the state line. ozark county, in missouri, joined fulton county on the state line and all of the territory that now comprises ozark, douglas and the west half of howell, belonged to ozark county and rockbridge, its county seat, being located on bryan's fork of the north fork, about miles from the state line. oregon county contained all the territory that now comprises oregon, shannon, and the east end of howell; and a short time previous all of the territory that now comprises ripley, oregon, carter and shannon belonged to ripley county; and all of the territory that now comprises texas, dent, wright and crawford counties belonged to crawford county. the country at that time abounded in millions of deer, turkeys, bears, wolves and small animals. i remember as my father was moving west and after he had crossed white water near what was known as bullinger's old mill, that we could see the deer feeding on the hills in great herds like cattle, and wild turkeys were in abundance. wild meat was so plentiful that the settlers chiefly subsisted upon the flesh of wild animals until they could grow some tame stock, such as hogs and cattle. this country then was almost a "land of honey." bees abounded in great number and men hunted them for the profit they derived from the beeswax. there was no such thing known as a bee moth. honeydew fell in such quantities as to completely kill the tops of the grass where it was open. i have known young turkeys, after they were large enough for use, to have their wings so gummed with honeydew that they could not fly out of the way of a dog--have known lots of them to be caught with dogs when they wanted to use them. there was no question in regard to there being honey when you cut a bee tree, if the hollow and space in the tree were sufficient and the bees had had time to fill it. i have known bee trees being cut that had and feet of solid comb that was candied and grained. when my father first located, beeswax, peltry and fur skins almost constituted the currency of the country. i remember that a short time after my father located, a gentleman came to my father's house and wanted to buy a horse and offered to pay him in beeswax and peltry, and as i had been accustomed to paper currency in the state of illinois, i asked my father what kind of money peltry was. he laughed and remarked, "well son, it is not money at all; it is deer skins." a man thought nothing of buying a horse or a yoke of oxen, or to make any other common debt on the promise of discharging the same in beeswax and peltry in one month's time. the immigration consisted mostly of farmers and mechanics. among the mechanics were coopers who would make large hogsheads for the purpose of holding the honey after it was separated from the beeswax, and a man then had his choice to use either candied honey or fresh honey. i knew whole hogsheads that were full of candied honey. when men would make a contract to deliver any amount or number of pounds of beeswax, and within a given time, especially in the fall of the year, they would either take a yoke of cattle or two horses and a wagon and with their guns and camp equipage go out from the settlements into what was then termed the "wilderness," and burn bee comb. in a short time the bees would be working so strong to the bait that they could scarcely course them. in the morning they would hunt deer, take off pelts until the deer would lie down, then they would hunt bees and mark the trees until the deer would get up to feed in the afternoon, when they would again resume their hunt for deer. after they had found a sufficient number of bee trees and marked them, the morning following they would go out and kill nothing but large deer; case-skin them until they had a sufficient number of hides to contain the honey that they expected to take from the trees, take the hides to the camp, tie a knot in the fore legs of the hide, take dressed buckskin and a big awl, roll the hide of the neck in about three folds, run two rows of stitches, draw it tight, then go to their wagons with ridgepole and hooks already prepared, knot the hind legs of the skins, hang them over the hooks, take their tub, a knife and spoon, proceed to the trees, stop their team a sufficient distance from the tree to prevent the bees from stinging the animals, cut the tree, take out the honey, place it in the tub, and when the tub was filled carry it to the wagon where the hides were prepared, empty their tubs into the deer skins, return again to another tree and continue cutting until the hides were all filled with honey; then they would return home, take the hides from the hooks on the ridge pole on the wagon, hang them on hooks prepared for the purpose in the smokehouse and then the men's work was done. the labor of the women then commenced. they would proceed to separate the honey from the beeswax, pouring the honey into hogsheads, kegs or barrels prepared for it, and running the beeswax into cakes ready for the market, while the men were stretching and drying the deerskins. as soon as the deerskins were dried and the honey was separated from the beeswax, they were ready for the market and took their place as currency, while the flesh of the deer, sometimes, when bread was scarce, took the place of both bread and meat, with a change, whenever the appetite called for it, to turkey and other wild game. at night they would hunt for fur animals, such as raccoon, fox and mink, and stretch their hides; a first-class raccoon hide would sell for to cents; fox, and cents; mink, from to c. i have often known the people to pay their taxes, when the collector came around, with fur skins, such as raccoon and fox. the collector would take the hides right at the house and give them a clear receipt for their taxes, both state and county. i have seen collectors leading a horse for the purpose of carrying his fur skins. i have seen the horse completely covered with fur skins, so you could see no part of him but his head and his hoofs and tail--one could not have told there was a horse beneath the load unless he had known it. the people then had many advantages that they are deprived of now, in the way of wild meat, abundance of honey and fine range. a man could raise all the stock in the way of horses and cattle that he could possibly look after; the only expense was salting and caring for them--didn't have to feed, winter nor summer, except the horses in use and the cows used for milking purposes. while, on the other-hand, they labored under a great many disadvantages, in the way of schools and churches. during the residence of my father in the state of illinois, we had a very good common school system, and we had three months of school every fall. my father being a farmer, sent me only the three months' term in the fall. i had acquired a limited education before his removal to arkansas, yet he was interested in giving his children an education. at that time there were no free schools, only subscription schools; teachers generally were incompetent and employed through favoritism, and not upon their qualifications to teach. in a year or two after my father located, the settlement got together and located a school-house site, took their teams, hauled round logs, built them into walls, made a dirt floor, cut out a large window in the side, split a tree and made a writing desk, split small trees, hewed them and made benches for seats, cut a hole in one end of the house, erected a wooden chimney, what was then known as a stick and clay chimney, chinked and daubed the cracks, made a clapboard roof, hung the door with wooden hinges, then the house was considered ready for the school and had the name of teaching a three-months' subscription school; and very often half of the pupils were better scholars than the teachers. all they gained in their education was by attention to study. as the country improved in population, the people improved in the erection of school-houses and church-houses and constructed, in place of the round log school-house and dirt floor, hewed log school-houses with puncheon floors, stick and clay chimneys. those pioneer settlers took a great interest in each other's welfare, and the different settlements met together from a distance of to miles and adopted rules and customs binding each other to aid and assist in helping any person who met with any misfortune in the way of sickness, death or other causes that might occur, and i must say that there was more charity and real religion practiced among those pioneer settlers, although many of them were looked upon as being crude and unlettered. there was a great deal of sickness along the streams, especially chills and fever. immigrants came in, generally in sufficient numbers to form a settlement; and i have known them, very often, after they had located and opened out to acres and put it in cultivation and broke the ground and planted their corn, for the whole family to be taken down at one time with chills and fever, not able even to help each other or administer to their wants. as soon as the information reached the other settlements for a distance of miles or more, the different settlements would set a day to meet at the place with their horses, plows, hoes, wagons, etc.; also provisions, such as bread-stuff and salt. on meeting, they would ascertain the condition of the family or families and learn what they needed in the way of provision, medicine, nursing, etc.; they would then and there agree that the different settlements should divide up the time, set the day for each one to furnish waiters to wait upon them in their sickness, such medicine as they needed, provisions and everything that was necessary to render comfort, and in the morning before breakfast they would go out and kill a deer and as many turkeys as they needed, dress them, prepare them for the cook, who had been brought with them, go into the field after breakfast, plow and hoe the corn, clean out the garden, leave the families in charge of nurses and return again to their respective settlements. those families, as soon as they were well, not being acquainted with the customs and rules, would meet them and inquire as to what amount they owed them for what they had done for them during their sickness. they would be readily informed, "_nothing._ you are not acquainted with our rules and customs. now, we have obligated and pledged ourselves together not to let any sick or other disabled person suffer for the want of necessary attention, and the only thing we require of you is, if any other person should move into the country and locate, and should be taken down and confined through sickness or any other cause, that you help in furnishing such aid and necessaries as they may need until they are able to again take care of themselves." now, i have just remarked that there was more real charity and religion practiced among pioneers than there is in the present day. the people then all appeared to be interested in bettering the condition of society. as soon as it was possible, the different settlements erected church-houses built of hewed timber, floored with puncheons, hewed seats, size of house generally from by to by feet, chinked and daubed. the churches or denominations then were baptists and methodists. there didn't appear to be any antagonism or hatred existing between the denominations; the doors were thrown wide open for any minister that might travel through and they all turned out, and you heard nothing said then in regard to "my church" or "your church." they appeared to recognize the fact that it was the lord's church and that they were the lord's people. in going to church, sometimes from to miles, they would see flocks of turkeys and herds of wild deer, both going and coming. as soon as the crops were laid by, they would agree among the different settlements as to where a camp-meeting should be held; they would then erect camps or huts, make boards to cover them, erect an arbor, fill the center of it with straw, and to the distance of to miles they would all turn out, irrespective of denomination, and all appeared to enjoy themselves, and the love of christ appeared to dwell in each heart, and they appeared to be proud of the privilege of meeting each other and worshiping together. if any member belonging to either of the denominations defrauded, or in any way wronged his brother, he was at once waited upon and requested to make reparation to his brother and acknowledge to his brother and to the church, or he was withdrawn from or turned out of the church. the immigration was chiefly from the middle states, some from the southern states and very few from the northeastern states. they were frugal, energetic, honest, intelligent and industrious. as the country increased in population, the facilities of both schools and churches improved. the customs and habits were entirely different from those existing now; the wearing apparel was entirely home-made; they would raise their cotton, pick it out with their fingers or a hand gin, women would spin their warp, spin their filling, get their different colors from different barks for men's wear; the women used indigo and copperas for the main colors in manufacturing the cloth for dresses, wound their stripes on a stick and then wove it into cloth; you could scarcely visit a house but what you would see a loom, big spinning-wheel and little wheel; sometimes you would see three or four wheels at one house. they made both their every day and sunday wear; the women appeared to take great pride in seeing who could weave the nicest piece of cloth, make it into a dress, make cloth and make it into what was known as virginia bonnets, and the men tanned their own leather, made shoes for the whole family. when the women were dressed completely in their homespun they appeared to enjoy themselves, in church, in company or any other gathering, and felt just as independent and proud as the king upon his throne; they appeared to meet each other and greet each other and all appeared to realize the fact that they were human and they had but one superior and that was god. the women spun the warp, spun the wool, wove it into cloth, procured the different barks from the woods and dyed it, the general color being brown, made it with their own hands into coats, pants, undershirts; made overshirts out of homespun cotton and the whole suit was home-made, and very often a cap, made either of the raccoon or a fox, was worn on the head. when men met each other at any public gathering they appeared to be proud of meeting each other; appeared to realize the fact that they were all american citizens and human, bound together by the ties of love and affection, and the highest ambition appeared to be to make each other happy and help one another in time of need. i don't believe there was as much dissipation by partaking of intoxicants, or other wickedness, as exists to-day among the same number of persons. it is true that then any man who was able to purchase a little still and had a spring could erect his own still house and make his own whiskey without paying any tax or duty upon the same, and anyone of his neighbors who wanted a gallon of whiskey could carry a bushel of corn to the still-house and get a gallon of whiskey in exchange for it. and if men became drunk on the whiskey it did not appear to make them wild and crazy as the whiskey of to-day does. men then, as well as now, would have disagreements and fall out and fight, but the custom that prevailed among that class would not tolerate nor allow a man to use weapons, and if two men had a disagreement, one of them being a large, stout man physically, the other being a small man, not equal in strength--if they were together in a public place and the large one would challenge the weaker to fight him, before he could hardly open his mouth, some man present who considered himself to be his equal in physical strength, would just say to him "now then, if you want to fight, that man is not your equal, but i am; get your second and walk out and i will do the fighting for this other man." i have, on different occasions, seen the large man who was challenging the weaker for a fight reply to the challenge and say, "my friend, i have nothing against you; this other man hasn't treated me right," or set out some other reason that he ought to whip him; the man in reply would say, "i don't want to hear another word from you in regard to wanting to fight this other man, and if i do you have got me to fight." very often i have seen the man shut his mouth and turn away and say nothing more. on the other hand, i have heard a man say to another, "if you want to fight, i am your man; the other man is unable to fight you," and in an instant the other would reply. "well, sir, i am your man; just as leave fight you as anybody else." they would select their seconds, take a drink of whiskey together, enter into an agreement that whenever the seconds said either one was whipped, that they were to abide by it, unless they found out before their seconds did that they were whipped, and if so, they would manifest it by holloing "enough," when the other person was to stop at once and inflict no more injury. i have often seen them fight until they were both as bloody as butchers and in the end the seconds would have to hollo for one or the other. as soon as they were separated they would go to the same pool or place where there was water and wash themselves, and walk arm-in-arm, laughing and talking and drinking together and remark, "we are now fast friends and we have settled the matter as to which was the best man." and if a man would produce a weapon on either side his own friends would turn against him and he would be forced to put it up at once. men then appeared to be governed by that higher inspiration, that a man should not use anything that would permanently disable or take the life of his fellow-man; but if one man became pregnant with fight or desire to maim his fellow-man, in order that he should not be disappointed, some man would readily volunteer, who believed that he was his equal physically, and deliver him of all his fighting propensities. dow bryant and a gallon of whisky i will here relate an instance that i well remember. a man by the name of bridges lived just above where bakersfield is now located, owned a little mill at the same place where they still continue the work of the mill just above bakersfield. the mill ground from twelve to fifteen bushels per day; most of us carried our sacks on horseback, and ground by turns. bridges had employed a man by the name of math shipman to run the mill. he was a small man weighing only about pounds, and there was a man by the name of dow bryant, lately from the state of tennessee, quite a large man, weighing pounds, who delighted in fighting under the old style, and claimed that he had whipped two of the best men in tennessee at the same time. shipman had made some statement that reflected upon bryant; so bryant procured a gallon of whiskey, and, taking two men with him, went from bennett's river over to the mill and informed shipman of what he had heard he had said in regard to him, and said to shipman that if he had said it and didn't take it back, he would have to whip him, and the only thing he hated about it would be the whipping of as little a man as he was. shipman replied that he need not take that matter into consideration, and that his father had always taught him that if he told anything and it was the truth, not to take it back under any consideration, and that what he had said was true; and as to his whipping him, his father had always taught him never to admit anything until he knew it was true; and "i have my doubts about you being able to whip me; but if you will get your second ready, as soon as the corn that is in the hopper is ground out and i refill the hopper i will get my second and we will go out into the mill yard so you can test it." they accordingly got their seconds, went into the mill yard, formed a ring, and when the word was given by the seconds, they went together. shipman bit every finger on the right hand and three fingers on the left hand to the bone; and bryant's friends, seeing he was going to be whipped, proposed parting them. bryant returned home, and when his neighbors would meet him with his fingers all bound up, they would say, "hello there! what's the matter?" his reply would be, "i went over into the wilderness and got hold of a wildcat, and it like to have eaten me up before i could get loose from it." he would further say that shipman was all mouth, and that he could not put his hands anywhere about his head unless he got them in his mouth. i will give another instance touching the same man (bryant). he went over to salem during circuit court. the sheriff of the county was a man by the name of dick benton, quite a small man, and the constable of the township was named moore and a very small man. bryant was drinking some, and wanted to fight as usual, and became noisy. the judge ordered the constable to arrest him; but when bryant saw the constable coming, he backed behind an old building, and ordered the constable not to rush upon him. when the constable came in reach, he knocked him down, came walking around, and remarked that no tickey officer could arrest him. the judge then ordered the sheriff to arrest him. when the sheriff came within reach, he knocked him down, came walking back, and remarked, "i thought they understood me when i told them that a tickey set of officers could not arrest me." during the time the father-in-law of the sheriff had come out. bryant walked up to him, and with a d---- said: "i want to know what you are doing here." without any more words being passed, the sheriff's father-in-law knocked bryant down, jumped onto him, but he holloed, and they took him off. bryant straightened himself up right into his face again and remarked, "i have told a lie, i am not whipped." without any more words he knocked him down again and gave him a considerable pelting. bryant holloed again, and after they had taken him off, he straightened up and walked off about ten steps distant, turned around, and remarked, "i have told a lie, i am not whipped; but i am not going to say it within reach of that old man any more." on the same day some men knocked him down, taking a common clapboard, hit him three licks while he was running on all fours, then got a piece of chalk and wrote on it, "dow's board," and nailed it up on the corner of the square. the drinking class for years used all manner of language and obscenity in the streets, and even in the hearing of the court. there was a man by the name of neeley who became a candidate for circuit judge, and one of the main reasons he urged for his election was that, if elected, he would punish all offenders of the public peace, and force all persons to respect the court, and he would discharge the duties with some dignity and respect for himself and the people. shortly after he was elected and during his first court, a man by the name of smith, who lived just north of salem on the south fork, and who had worked for his election, came into the court room after the court was in session, walked around to the judge, took him by the hand and remarked, "judge, i want to congratulate you on your success, and i hope things will change." the judge turned to the clerk and remarked, "mr. clerk, assess a fine of five dollars against mr. smith." smith soon retired from the court room and declared that neeley was a tyrant, and that if he had his vote back he would not support him. in the afternoon the judge ordered the sheriff to bring mr. smith into the court room and said to him, "mr. smith, you were a warm friend of mine in my canvass, worked for my election, and no doubt contributed much to my success. now i don't want to disappoint you in any promises that i made during the canvass, but after court is convened and the judge on the bench, it is contempt in any gentleman to come up and take him by the hand and congratulate him on his success; and now i hope that you, with all others of my friends, and those who are not, will support and protect me in enforcing the dignity of the court." mr. smith at once became pacified, and said that the judge was right. we remember another instance that occurred during the same court. there was a young lawyer, who came into court, wearing a very fine pair of boots, and, standing on his feet, he would occasionally raise onto his toes, and you could hear his boots creak all over the court room. the judge turned to him and remarked, "mr., what did those boots cost you?" the lawyer quickly replied, "ten dollars, sir." the judge remarked to him, "i think you got the boots too cheap. i think they ought to be worth twenty dollars. mr. clerk, assess a fine of ten dollars against this man." on the next day a man by the name of cage hogan, a man who was widely known, in company with others, got on the public square, near the saloon, and began to curse and swear, and use all manner of obscenity. the judge ordered the sheriff to go down and see who was making the disturbance. the sheriff went out to the place and stated to the crowd that the judge had ordered him to see who was creating that disturbance, and to arrest the party. hogan remarked, with an oath, "you go back and tell the old judge that it is cage hogan, and that i suppose he has heard of me before, and i don't allow sheriffs to arrest me until i get ready." the sheriff came back and reported to the court, and the judge made an order for him to proceed at once and arrest mr. hogan and all others that he might find acting in a boisterous manner, and if necessary to take the power of the county, and if he didn't immediately bring him into the court room he would assess a fine against him of $ . the sheriff returned and informed mr. hogan of what the court had said, and that he would be bound to arrest him and take him by force if he didn't go without it. hogan remarked that if it would be any pleasure and consolation to the old tyrant he was the man who could go into the court room. when he came into the court room, the sheriff said, "here is mr. hogan." mr. hogan remarked, with an oath, "i am here, judge, and i would like to know what you want." the judge replied that there were some parties creating a disturbance in the hearing of the court and that he had ordered them arrested and brought in. "do you know who the parties are?" hogan, with an oath, replied, "i am the man; and, judge, i want you to understand that i am a horse, and if you hain't become acquainted with old cage hogan, you will." the judge remarked to him that they had a stable and that was the place for horses, and that he would assess a fine of $ against him, and ordered the sheriff to take him to jail until it was paid. hogan, remarking, "i always carry the money to pay my way, and you need not put yourself to any trouble to have the sheriff carry me to jail," pulled out his pocket book, took out $ , and said, with an oath, "here is the money, and i want you to understand that i am no jail bird, and you can't stick me in your old jail." the judge then said, "mr. hogan seems to have plenty of money; mr. clerk assess another $ fine against him." at that hogan appeared to hesitate and reflect, and, pulling out a quart bottle of whiskey from his pocket, started to approach the judge, who was on the bench, saying with an oath, "here, judge, let's drink together and be friends and stop this foolishness." the judge turned to the clerk and said: "mr. clerk, assess another fine of $ against him," and ordered the sheriff to take him forthwith to jail and keep him there until further orders, for he considered him an unlawful horse, and he did not think it safe for society for him to run at large. the sheriff, with a considerable posse, carried him to the jail, and with considerable trouble put him in and shut him up. he remained in jail two days, and at the evening session of the second day the sheriff came into court and said that mr. hogan was very desirous of seeing the court. the court then ordered him brought in. on his being brought in, the court asked him if he still thought he was a horse. hogan replied, "no, sir; i am not anything now but cage hogan." the judge said: "as you have now arrived at the conclusion that you are human and not animal, are you willing to respect the laws of your land and the dignity of this court?" hogan replied: "i am, judge, with all my heart." the judge then said to him, "what about that money of yours; are you able to pay the $ fine?" hogan said, "no, judge, i don't feel like i could pay $ this evening; i don't feel as rich and as brave as i did when you first brought me into court, and i want you to be as lenient with me as possible." the court said, "mr. hogan, if you will promise me that you will neither disturb the dignity of this court nor incite others to do so, i will remit all of your fine except $ ." mr. hogan then and there paid the $ fine and was released. from that time up to the end of his term there never was any disturbance of any nature in the hearing of the court, and if you went into the court room everything was so quiet that you could almost hear a pin drop. the tutt and evert war. my memory is that it was in the year that an incident occurred in marion county that i will now relate. it was known as the tutt and evert war. they were once fast friends. they met in yellville, the county seat, and while there one of the everts purchased a set of silver spoons at the store of one of the tutts. afterwards a misunderstanding grew up between them as to the payment for the spoons, which led them into a fight. afterwards, which was often, when they would meet in yellville, they would hardly ever get away without some fighting taking place between the parties. there was a large gathering and a public demonstration to take place within a few weeks. the tutts declared, backed by the kings, that if the everts came into town that day they would kill them outright. both parties came in early in the day, heavily armed. after coming under the influence of intoxicants to some extent, evert went into the public square and stated what he had heard from the tutts, and said that if they, the tutts and kings, were ready for the conflict, there never was a better time than then, and that they, the everts, were fully ready. both parties, in short range, opened fire. one of the kings shot simm evert during the fight, supposed to be through the heart. one of the kings, just previous to the shooting of evert, had been shot through the hips and so disabled that he could not stand upon his feet. after simm evert had received the wound, he turned around, and, within a few steps of the wounded king, picked up a large stone, raised it in both hands, and, stepping up to king, came down on king's head with the stone with all the force possible, completely crushing king's head. then, turning around and walking about three steps, he remarked, "i am a dead man," and fell to the ground and expired within a few minutes. when the smoke cleared away and the fighting ceased, an examination showed that there were eight or ten left dead on the ground. the stoutest men afterwards went to the stone, but there wasn't one of them that could raise it from the ground. the surviving kings made arrangements and attempted to leave the country. at that time the sheriff of the county was a man by the name of mooney. a writ was placed in his hands and he arrested them. shortly after the arrest, the everts and their friends came upon the sheriff and his posse and demanded the prisoners. the sheriff gave them up, and they were all shot. the sheriff then appealed to the governor for aid; he sent the militia, who aided the sheriff in the arrest of the everts, a man by the name of stratton, and some others of their friends. the governor ordered them to be taken to lawrence county and placed in the lawrence county jail at smithville, the county seat of that county. i saw the militia in charge of the prisoners pass my father's house on their way to smithville. in about ten days after they were put in prison, late one evening, strange men commenced dropping into the town, who were unknown to the citizens, until they reached to about the number of sixty-five. somewhere near midnight they paraded the streets, and the jail being a log jail, they prepared levers and pried it up and let the prisoners all out, and they all left together, evert, stratton, and their friends proceeding directly to texas. after their families had reached them and everything had quieted down, they sent in and notified hamp tutt, whom they charged with being the inciter and leader in bringing on the original trouble, that if he would "hull out" and leave the state they would not kill him. tutt was a man of considerable wealth and declared he would not leave the state. he at once hired a young doctor, who claimed to be a very brave man, to act as his body guard, and kept himself very close to the town for about the space of two years. one day, however, he declared that he was going to take a ride out on the main public road for his health. he, in company with the young doctor, then rode out about one mile. on returning, not more than a quarter of a mile from the town, after they had passed the place where they were concealed, they, (the everts) discharged a volley. two balls entered the back of tutt, and his horse made but a few leaps when he fell to the ground. the young doctor ran for dear life, reached the town, and gave the alarm. parties immediately went out to the place, but found that tutt was dead. on examining the place where the parties had lain in ambush, they found that they had lain there for months watching for the opportunity. so ended the tutt and evert war. indians chase a sheriff ten miles. now the author will relate another incident that occurred in marion county, arkansas, in the early settling of this country. there was a large relation of the coker family who lived in that county. one of the cokers raised two families, one by a white woman and the other by an indian woman. the indian family, after they had grown up and become men, resided a part of the time in the nation, where the mother lived, and a part of the time they remained in marion county where their father and other relatives lived. they were very dangerous men when drinking, and the whole country feared them. they had been in different troubles, and had killed three or four men, and if the authorities attempted to arrest them, they defied them, and would go to the nation and remain awhile. there was a deputy sheriff in the county by the name of stinnett, who claimed to be very brave, who said he would arrest them if he found their whereabouts. the cokers learned what stinnett had said, and that the warrant for their arrest was in his possession, so they got some good tow strings and vowed that whenever they met him they would arrest him and take him to yellville and put him in jail. a short time afterwards they met him in the public road. as soon as stinnett recognized them, and having heard of the threats they had made, he wheeled his horse and put spurs to him. they drew their revolvers and put spurs to their horses in pursuit, commanding him to halt. but stinnett spurred his horse the harder. they pursued him a distance of about ten miles; but stinnett's horse proved to be the best, and he made his escape. they again returned to the nation. the good people, generally, of the county were terrorized and afraid to raise their voices against them, and it became a question as to whether they had a man in the county who had the courage to attempt their arrest. they made it a question in the next election, to elect a man that would make the arrest, if such a man could be found in the county. there was a man living in the county by the name of brown, who was a cousin of the cokers, and he told the people that if they would elect him, he would arrest them or they would kill him. he was elected by a large majority, and, after he had qualified, took charge of the office. the first time the cokers came into the settlement, he summoned two men, thought to be brave, who pledged themselves that if it became necessary they would die for him. he then went to the house of one of the coker family where the cokers were staying, and on his arrival found the two coker brothers sitting in chairs in the yard. he was within some thirty feet of them before they saw him. their guns were sitting near them, and they seized them; but before they could present them brown had his revolver cocked and leveled at one of their heads, and told him not to attempt to raise his gun or he would kill him. coker turned his back to him with his gun on his shoulder, secretly cocked it, and leveled it upon brown as near as possible without taking it from his shoulder and fired, missing his aim. about the same time brown discharged his revolver at coker and made a slight scalp wound. the other coker threw his gun upon brown and fired, killing him instantly. the two men who were acting as a posse for the sheriff turned and fled, leaving brown lying dead on the ground. after the shooting the cokers fled to the nation and remained there. the author will now relate another incident that occurred in the same county. for years the cokers and hogans had been intimate friends, and drank, gambled, and horseraced together a great deal. there came up a trouble between coker and one of his brothers-in-law, and one evening coker, in company with hogan, went to the house of this brother-in-law. both had been drinking. coker swore that he would ride onto the porch of his brother-in-law, and made the attempt. his brother-in-law caught the horse by the bridle and warned him not to ride onto porch, and that if he did he would kill him. coker drew his revolver, spurred his horse, but as he entered the porch his brother-in-law shot him dead. coker being a cousin of the indian cokers, they charged hogan with inducing him, while drinking, to go to his brother-in-law's house, so as to give him a chance to kill him, and that hogan's life should pay the penalty. shortly afterwards hogan was traveling on an old trail that led along the bluff of white river. the river here made a bend in horseshoe shape, following the bluff all around. the cokers learned that hogan was going to pass through this gap, and they lay in wait for him, cutting off all avenues of escape possible so he would be forced into the horseshoe for his escape. when he came in sight they raised the indian war-whoop, and drew their revolvers. hogan looked around and saw that his pursuers were in about a hundred yards of him. he saw his predicament, as for a quarter of a mile he confronted the bluff, and that there was only one avenue of escape. he went to the edge of the precipice and looked over. there, under the bluff, lay the deep, blue waters of white river, feet below. again he turned his eyes toward his pursuers. he knew it meant death if they caught him; so he made the fearful leap over the bluff, striking the water where it was about twenty-five feet deep. hogan was a wicked man and cursed a great deal. he swore it didn't take him long to reach the water, but that he thought considerable time intervened from the time he struck the water until he reached the top again. he swam to the bank which was but a few feet distant. his pursuers came to the precipice, looked over, and said that they had made hogan do something they had intended to do, and that was, to take his own life, as they supposed no human being could make the leap and live. after cutting his saddle and bridle to pieces, they turned his horse loose, and reported that hogan was killed. hogan traveled around under the bluff for about two miles, made his way home, wound up his business, sold his farm, and moved into fulton county, arkansas, which ended the trouble between them. the author will relate another incident that occurred in marion county, arkansas. there was a widow residing in that county, who was left with a family of children, among them a boy about twelve years of age. her horse ran away, and she sent her boy in pursuit of it. after he had found it and was returning home, leading the horse, hogan and one of his friends met him in the road. they had both been drinking, and seeing the boy, concluded to have some fun out of him. hogan, with an oath, said, "what are you doing with my horse?" the boy replied, "it is not your horse, it is mother's horse." hogan sprang off his horse, and, thinking to scare the boy and have some fun with him, said: "here, you know it's my horse; give him up." the boy pulled a barlow knife out of his pocket, and, opening it, said, "you attempt to come near me, and i will stick this knife into you." hogan stepped up to him and said, "you little rascal, would you attempt to cut me with a knife?" the boy, without any further words, made a stroke at him with the knife, and the blade entered his body near the left breast. hogan declared afterward that he jumped about ten feet high. he turned to his friend and remarked: "i believe our fun with the little bugger has caused my death, or at least a serious wound." he went to a physician, had the wound probed, and found the knife had penetrated a rib and reached the inside. the physician informed him that had it passed between the ribs it would have killed him instantly. hogan remarked to the boy, after he stabbed him, "my son, you are made out of the right kind of stuff. i had no intention of hurting you or taking your mother's horse from you, i merely wanted to have some fun; but i see i have struck the wrong boy this time. go on and take your horse to your mother." the author will refer to another incident that occurred in howell county, missouri. in the year there was a man who resided in west plains by the name of jack mcdaniel, who was a blacksmith by trade. this same hogan came to town, soon became under the influence of whiskey, went down to mcdaniel's shop with a horse, and ordered him to shoe him. mcdaniel had two other horses in the shop at the time to be shod, and said to hogan that as soon as he had shod those two horses, he would shoe his. hogan said, "i am in a hurry, and i want you to shoe mine now." mcdaniel told him that he could not shoe his horse until he had shod the other two horses. hogan said, "if you don't shoe him at once, i will whip you." mcdaniel then pulled a barlow knife out of his pocket, and, opening it, said: "yes; and if you fool with me, i will cut your throat from ear to ear." at this remark, hogan moved right up to him and said, "just smell of my neck." mcdaniel struck at him with the knife, and the blade entered just under the ear, cutting to the bone all the way around into the mouth. hogan went to a physician in west plains and had the wound dressed. he then went to a glass, looked in, and said that he had lived a long time, been in many tight places, but he had never had such a mouth as he had now, and remarked, "my mouth looks as if it was spread from ear to ear." the people then generally gave their time to growing stock, especially horses and cattle, as hogs and sheep had to be kept close around the farms and penned of a night, especially the pigs, on account of wolves and other wild animals. i have known the wolves to kill and year old cattle. farmers fed their corn chiefly to cattle, horses and mules. they always commanded fair prices. cattle, at the age of four years and upwards were driven to jacksonport, arkansas and from there shipped to new orleans. horses and mules were driven to louisiana, mississippi and some to the southern part of arkansas and there put upon the market. prices generally ranging from $ to $ . all of our groceries were purchased in new orleans, shipped to jacksonport, from there they were conveyed by wagons. our dry goods were mostly purchased at lynn creek, missouri and brought through by wagon, but in the early settling of the country they hauled dry goods all the way from st. louis except what were brought into the country by peddlers. the peddlers would go to st. louis on horse back with one and sometimes two led horses, buy the goods, pack them, place them on their horses and peddle all the way from st. louis and still further west and take in exchange all kinds of fur skins. i have seen peddlers with one horse still loaded with goods and the other covered with fur skins, and i have seen them again after they had disposed of all their goods with all three horses completely covered with fur skins and sometimes so heavily loaded that the peddler would either be walking and leading or driving. money was scarce but the people spent very little money, were not in debt and lived much better and easier than they do now. their counties were out debt and the county warrants were always at par. when my father first located here, there were about four or five settlers in all of the territory that now belongs to howell county; there were but three men that resided upon what is known as the middle bayou, william mccarty and his sons, green and willis. in about three years after my father settled here, mccarties sold out and located on the bayou above bakersfield. in there was a man by the name of thomas hall who resided about miles southwest of west plains, a man by the name of cyrus newberry resided about miles from where west plains now is, and a man by the name of braudwaters resided near where moody is now located. there was not a settlement in all the territory that now includes howell valley. there had been a settlement, by a man who was a hunter, made at what is now termed the town spring at west plains who had cleared five or six acres, but had left it. all the valleys in howell county were considered worthless on account of there being no water. when the country commenced settling, there was no attention paid to congressional lines. as they settled on the streams, they would make conditional lines--blaze across the bottom until they would strike the table-lands; and the next men who might come in and settle would blaze his conditional line across, and for years there was but little land entered. men only sold their improvements, and there was a fixed law, or custom, that prevailed among them--that no man should enter the land and take another man's improvements without paying him for them. a few such instances occurred to my knowledge. the man was at once waited upon, and informed of the rules and customs of the country; and besides the rules and customs, it was not right nor honest to take a man's labor without paying him for it; and that it was the intention and purpose of the people to see that justice was done every man; and he was therefore notified to proceed to the late owner of the improvements and pay him the value of the improvements; and if they couldn't agree upon the value, submit it to two disinterested neighbors; and if they couldn't agree let the third man be brought in, which finding would be final. in every instance if the man who had made the entry failed to comply with the terms, he was at once notified that his absence from the settlement and a speedy departure from the country would be satisfactory to the settlement; and that if he failed to comply, he would have to submit to the punishments that would be inflicted upon him. if the improvements, which were always reasonable, were paid for, the party would move off, blaze out another claim, and go to work to improve it; but if he didn't receive pay for his improvements, he remained on the land and the other fellow's whereabouts would soon be unknown; and when the land was sold for taxes, the man owning the improvements would buy it in by paying the amount of taxes and costs without an opposing bid. when my father first located in this country, a large portion of the territory had never been sectionized. what was known as the old survey, including range seven and a part of range eight (now in this county) formed a part of the old survey. congress passed a law graduating the price of land according to the length of time it had been upon the market. the government price was $ . per acre. the first reduction was twenty-five cents upon the acre; then they reduced the purchase price every few years until all the land included in the old survey went down to a bit an acre. the graduation law allowed each man to take up acres by making actual settlement and cultivating it. but the land speculators took advantage of the law and hired men to go upon the land and make a few brush-heaps, and in the name of some man apply for the entry, until all of the graduated lands were taken up, and there was not a bona fide settler who had complied with the law in one out of every hundred. most of the land in howell, gunters, peace, and hutton valleys, and the land where west plains is now situated, were entered at a bit per acre. after the entries, the valley lands commenced settling rapidly. when the time came to procure a patent to the land, speculators went to washington and engineered a bill through congress to allow the parties to prove up without making proof of actual settlement, and in that way fraudulently obtained patents to two-thirds of all the land above referred to. the next thing, the speculators went east, sold their lands (or mortgaged them) by representing that all of the table lands were bottom lands and covered with walnut, hackberry, box elder, and other bottom growths. they let the mortgages all be foreclosed. the merchants, who procured title to the lands, sent out agents to examine the land, who went back and reported that the lands were valueless and were not worth the taxes and refused to pay taxes on them. with some few exceptions the lands were offered time and again for taxes, would not sell for the amount of the taxes and thousands of acres remained in that condition until a short time before the building of the kansas city & memphis railroad. all of the table lands were looked upon by the people as being entirely worthless and fit for nothing but range. my father in the year sold out and removed from bennett's river, fulton county, to the north fork of white river, in fulton county but two miles from the state line, dividing missouri and arkansas. in the year father took the winter fever, died and was buried in the cemetery, three miles above the state line, known as the teverbauch cemetery. in the year my mother and one brother died with the bloody flux, leaving three sons of the family, william, the oldest one living, f. m. and james i. monks. the author was married on the th day of april to martha a. rice, a daughter of thomas and nancy rice. he continued to reside upon the old homestead and was a farmer by occupation. the country commenced settling up rapidly. all the land on the streams was settled, with very few exceptions, with a frugal and intelligent class of people, mostly from the middle states. in the year howell county was created by taking a part of the territory of ozark and a part of the territory of oregon, to-wit: ranges and and a small part of were taken from oregon county and the remainder of and was taken from ozark county. andrew v. taber, ---- johnson (and the name of the other commissioner we have forgotten at the present time) proceeded to locate the county seat and purchased acres near the west plains spring and laid it out into lots, got the county seat near the center, as a sufficient amount of water was necessary, taking into consideration the town spring and then what was known as the bingiman spring. the lots sold rapidly and the town grew beyond any expectation and the country was improving and settling up with the town. in the author sold out on the north fork of white river and moved into howell county and located miles southwest of west plains upon sections and , range , was appointed constable of benton township and in the year was elected constable of benton township, commenced reading law in the year . in the year west plains was said to be the best, neatest, prettiest town in south missouri and contained about inhabitants; had a neat frame court house in the center of the square, a first-class hewed log jail, had four first-class stores (for the country at that time) which kept continually on hand a general assortment of merchandise, had two saloons, tan yard and the county was out of debt, with money in the treasury; a county warrant then was good for its face value in gold, and the country was prosperous in every respect. the people generally were fast friends and their chief interest was to develop the resources of the country and aid and help each other. how a mob was prevented in , a man resided about three miles below west plains by the name of collins coffey on the farm recently owned by thomas bolin and some men by the name of griffiths and boles--(some of them resided in west plains and some of them resided in thomasville, oregon county) and they and coffey had a falling out with each other and the enmity between them became very great. so the griffiths, who lived at west plains went down to thomasville and they and the boles with a few other friends declared that they would come up to coffey's and mob him. they went to work and made for themselves a uniform, procured a bugle, fife and snare drum, procured a hack, made them a place for a candle and aimed to come up in the night. coffey owned considerable stock among which was a bull about four years old. the range then was luxuriant and there was a pond near the side of the road that led from thomasville and west plains and the bull with other cattle had lain down on the edge of the road about one mile from coffey's residence. they armed themselves, procured their musicians, got into their hack, drawn by two horses and started off to the scene of action with a bright light, with a flag flying and the music playing. when they reached the place near where the male was laying, he rose to his feet, squared himself and fetched a keen bellow as though (although he was animal) he might have some information as to their mission. they paid no attention to the action of the bull and on their driving within about ten feet of him he made a desperate lunge forward; they supposed that he intended to gore the horses, but missed his aim, struck the hack near the coupling, broke the coupling pole and turned head over heels, and fell right between the horses. the horses became frightened, made a desperate lunge to extricate themselves, and the bull at the same time was scuffling to extricate himself. both horses fell, the bull and horses were all piled into a heap, grunting and scuffling. the occupants of the hack were all piled out in a heap, almost in an instant, and before they could extricate themselves and get onto their feet the bull had gotten up and was moving in the direction of his master's house bellowing every step as if to say, "i dare you to come any further." as soon as the posse got to their feet, having prepared, before they started, with plenty of whiskey, and being pretty well filled at the time of the occurrence, boles got to his feet, drew his pistol, cocked it and swore he could whip any bull he ever saw, especially a one horned coffey bull. the hack was almost demolished and the occupants considerably bruised, both horses crippled, and after consultation, they concluded that as the coffey bull had proved so successful they had better abandon their trip and retreat "in good order" to thomasville, leaving their horses hitched by the roadside and the shattered hack piled up at one side of the road. the next morning they sent out a team and brought the horses and hack back to thomasville, and they were wiser and perhaps better men, as they never again attempted to mob coffey. the strange feature about this matter is that the bull was never known to be cross before this occasion, when his master was to be mobbed. the society of the country had increased with the population, and school houses and churches were erected all over the country, nice farms were opened up, the dwellings changed from round log to hewed log and frame, the people all manifested a great deal of interest in schools and churches and the general development of the country. religion and politics. the prominent religious denominations from to consisted chiefly of methodists, baptists and the christian order; but all appeared to recognize each other as christians and would very often work together, as they had in the early pioneer days. everything had the appearance of pointing to the day when howell county would become the garden spot of south missouri. politically, the country was largely democratic. in political campaigns the whig and democratic candidates would canvass the country together, and while on the stump speaking they would assail each other's platforms in most bitter terms. after the speaking was over they would go to the same hotel or boarding place and laugh and talk together as though they belonged to the same political party, and after the election was over the successful party would be recognized by the people as the officers of the whole people. you would see no partisan line drawn by the different courts between political parties, but the appointments of all local officers were made according to the qualifications of the man and not as to what party he belonged. the author, having been born and raised by democratic parents, was a democrat and acted with the democratic party, his first vote for president having been cast for james buchanan. in a great political question of the nation began to be agitated and a very bitter feeling was manifested from the stump between the republican and democratic parties. after the democratic party divided and the bolters nominated breckenridge for president, the author took part in the canvas and was a strong advocate of stephen a. douglas, the regular nominee of the democratic party, and at the election cast his vote for stephen a. douglas for president. missouri and the civil war. abraham lincoln was elected president of the united states. soon after the election they began to discuss the question of seceding from the government. the author again took the field in opposition to secession, and delivered a number of speeches. in a short time the people that had been the closest of friends and trusted a neighbor with the most sacred thing they possessed became bitter enemies and arrayed themselves against one another and as the discussion of the great question of war continued to grow more bitter the people appeared to align themselves for and against secession. the people soon grew so bitter that they often talked of fighting each other. before the firing on ft. sumpter and after several of the states had actually seceded the union sentiment prevailed so strongly in the state of missouri that clabourn jackson, the then acting governor, was compelled to order an election in the state of missouri to settle the matter by a vote, of the people as to whether missouri should secede or remain in the union. the author then took the stump and advocated that the state remain in the union and manifest her loyalty to the preservation of the union. in this campaign the feeling of the war grew more bitter. the result, however, of the election was that the state remained in the union. in the mean time, ft. sumpter had been fired upon by the rebels. clabe jackson, the governor, appeared to be determined upon the state seceding either by fair or foul means. without regarding a majority vote of the people of the state, clabe jackson, the then acting governor, issued his proclamation convening the legislature in extra session for the purpose of passing ordinances of secession. at that time gen. frost was in the command of the militia and some state troops stationed in st. louis barracks but he was in heart and sympathy a rebel. everything appeared to have been greased and prepared for the occasion. as the governor had the whole machinery of the state completely under his control he believed that it would be an easy matter for the legislature to pass ordinances of secession and carry the state out of the union, but the government authorities at washington learned of the critical condition and deep laid scheme of the governor to carry the state out of the union and at once ordered capt. lyons of the regular army, (who afterward became general of the volunteer forces and fought the battle at wilson creek, missouri) to come to st. louis; he, being a captain in the regular army, outranked gen. frost, took possession of the troops, arms and amunitions, etc., reorganized and rapidly increased the army by volunteers. on information reaching gen. lyons that the legislature had been convened in extra session he at once took his available troops and left st. louis with the intention of surrounding the capitol and taking the members of both houses, the governor, with all his state officers, prisoners; when the governor learned that the government troops were en route for jefferson city and their purpose, he ordered the bridge to be burned across the gasconade river near its mouth, on what was then known as the north pacific r. r. this delayed the troops for several hours. on their approach to jefferson city the governor and state officers and the members of both houses of the legislature and all the troops that had been ordered to the capital by the governor retreated to boonville, missouri. i heard our representative in a speech delivered a short time afterwards, say they came so near getting him while he was getting out of jefferson city that he lost his umbrella. lyons pursued them and at boonville they made a stand and on lyon's arrival with his troops he attacked them and they fought for a short time. they again retreated, went into the extreme west part of the state to a place known as lone jack. there they made a stand again, lyons still pursuing. he again attacked then at lone jack and after a short fight they retreated again into the state of arkansas, and there governor jackson convened the legislature and they passed ordinances of secession declaring the state of missouri out of the union and that she was attached to the compact forming the confederate states. general lyon returned to st. louis, increasing his force considerably, several regiments being attached to his command from other states. the government ordered him to prepare his troops and move west to springfield. the terminus of the south missouri pacific r. r., at that time was at rolla, missouri. while lyon was massing his troops and preparing to march to springfield the most intense excitement prevailed in the entire state of missouri. a big confederate meeting at west plains. the confederate authorities at once commenced recruiting for the confederate service and the confederate recruiting officers published a public meeting at west plains about the first or tenth of july and while the confederate authorities were moving, the union or loyal element of the country was not idle, but was watching every move, openly and secretly preparing for the conflict. a few days before the meeting was to be held at west plains the confederates sent to the pinery and procured a long pine pole, hoisted it at the corner of durham's store at the northwest corner of the public square and swung to the breeze the stars and bars. at the same time, or near the same time, the union men sent to the pinery and procured a pole. they hoisted it on the northeast corner of east main street by the corner of mcginty's store where the s. j. langston mercantile co., building now stands and swung to the breeze the stars and stripes. it was freely published throughout the county by the rebels that if any union man attempted to open his mouth on that day he would be shot as full of holes as a sifter bottom. there was a beautiful grove then growing just east of the branch on east main street running from the town spring. large preparations were made by the rebels for the occasion. it was published that there would be leading confederates from all over the state and different other states to speak on that day and one of the main features of the day would be recruiting for confederate service. a big speaker's stand was erected with hundreds of seats. when the day arrived the town was crowded with people and the friends of both parties were armed and appeared to be ready for the conflict. the stars and bars attracted a great deal of attention, being the first flag that had ever been seen by the people that antagonized the stars and stripes and threatened to destroy the united states government. there was soon a number of determined men gathered under each flag. a number of their prominent speakers were on hand, among them judge price, of springfield, known as "wild bill" price. they readily took in the situation and saw that a conflict was imminent, and as they were not ready for it they met together in council and agreed that their men should not bring on the conflict on that day. quite a number of the parties prepared themselves at the speaker's stand. when different speakers were introduced to address the people, many of the men would sit, either with their guns in their hands or with their guns near to them, and the most fiery and extreme speeches were made that i ever heard. the author well remembers the speech of judge william price. he told them that the lopeared dutch had reached rolla, missouri, the terminus of the railroad, and that they were complete heathens; that abraham lincoln had given the state of missouri to them, if they would send enough lopeared dutch to conquer the state, and that to his knowledge they had gone out into the country and taken men's wives and daughters and brought them into the camps, and that he saw them, in the presence of the mothers, run bayonets through their infant children and hoist them up and carry them around on their bayonets; that abraham lincoln had offered a reward for all of the preachers that were in favor of the south. he bursted into tears and asked the question, "i want to know who the man is, and the color of his hair, that won't enlist in the interest of his home, his wife, his children and everything that is sacred and good, to drive out lopeared dutch, a certain class of hessians, from our land." he urged them to come forward and place their names upon the rolls. nearly all the preachers present placed their names on the recruiting list first. the excitement grew still more bitter. in the afternoon they began to threaten openly that the stars and stripes should be hauled down; that no flag should be allowed to float in west plains that countenances and tolerates heathen in our land. the union men declared that the stars and stripes should not be lowered unless it was done over their dead bodies. quite a number of union men had assembled under the flag. the union men were led by a man named captain lyle. he had been warned and cautioned by his friends not to open his mouth, for the reason that he would be shot full of holes. late in the evening there was a lull in the speaking. the author walked up into the speaker's stand, called the attention of the people, saw a number of rifles grasped in their hands, and announced to them that they had been sitting all day listening to confederate speeches, but on the next saturday, if they would meet him at black's store, about ten miles west of west plains, they could hear union speeches and the constitution of the united states would be read; thanked the crowd and stepped down. quite a number of guns were raised in the hands of parties and a shower of groans and hisses, and remarks openly from a number that "we ought to shoot his black heart out now." it appeared for a while that it would be impossible to evade a conflict of arms. a number of orders being sent to the union men to draw down their flag or they would fire on it and the men who supported it, an answer was returned that the rebels were requested to draw down their flag as it was a stranger in the land and unless they lowered their flag the stars and stripes wouldn't be lowered an inch, unless it was done over their dead bodies. at last a proposition came that they would agree for the sake of averting bloodshed to commence lowering both flags at the same time which proposition was accepted; so wound up that day's proceedings. on the saturday following, the author, with several other union speakers, met at black's store where there were several rebel captains and lieutenants. the author made a speech in favor of remaining in the union and stated that the attempt to secede by some of the states would eventually result in sad disaster, besides bringing untold suffering upon the people. several other union speeches were made after which the author read the constitution of the united states and urged that all lovers of republican form of government would comply with the demand of the supreme law of the land and, if necessary, sacrifice property and life in defence of the same; so ended that day's proceedings. mcbride establishes military law. as the organization of the confederates proceeded they still grew more bitter against the union men and declared, by meeting and passing resolutions, that every union man should show his colors in favor of the south or be hung as high as hamen. in the meantime the union men had secretly organized and met together, to take into consideration as to the time when they should act. the prevailing sentiment was, that they should remain dormant and let the rebels shed the first blood, while the minority thought the time had come for action, and that they ought to act before the rebels crippled them and tied them up in such a manner that, when the time did come, they would be entirely helpless and at their mercy. mcbride, who had been elected judge of the th judicial circuit, which included howell county, whose home was in texas county, was made brigadier general of the confederate forces and commenced organizing and massing his troops. on the arrival of the federal troops at rolla, missouri, he became fearful that they would attack him, rout him and destroy his forces, so he concluded to march south to west plains and make his headquarters at that place until he could organize his forces and prepare for marching west, where he intended to join the forces of gen. sterling price and gen. mccullough who then were massing their forces to march on springfield, missouri, to attack the federal forces who were then stationed at springfield under the command of gen. lyon and gen. seigle. on his arrival at west plains he opened up headquarters, issued his proclamation that all union men or any men that were unfriendly to the confederate cause should come in and take the oath and the civil law was declared to be suspended and the military law completely in force. then was when the dark day and trouble began to hang over the union people. as soon as it was known that the civil law was suspended little bunches of rebels organized all over the country and also in the state of arkansas. in a short time after gen. mcbride's arrival in west plains a man who was a door neighbor to the author came into his field where he was cutting wheat, asked him if he had seen the order of mcbride. my answer was "no." he remarked, "well, he has made a general order, requiring all union men, especially those who have been open and active in behalf of the union, to come in and take the oath, and unless they do they are going to hang them as high as hamen." the author replied to him that he was a union man and he knew it; he had been open and outspoken for the union and had voted for mcbride when he was elected judge, but now he thought he was acting outside of the law and humanity. i had neither violated the law of my land nor harmed any man and i didn't consider that mcbride had any right to order me to take an oath to take up arms against my country or support those who had taken up arms. if this did become a general war, i thought they were making a blunder, for the government, or the lopeared dutch, as they termed them, would have the advantage in the way of transporting forage and commissaries and amunitions of war, while the confederates would have to rely mostly for their resources upon the county; that i was a peace officer and while i was a strong union man wasn't taking up arms and i thought that those who wanted to fight, if there had to be a fight, should go out into the open fields, and not force the war onto non-combatants, and that the country would suffer enough at best. now you know i am a union man, and i know that you are in favor of the confederate cause, and i think this is the course that ought to be pursued at the present time. the confederates are in control of the country, and they will come around and say they must have forage for the support of the army, and ask you if you know of any union men; you could tell them, "my neighbor right here is a union man, but he is not disposed to take up arms and go into the fight; take as little from him as you can possibly do with, and as little from myself; in return, if this war goes on, and the federal authorities extend their jurisdiction, they would be out hunting rebels for the purpose of getting forage and commissaries, and i could say to them that my neighbor here is a rebel but take just as little as possible from him, and as little as possible from me, as we are going to have a hard time to get through the war any way. but if you pursue the policy you say has been adopted by the confederates, you will force all non-combatants into arms or drive them from the country and completely depopulate it." he burst into a big laugh and remarked, "your promises are like a broken stick, you will never see the lopeared dutch in this country." i said to him, "my friend, if this war goes on, before the end of it you will see what you call lopeared dutch as thick as blackbirds;" and we separated. general lyons drives rebels from rolla. about june , , the rebels were having a big meeting at rolla, phelps county, missouri, for the purpose of recruiting. general lyons at st. louis, learned of the meeting, and at once placed quite a force in the cars, well armed and closed them up so they would not be detected and started for rolla with the intention of capturing the whole outfit. on the day set for the rebel meeting, quite a number of them had assembled and a certain young lawyer was delivering an address, telling them that one southern man could whip five lopeared dutch and all they wanted was just an opportunity; in the meantime lyon's forces had reached dillon, the next station east of rolla about five miles distant. there the forces were taken from the cars and divided, some marching southwest and the others northwest, making a flank movement for the purpose of surrounding the whole place. while they were marching some person, who was a rebel, went with all the speed possible and informed the meeting that the dutch were right upon them; that the woods were full of them and to get out of there as quick as possible, if they wanted to save their lives. the lawyer who was addressing them sprang from the speakers stand and holloing at the top of his voice as he went, "get away from here, the dutch are upon us." it was said that the lawyer ran so fast that if a glass of water had been sat upon his coat tail it would not have spilled. they scattered to the woods in all directions. the federal force came in; but their birds had all flown and left the citizens who had remained to tell the sad tale. the rebel forces at once retreated to salem, missouri, where they again concentrated their force. the federal scout, in a few days followed them to salem, and there again routed them and they retreated directly to west plains, joining the command of mcbride at that place. the rebels, hurriedly, concentrated their forces from all the south and southeastern counties of missouri and from the northern counties of arkansas. general mcbride made an order to gather all the arms, amunitions, and horses that were fit for the service, as speedily as possible and the report was put in circulation that he had given the county over to the leading rebels, who resided in it, whose action, whatever they did touching the union men, would be indorsed and carried out by general mcbride. the leading rebels of the county at once sent out word that they were going to take all the arms, amunition and available horses from the union men and that mcbride required each and every one of them to report and take the oath at once, and if they failed to comply with said order, speedy action would be taken against them. they would either be arrested, imprisoned or forced into the confederate army to fight and their leaders would be hung. on the issuing of the said order the wildest excitement prevailed among the union men. they immediately met for the purpose of consultation as to what their final action would be. there were divers opinions among them; some of them were for acting at once; others (and a majority of them) were in favor of waiting until the rebels shed the first blood. those who refused to report and take the oath had to place themselves in hiding at once. the rebels made a general move to raid, harass and capture the union men. then real danger confronted a man who claimed to be a union man. the rebels had made a general amnesty, upon the condition that they would join the confederate army and become loyal to the confederate states. about two-thirds of the men who had been open and avowed union men saw the danger that confronted them, and joined the confederate army and claimed that they would be loyal to its cause. the remainder of the union men were disarmed at once, except those who kept themselves concealed in the mountains and hills. after they had completely disarmed them and forced many of them to join the confederate service, had taken most of their horses, cattle and hogs for the use of the army, the leading rebels in the county claimed that they had organized for the purpose of ridding the country of all union men who had refused to join the confederate forces; that when mcbride moved west he was going to leave the whole matter in their hands, and they intended to string up the union men to limbs and shoot them, so they would soon be rid of the class of men who were friends of the lopeared dutch and were nigger lovers. the testing of loyal hearts. small bunches of rebel troops came in from arkansas and joined the bands that were raiding the country, and the union men were hunted like wild beasts. then set in the darkest day that ever any class of patriots, true to their government, had to confront. the author remembers well when the union men would meet together, that they took the proposition made by mcbride into consideration, and it was discussed pro and con. some men would say, "while i am a union man and for the government, all that i have in the world is here in howell county; my little home, my property and, above all, my wife and children. they have promised us protection provided we will join the rebel army. had we not better accept the proposition and wait for results?" others would arise, with tears dripping from their eyes, and remark that this state of affairs is hard indeed. "can i afford to abandon my wife and children that i love so well and leave them unprotected in the midst of an open state of war, at the mercy of a mad and distracted people, who are thirsting for the loyal blood of the nation, and be alienated from them, perhaps, never more to see them?" others would arise and remark that "we have seen this danger coming for months and we are satisfied that the worst has not come, and i know that i love my wife, my family, my little children, as i love my own heart; i love to meet them around my fireside and enjoy their sweet company, and i have delighted in laboring to furnish them food and raiment and shelter while they were growing into manhood and womanhood, but i have read and heard read that my highest duty was to god and my second duty was to my country; and the organic law of the nation requires at my hands that whenever it becomes necessary to preserve my government, that i owe to it my life, my honor and the welfare of my family; and the trying ordeal is now at hand and i don't know what the final result will be--if i am forced away from my family, i know they will be left at the mercy of an intolerant and unrelenting enemy, but i now and here lay my life, my family, my property and my future happiness upon the altar of my country, and let come what will, weal or woe, i intend, with all my feeble effort, to defend the stars and stripes, and stand up openly and courageously in defense of and for the preservation of the union." that proposition prevailed and was unanimously adopted by the union men. at this time there was no government aid in reach of these loyal hearts, that were controlled by nothing but love of country. uncle sam could do nothing for them. they were completely surrounded in an enemy's country, and while they (the men), with what arms they had preserved, could by strategy evade the arrest and slaughter of themselves, their families were completely at the mercy of a mad and howling mob, thirsting for the blood of union men. while the loyal men in the north were enlisting in the interest of their country, uncle sam paid them $ . per month, clothed them, and their families were left in the care of friends; they knew nothing about the war, except what they read; but not so with the union men who were surrounded in an enemy's country. they, without a single word of protection or comfort from the government for themselves or their families, but their love and devotion to their country led them to furnish themselves, to leave their families as best they could, at the mercy of a howling mob, for the defense of their country. rebels defeated in douglas county. the loyal men in douglas county and the north part of the county of ozark were in the ascendency. a rebel force organized from the county of howell, missouri, and fulton county, arkansas, wanting to have some fun hunting union men, learned that on bryant's fork on the north fork of white river in ozark county there was a bunch of union men. so they armed and equipped themselves, furnished themselves ropes, and marched to hunt the place these men were said to be. the union men hearing of their intention hurriedly prepared a temporary barricade around the house, and about sixty of them gathered together with their squirrel rifles in readiness to repel the attack in case it was made. the rebel scout consisted of two hundred and fifty men. early in the morning reliable information reached the union men that the rebel forces were well under way and would reach them some time in the afternoon. one of the union men, who had always borne the reputation of being a brave man and would fight anything, became impatient as the time drew near that they were to be attacked. he had been a great hunter and was considered a first-class shot, and he remarked to the union men, "i can't wait for the rebels to attack us, i want to get a shot at one so bad with old betsy (his gun). i know of a bald knob, about a quarter of a mile from here, where the rebel force is bound to pass. i am going there; place yourselves in waiting, and when you hear 'old betsey' belch, you may know there is one dead rebel, and be certain that they are coming." in about an hour after the man referred to had left, the rebel advance came in sight, but they never heard "old betsy" belch. they vigorously attacked the union men inside their fortifications, and after fighting for about an hour, they retreated, leaving one man dead upon the field and one wounded. the union men received no injury whatever. they became very uneasy in regard to their friend and "old betsy," supposing he had fallen into the hands of the enemy and they had used the rope on him. search was made all along the line of march of the rebels for the missing man, but no information could be learned of his whereabouts. however, in about one week, news came from douglas county that their friend and "old betsy" arrived safely at another rendezvous of union men in douglas county, about forty miles distant, and reported that the union men had had a fight with the rebels, and they were all captured or killed, with the exception of himself, and he had made his escape after the fight. just before mcbride broke camps to march west to join gen. price and gen. mccullough, he made a general order that they arrest and seize every union man possible, and after he left the country, that the committee who had been organized to take charge of the county, would at once exterminate every union man who had failed to take the oath or to join the confederate army, giving them full power as to what disposition they would make of them. rebels capture col. monks. on the th of july, , one of my neighbors came to me and informed me that the time had come that every union man had to show his colors and unless they reported and took the oath or joined the confederate army, they would hang as high as haman. while the union men were on their guard and watching their movements, once in a while they would slip in home to see how the family was getting along. my family at that time consisted of a wife and four children, three girls and one boy. my wife had never been accustomed to staying alone and i came in home late on the evening of the th, thinking that i would leave the next morning before daylight. sometime after the family had retired, not far from o'clock in the night, i was awakened by a rapping on the door. my wife, suspecting who the parties were, answered them, and demanded to know what was wanted; one of them, who claimed to be an orderly sergeant, remarked that he wanted to know if monks was at home. she replied that he was not. a man by the name of william biffle, whom the author had been acquainted with for years, replied, "he is here, i know, for i coursed him into this house late yesterday evening." the author at once arose to his feet and remarked, "i am here, what is wanted?" a man by the name of garrett weaver, who claimed to be an orderly sergeant and in charge of the squad, also a neighbor to the author said, "i have been ordered by gen. mcbride to arrest you, bring you in and make you take the oath." i owned at that time a first-class rifle and there was also another rifle gun in the house. i took my gun into my hands and my wife took hold of the other gun. i told them that a general order had gone forth, so i was informed, that they wanted to hang all the leading union men and "if that is your intention i will die before i surrender." weaver replied they were not going to hang me, but they were just going to take me to mcbride to take the oath and i should be protected. upon those terms i agreed to surrender, made a light in the house and found that the house was surrounded by a posse of twenty-five rebels. as soon as the light was made, a part of them rushed into the house, took my gun and jerked the one my wife had in her hand out of her possession, almost throwing her to the floor, began a general search of the house for other arms and such things as they said the army needed. as soon as i dressed, they ordered me to move. they didn't even give me time to say good-bye to my wife, nor to imprint a kiss upon the cheeks of my loving children. closely surrounding me, they marched me about yards, came to their horses, where two more of their posse guarded the horses, they having dismounted, to approach the house on foot so they might not be heard. [illustration: col. monks arrested and taken from home] "billy, you ought not to be so saucy." when within a few feet of the horses the author was halted. it was just starlight. i noticed a man by the name of wilburn baker, a man with whom the author had been acquainted from a boy, go to the horn of one of the saddles, lift therefrom a coiled rope and move toward the author. the author quickly arrived at the conclusion that the time had come to enforce the order of hanging. baker ordered the author seized by the arms, drew them behind him and securely tied him. the author asked, just as they had completed the tying, "what do you mean? are you going to cage me?" baker replied, "billy, you ought not to be so saucy, for you don't know the danger you are in." i was at once ordered placed on a horse. one of the posse rode up to my side and placed the other end of the rope around his body and the posse moved west. a short time before daylight they arrived at the house of william nicks, who was a rebel lieutenant. they dismounted and took the author into the house. there appeared to be a general rejoicing among them. nicks said, "you have got him, have you? we had become uneasy about you, and thought it might have been possible that he had his union forces around him and that you had met with disaster; but i feel satisfied that we have now captured the leader and the counselor of the union forces and the remainder will be easily extinguished." gen. mcbride in the meantime, being uneasy for fear the federal troops would attack him, had removed his forces from west plains to the south part of howell county, camping at what was known as the flag pond. i was closely guarded until daylight. mcbride's forces had broken camp at the flag pond on the morning of july th and were marching west with the intention of joining the forces of gen. price and gen. mccullough, who were then moving in the direction of springfield, missouri, with the intention of attacking the federal forces at that place, commanded by gen. lyon and gen. siegel. very early on the morning of the th the party started in a southwest direction, with the author closely guarded. on coming near the head of bennett's river, fulton county, arkansas, the posse commenced cheering and remarked: "listen! do you hear the drums and the fife? that is gen. mcbride's command moving west to kill them lopeared dutch that you union men have brought into the state of missouri. do you know what we are going to do with such men as you are? those of you that we don't hang, the first fight that we get into with the lopeared dutch, we will make breastworks out of to keep the bullets off of good men." about one mile further we came in sight of the moving column. we rode along the line, when there was general cheering until we reached a company that was organized in oregon county and commanded by capt. simpson. simpson said, "why have you brought a union man in here alive! if my company had possession of him, he could not live ten minutes." we soon reached a company commanded by capt. forshee which was organized in this county to whom the whole posse that made the arrest, belonged. the author was well acquainted with all of them and over half of them resided in the same settlement and were his neighbors. on reaching the company captain forshee walked out of the line and remarked to them "why have you brought him in here alive?" some of the posse remarked, that he had been a neighbor and they had all been friends up to the war and they hated to kill him. forshee said "when i saw him at west plains at the speaking when he got up and contended that there was a union and the government ought to be preserved, i wanted to shoot his black heart out of him and i feel the same way yet." the author was kept in close confinement and on the night of the th the command went into camp near what is known as the old steve thompson farm. the author, with several other prisoners, was placed in the guard house and orders were given that he be closely guarded. after they had taken their suppers, men that the author had been acquainted with from his boyhood, and men who had been acquainted with his relatives, came to the guard house in considerable numbers and remarked, "hello, monks?" "i never expected to see you under arrest." "what have you been doing that they have arrested you? i thought you was a good democrat." "have you left your party." "the democratic party is in favor of the south." the author replied to them that when they thought he was a good democrat they were right. but that he was not a slave to party and that he held country higher than party and if democracy meant secession and nullification, that was one part of the principals of democracy that he had never learned; that true democracy, as understood by the author, taught every man that in case his country was invaded either externally or internally that he owed his honor and property in the support of it and for those reasons he was for the preservation of the union at all hazards. some remarked that "we ought to hang him right now without waiting any longer" others remarked that "we have been acquainted with his people both on his mother's and father's side and they were all southern people and democrats and they are all of them, almost, in favor of the south. it is strange indeed to see the course that he has taken." the author remarked that "there were always some shabby sheep in a flock and i suppose from your reasoning that i am one of them." they all retired, the officers giving orders that the most vigilant watch be kept over the prisoner. after he had retired a gentleman by the name of joseph teverbaugh who resided in ozark county, a merchant and the owner of about twenty negroes, who had been well acquainted with the author from his boyhood, brought up the conversation as to what disposition they thought ought to be made of the author. the author could easily hear all the conversation inside of the guard line. many opinions were expressed. quite a number said, "hang him outright." that was the only way to get shut of the union men, to make short work of it, and forever rid the country of that element. others said that appeared to be too harsh, that they were in favor of taking him to little rock and confining him in the penitentiary until the war was over, for it wouldn't take but a short time to rid the country of the lopeared dutch and those who were friends to them. others remarked that "that would be too easy for a man who was in favor of the lopeared dutch; that we are in favor of taking all like him right into the army and making them fight and if they won't fight, the first engagement we get into, pile them up and make breastworks out of them, so that they will catch bullets off of good men." at this juncture teverbaugh remarked, "i have been acquainted with billy from a boy and you never can force him to fight against what he believes to be right, that he was a good boy and since he has grown up to be a man he has been an honorable and straightforward man and quite an active man politically and my advice would be to confine him in the state penitentiary until the war is over, for i tell you now if he ever gains his liberty you are going to have him to fight." sold as a beef cow. on the morning of the th they broke camp and marched near the mouth of bennett's river and went into camp at what was then known as talbert's mill. a short time after we had been in camp capt. forshee, who had charge of the prisoners, came to the guard house and the author requested him that he be allowed to take the oath and return home, as his wife and children were almost scared to death owing to the reports that were currently circulated all through the country, his wife would believe they had hung him. the captain replied that they were not going to allow him to take the oath. they had plenty of proof against him, that he had been communicating to the lopeared dutch and as soon as they had formed a junction with price and mccullough he would be tried as a spy. he gave orders to the guard to see that he was kept in close confinement, and about o'clock in the night as near as the author can guess, it being starlight, the captain came down to the guard house in company with one of his men, frank morrison. the author was lying on the ground pretending to be asleep. the captain came inside of the guard, called out, "monks, are you asleep?" the author raised up in a sitting position and said, "captain what is wanted"? the captain remarked, "i want you to go up to my camp fire," which was about yards distance from the guard house. the author said, "captain, this is a strange time of night to come down and order me to your camp fire." he said; "not another word out of you, rise to your feet." he ordered morrison to step behind him with the same gun that he had recently taken from the author and cock it and "if he makes a crooked step from here up to the camp fire shoot him through." the author heard morrison cock the gun and about half way between the guard house and the camp fire the captain remarked to the author, "do you know kasinger?" the author, suspecting that he was going to be delivered to a mob, said "i know him very well; we have grown up together from boys." the captain said, "i thought he was a mighty nice man. i have sold you to him for a beef cow." the author remarked there was but one thing he was sorry for; that if he had known he was going to be delivered to a mob he never would have surrendered and had some satisfaction for his life. the captain said, "i thought i was doing mighty well to sell a black republican or a union man for a beef cow where we have as many good men to feed, as we have here." his camp fire was under a gum tree with a large top. the fires had all died down, it being in july and nothing but the stars were giving the light. on coming within two or three feet of the tree the captain ordered the author to halt. he and morrison walked about ten paces and said, "i have brought you up here to liberate you. we have got plenty of good men here to feed without feeding men who are friends to the lopeared dutch." the author replied to the captain, "you may think you are dealing with a fool. i have neither violated the civil nor military law; have demanded a trial and you refuse to give it to me. you can't bring me up here at this time of night and pretend to turn me loose for the purpose of escaping the responsibility of an officer and deliver me into the hands of a mob." the confederate army or hell. the author was satisfied that he could then see a bunch of men standing in readiness. the captain replied, "sit down or you will be shot in half a minute." the author sat down and leaned against the tree. he had on strong summer clothing, wearing an alpaca vest and coat. in an instant, about twenty-five men, led by kasinger, and a man by the name of william sap, approached the author; kasinger, holding a rope in his hand with a noose in it, walked up to the author, held the noose of the rope above his head and said, "monks, you have half a minute to say you will join the army and fight, or go to hell, just which you please." the author replied that it was said that "hell was a hot place," but he had never been there, and that he had always been counted a truthful man until he had been arrested, and since his arrest he had been asked divers questions of the whereabouts of the lopeared dutch, and that he had told them in every instance he knew nothing of them and had been cursed for a liar. "if i was to say that i would join the army and fight, i might have a cowardly set of legs and they might carry me away; and in the next place, i am a union man, first, last and all the time. i suppose your intention is to hang me, and there is only one thing i am sorry for, and that is that i ever surrendered; but there is one consolation left, when you kill me you won't kill them all, and you will meet plenty of them that won't be disarmed as i am now." kasinger replied, "no damn foolishness, we mean business," and made an attempt to drop the noose over my head, which was warded off with my arms. at this juncture the author appealed to the captain for protection from the mob, saying that he was a prisoner, unarmed and helpless, and if he suffered him to be murdered by a mob his blood would be upon the captain's head. no reply being made by the captain, all of the parties being considerably under the influence of whiskey, sap raised his left hand, pushed kasinger back and remarked, "i have been shooting and wounding some of these black republicans who are friends of the lopeared dutch, but i intend to shoot the balance of them dead." at the same time he drew a pistol from his right-hand pocket, cocked it, stooped over, ran his fingers under the author's clothing, gave them a twist and commenced punching him around the chest with the muzzle of the revolver, and after, as the author thought, he had punched him some fifty or sixty times with the revolver, the author said to him, "william sap, there is no question but that your intentions are to kill me, and you want to torture me to death. you know that if i was armed and on equal footing with you, you would not do this." he made a quick jerk with his left hand, intending to jerk the author upon his face, remarking to the captain at the same time, "captain, you promised him to us and we are going to take him." the author, with all force possible, leant against the tree, sap's hold broke loose, tearing off all the buttons that were on the vest and coat. [illustration: a narrow escape for col. monks.] the author again appealed to the captain for protection from the mob. the captain then remarked to sap, "hold on for a moment, i will take a vote of my company as to whether we will hang him or not." the company at that time was lying on the ground, most of them apparently asleep. the captain called out aloud to his company, "gentlemen, i am going now to take a vote of my company as to whether we will hang monks or not. all in favor of it vote, aye; all opposed, no." he then took the affirmative vote and the negative vote. they appeared, to the author, to be almost evenly divided. sap again remarked to the captain "you promised him to us, we have bought him and paid for him and he is ours." the author again appealed to the captain for protection. the captain replied to sap, "he claims protection and as i am an officer and he a prisoner i reckon we had better keep him until we reach mccullough and price and then we will try him for a spy and there is plenty of evidence against him to prove that he has been writing to the lopeared dutch and after he is convicted will turn him over and you men can take charge of him." at this juncture a brother in-law of the captain said, "captain, i have one request to make of you. i want you to take monks in the morning and tie him hard and fast, with his face to a tree, and let me shoot with a rest sixty yards and show you how i can spoil a black republican's pate." the captain replied, "as soon as he is convicted you can have the gratification of shooting him just as often as you please." the captain and morrison again took charge of the author, carried him back and delivered him to the guard with instructions to the guard to be diligent in keeping him closely confined so that he would have no possible chance of escape. on the morning of the th we broke camp and went into camp that night just beyond where mountain home now stands. dr. emmons, of west plains, who was a strong union man and who afterwards became captain in the th missouri cavalry, attempted to go through to the federal forces but was pursued by the rebels, captured somewhere in texas county and brought back to the camp. he was also a prisoner at the same time; but being a master mason, was paroled to the limits of the camp and on the night of the th made his escape and got through to the federal lines, enlisted and was made captain. of him we will speak later. in camp at yellville. on july th they broke camp and reached yellville, marion county, and on the th reached carrolton, a small town in arkansas, and went into camp. the author well remembers the spring. it ran out of the steep, rocky gulch and the branch ran a little south of west and a beautiful grove of timber surrounded the spring. the prisoners were marched down within a few feet of the spring and there placed under guard. as usual, the abuse that had been continually heaped upon the prisoners during the march was renewed and in a short time a man who was said to be from one of the counties north of rolla, mo., commenced making a speech and inciting and encouraging the soldiers to mob the prisoners at once; that he had disguised himself and entered the camps of the lopeared dutch at rolla, and that to his own personal knowledge they had men's wives and daughters inside of their camps, committing all manner of offenses possible, and that they were heathens; didn't resemble american people at all and that he would not guard nor feed any man who was a friend to them; that they ought to be killed outright. the men who enlisted in the confederate army from howell and adjoining counties, before starting, went to the blacksmith shops and had them large butcher knives made; made a belt and scabbard and buckled them around them, and said that they were going to scalp lopeared dutch. in a short time the tenor of the above mentioned speech had incited over men and it had become necessary to double the guard. the grove of timber was filled with men and boys looking over, expecting to see the prisoners mobbed every minute. there was a man who drew his pistol, others drew knives and made different attempts to break lines and mob the prisoners. the man in possession of the pistol declared that he intended to shoot them. he was on an elevated place and they called him "red," and there were three or four men holding him to prevent his firing. the author remarked to him that: "the time will soon come when you will meet men who are not disarmed. you had better save your bravery until you meet them, and my opinion is that you won't need any man to hold you then." just about this time on the north side of the spring--the land dropped toward the spring, on a descent of about degrees--the author heard the voice of a man ordering the guard to "open the lines and let these ladies come in." the author at once arose to his feet and spoke out in an audible voice to the guard to give away and let the ladies come in and see a northern monkey exhibited, that the monkeys grew a great deal larger in the north than they did in the south. at this juncture it appeared to take one more man to hold red who said that "he would kill the saucy scoundrel if it took him a week to do it." when the posse came in we saw that the ladies were accompanied by eight or ten confederate officers with about fifteen ladies. all the ladies carried small confederate flags, the first ones that the author had ever seen. on coming very close to the prisoners they halted and one of the officers remarked, "these are the union men that are friends to the lopeared dutch. couldn't you tie the knot upon them to hang them?" i think almost everyone spoke out and said "we could." after heaping other epithets and abuse upon the prisoners they and the officers retired outside of the line. the speaker was still talking, urging and insisting that the prisoners should be mobbed at once, that they should not be permitted to live. at about this stage of the proceedings a man's voice was heard on top of the bank saying, "men, i believe your intentions are to kill these prisoners. you have all started out to fight and you don't know how soon you might be taken prisoner and you would not like to be treated in any such manner; i know billy, (referring to the author) and all you have against him is the political side that he has taken and i order the orderly sergeant to double the guard around the prisoners so there will be no possible chance for the mob to get through, and move with the prisoners south to a large hewed log house and place the prisoners therein, and place a guard around the walls and suffer no man to approach the house without an order from the officers." as the prisoner began to move, the excited soldiers, who were wanting to mob them, brought out an indian yell, and it appeared to the author he could almost feel the ground shake. after they were put into the houses, among the prisoners were some who were deserters, the author whispered to the union men and told them to lie down close to them so that they could not distinguish from the outside one from another. the author was informed by maj. william kelley, of the confederate army, who resides at rolla, phelps county, missouri, at the present time, that he was the officer who made the order to remove the prisoners into the house and place a heavy guard around them to prevent their being mobbed. this ended the excitement for the evening. the author had always been a believer in the realities of religion. about one-tenth of the officers appeared to be baptist and methodist preachers, and frequently when they would go into camp would call a large number of the men together and very often take the prisoners and place them near by under a heavy guard, and then convene religious services. they always took for a text some subject in the bible and the author remembers well of the taking of the subjects in the book of joshua, where joshua was commanded to pass around the fortifications of the enemy and blow the ram's horn and the fortifications fell, and, the god of joshua was the same god that existed to-day and there was no question but that god was on the side of the south and all they had to do was to have faith and move on, attack the lopeared dutch and god was sure to deliver them into their hands. the author could not help but add, in his own mind, that when the attack is made that god set the earth to shaking and all around where the lopeared dutch are standing that the earth will open and swallow them up just leave their heads above the surface; so that those confederates who were so furious could take their big knives and scalp the dutch as they had said on divers occasions they intended to do. makes his escape. the author was determined to make his escape whenever the opportunity offered; and he could learn all about the whereabouts of the federal soldiers from the excited confederate scouts who would ride along the lines and say that the lopeared dutch were as thick as rats at springfield, missouri, moving around in every direction and they might be attacked at any time and general mcbride was looking every day to be attacked by the federal forces to cut off his forming a junction with generals price and mccullough. in about four or five days they reached berryville, near where the eureka springs are, and went into camp just west of berryville right at the spurs of the boston mountain. the prisoners were placed in the guard house near a little creek that was then dry. captain forshee's company went into camp next to the company commanded by captain galloway of howell county. as the weather was very hot and dry and the author had been marched barefooted (one of his shoes having worn out) until his feet were badly blistered, he was lying down, feigning sickness. the guard has become a little careless. just about sundown heavy thunder set in the west. the clouds continued to increase, the elements grew very dark. in the mean time they had put out a chain guard all around the encampment and said guard was about thirty steps from guard house. the low lands were all bottom, covered with heavy timber and a large oak had fallen across the creek and reached from bank to bank and the bark had all slipped off. about thirty feet from the top of the tree the foot of a steep mountain set in. the guard fire was about sixty yards south of the guardhouse. the clouds soon came up and a heavy rain set in, with terrific thunder and lightning, and as the army had temporary tents the guards all crawled in under the tents and left the author by the fire. the rain soon quenched the fire. the chain guard were walking up and down the dry creek and they met at the log referred to. the author thought now was his time to make his escape, if ever; knowing that he would have to have a shoe, slipped to one of the tents, got hold of a shoe, and then the thought struck him that he would like to have a revolver, but on further examination found their revolvers to be placed in such a position that it was impossible to get one without waking the men. he then slipped to the butt of the log and heard the guard meet at the log and turn again on their beat. he at once crossed on the log on the other side, walked into the brush, reached the foot of the mountain about twenty steps distant and halted. everything appeared to be quiet, the release around the guard fire were singing, whooping and holloing. the author then took the mountain which was about one quarter of a mile high, and it always has appeared to the author that he crossed the log and went up the mountain as light as a cat. on reaching the top, still raining heavily, the thought came into his mind that "i am once more a free man, but i am in an enemy's country, without friends," and at once determined in my mind to reach springfield, missouri, if possible. i sat down, pulled on the shoe that i had taken and it just fitted without a sock; i then procured a dead stick for the purpose of holding before me as i traveled for fear i would walk off of some steep cliff or bluff, as it was very mountainous. having the guard fire for a criterion i moved northwest, soon struck the leading road west that the army was marching on, traveled the road for about one mile, came onto the pickets, surrounded the pickets, struck the road again, traveled all night until just gray day, directly west or nearly so. a slow rain continued all night. as soon as it became light enough to see i found myself in a country completely covered with pine timber. i turned square from the road, went about yards up to the top of a high knob, found about one quarter of an acre level bench. a large pine had turned out by the roots and the hole was partially filled with old leaves. the author always had been afraid of a snake but the time had come when he had more fear of a man than a snake, so he rolled himself down into the hole in the leaves and at the time had become chilled with the steady rain. about or o'clock, as well as the author could guess, he heard the beat of the drum which told that the army was marching on the same road that he had traveled in the night. in a short time the army passed where the author was lying in the sink. the author could have raised himself up and have seen the procession pass but he had seen them just as often as he wanted to and he remained still. late in the evening a company of about men passed. the author was informed afterwards that they had been detailed to make search for the prisoner, with orders if they found him, to shoot him at once. the author was further informed by confederates who belonged to the command that as soon next morning as it was reported that the author had made his escape that the chain guard declared that no man could have passed between them and they were satisfied that the author was still inside of the lines. they at once made a large detail and commenced searching. there were quite a large number of box elders with very heavy, bushy tops. they said every single tree, every drift and possible place of hiding, was examined. orders were at once issued by the commander, who sent word back to the home of the author, that he had made his escape and to watch for him and as soon as he came in home to arrest him and either shoot him or hang him at once. in the afternoon of the same day it cleared off and just as soon as dark came, the author was determined to try to reach springfield, being in a strange country and knowing that if he was re-captured it would be certain death. he knew somewhere about the distance he had traveled west. he located the north star which he used as his pilot or guide and set out for springfield, having no arms of any kind, not even a pocket knife and had become very hungry. he came to a slippery-elm tree, took a rock, knocked off some of the bark, ate it and proceeded on his journey, traveling all night. when gray day appeared again, he went to a hickory grub, broke the grub off with a rock, cut the top off with a sharp edged rock, to be used for a weapon, placed himself in hiding, remained all day. as soon as night came, again he proceeded on his journey, traveled no roads except when they run in direction of the north star. on the second morning he went into a small cave surrounded by a thicket, about o'clock in the day he found that he was near enough to some rebel command to hear the drilling. as soon as dark came on he proceeded on his journey. the nights were dark and only star light until the after part of the night. he went near a spring house, but when he got to it, there wasn't a drop of milk in it. he passed through an irish potato patch, grabbed two or three small irish potatoes and ate them; passed through a wheat field, rubbed out some dry wheat in his hand, ate that; ate a few leaves off of a cabbage. on the third morning, went into hiding, remained until the darkness came again and resumed the journey. on the morning of the th at daylight i had reached an old trace, pulled off my clothes and wrung them and put them on again as the dew was very heavy and every morning my clothes would be wet. i went about or yards from the old trace and thought to myself, if i saw any person passing that was not armed, that i would approach and learn where i was. hadn't been there more than a half hour when i heard a wagon coming. as soon as the wagon came in sight i saw that there was a lady driving, accompanied by a small girl and boy, i got up and moved into the road, walked on, and met the wagon, spoke to the lady. she stopped the wagon and i asked her if she would be kind enough to tell me where i was, that i had got lost, traveled all night and didn't know where i was. she told the author that he was in stone county, missouri, and asked him where he was from. i told her that i was from the state of arkansas. she wanted to know if there was much excitement there. i told her that there was; that men were enlisting and going into the confederate service and the people were generally excited over the prospect of war. i asked her if there was any excitement in this country. she replied that there was--that the rebels a day or two ago had run in, on white river, and killed four union men and drove out about head of cattle and "that's why i am going out here in this wagon. my husband belongs to the home guards and has come in home on a furlough and is afraid to knock around the place for fear he will be waylaid and shot by the rebels." i then asked her if she would allow me to ask her a civil question. she replied that she would. i asked her what her politics were, and she told me that she was a union woman. i told her, then, that i would tell her the truth; that the rebels had had me prisoner and that i had made my escape from them and had been traveling only in the night time; that this was the fourth morning since i had made my escape, and i asked her how far it was to the house; that she was the first person i had spoken to since i had made my escape. she said it was about yards around the point, to go on down to the house, and as soon as she got some light wood she would be back. i went to the house, halloed at the fence, a man came to the door and invited me in. i walked in, and at once i began to look for arms, and to my great delight i saw a springfield musket lying in the gun rack, with a cartridge box with the letters u. s. on it. o! the thrill of joy that passed through my mind. i had often heard the old adage quoted, that "a friend in need is a friend indeed," but had never before realized its full meaning. in a short time the lady returned. she went to work cooking, soon had me something to eat, but i had almost lost my appetite, having fasted so long. after i ate something and while she was preparing provisions to carry with me the man told me there was but one place that we could cross white river without being placed in great danger of being captured by the rebels, for they were patrolling up and down the river every day. i told him i never had attempted to travel a foot in daylight since i had made my escape. he told me he thought if we could get safely across the river, he knew of an old trace that led across the mountains and intersected taney county and as soon as we reached that settlement they all belonged to home guards and a man would be in no danger in making himself known. the woman baked enough biscuit and tied up bacon and red onions with them, the author thought, to have lasted a hungry man three days, for him to carry with him and we at once, after taking leave of the good woman followed by her best wishes that i would get through to the federal lines safely, started for white river, about two miles distant. just before reaching the river he left the author standing in the road, went into the house near by and soon came out with two other men in company with him. on reaching the river where there was a canoe tied to the bank they stepped aside by themselves, held a short consultation; then all got into the canoe, carried me across the river, piloted me across the river bottom to where the old trace left the bottom; there we separated, they hoping that i would get through to the federal lines safely. they didn't think there was any danger in traveling in daylight, because there wasn't a single settlement for the entire distance of miles. the author traveled on until dark had overtaken him. the moon gave no light until the after part of the night. the author laid down by the side of the road, took a nap, after the moon came up proceeded on his journey and in about two miles came to a house. hallooing at the gate, a lady came to the door and said: "come in." they appeared to have a very savage dog. i remarked to the lady that i believed the dog would bite me and noticed at the same time that she stood off to one side of the door. she remarked: "go in; that dog will not bite you." as i stepped into the door i was confronted by a man standing in the middle of the floor in his night clothes with his old springfield musket cocked and presented and he called out, "halt!" the author halted, of course, and the next remark was, "who are you and where is the balance of your crowd?" the author replied: "there is no balance of them and there is not much of myself left. the confederates have had me prisoner and i have made my escape from them and i am now trying to reach springfield, missouri." the man ordered his wife to strike a light, and after viewing the author critically, placed his springfield musket near the bed and invited the author to take a seat, while he dressed himself. being not more than two hours until daylight, his wife asked me to go to bed and rest. i told her that i wasn't fit to lie in bed; that i had lain on the ground like a hog ever since i had been arrested. she said that it didn't matter how dirty a union man was, he was welcome to sleep in her bed, and to lie down and she would proceed at once to get breakfast; that there were some refugee wagons, about two miles distant, making their way to springfield, and that she would have me up in time to reach them. accordingly, after eating breakfast before daylight, and starting with the purpose to reach the wagons before they broke camp, the man remarked to the author, "my captain lives just this side of where the wagons are camped and i know he would love to see you and learn about the movements of the rebels." when we got to the house, he hallooed and the captain came out, asked the author his name, where he lived and when he was taken prisoner. the author gave him his name and place of residence, and on learning that he was from howell county, asked him if he was acquainted with a man by the name of washington galloway. the author informed him that he was well acquainted with him. he inquired as to which side he was on, the confederate or union. the author informed him that he was on the rebel side and was a captain commanding one of the rebel companies; that i saw him and had had a conversation with him on the evening before i made my escape. he said, "he is an own brother of mine. my name is jesse galloway;" and the tears ran from his eyes like a whipped child. he said, "get down; you are not in a condition to travel any further at the present time." he gave me a change of clothing and had my clothes washed and sent me through to springfield by one of his men on horseback. about three weeks after i left him the rebels slipped up near his house, lay in ambush, and when he came out into the yard they shot him to death while he was holding an innocent child in his arms. arrives at springfield. on reaching springfield, i was conducted directly to the head quarters of gen. lyon, gave him all the information in my possession and told him i had been entirely stripped, had no means with me for support and i would like to join the army. he remarked to me, "i don't want you to join the army; we intend to move south next spring and you are one of the men that will be in great demand. we have a position for you and the government will pay you good wages." a short time after i arrived i met a man by the name of percy, a lawyer, who resided at west plains, a bitter rebel, who was in there as a spy. i was alone and there were very few persons that i was acquainted with living in springfield. percy had been posing as a union man and offered that if i would go with him, he would carry me safely through home; tried to get me to agree to go outside the lines with him after dark, but knowing that he was a bitter rebel and had been taking an active part in the rebel movement i discarded him as quick as possible. in a day or two benjamin alsup, who resided on hutton valley, howell county, happened to meet him in town, and he being acquainted in and about springfield, had him arrested at once. a man by the name of moore, who was a strong union man, lived about two miles from springfield on the wilson creek road took me home with him for the purpose of resting up. he was the owner of a fine dapple gray gelding four years old. he made gen. lyon a present of him. about five days before the wilson creek battle it was reported that the rebels were on cane creek, west of springfield, in considerable force. gen. lyon moved out with a considerable force, riding the same horse, but on seeing the federal forces approaching they retreated. on the th day of august the rebels appeared in large force, being commanded by gen. price and gen. mccullough. general lyon killed at wilson creek. gen. lyon sent out scouts with glasses for the purpose, if possible, of ascertaining their number. the rebels had gone into camp about ten miles from springfield, with the avowed purpose of attacking gen. lyon the next day at springfield, and as the scouts were not able with their glasses to see the largest force of rebels, which was encamped around a point out of sight, reported as to what they thought the number was. lyon and siegel came to the conclusion that by strategy they could easily whip them, so on the morning of the th, about midnight, they broke camp at springfield, taking all of their available men. the morning being very foggy and misty, they easily surrounded the pickets and took them prisoners without the firing of a gun, then drew up and fired the artillery into them before they knew they were there. so the memorable fight known as the battle of wilson creek was begun. gen. lyon rode the horse above referred to at the time he fell on the battlefield. both the confederate and union side were founding all their future hopes upon the result of that battle, as to settling the question in missouri. the author heard the artillery all day. late in the evening word came to the union men that gen. lyon had been killed and that the federal army was retreating in the direction of rolla, missouri, and that all the union men and the home guard would fall in and meet them at once. o! the scene that followed. men would hurriedly ride around, meet their wives and children, tell them that the battle was lost and they were then retreating and they had only time to come around and bid them good-bye, and to do the best they could; that they didn't know that they would ever be permitted to see them again. we could hear the wife and children crying and sending up the most pitiful petitions to god to have mercy. everything on the union side appeared to be dark, although it was a drawn battle and the rebels commenced retreating at the same time, and retreated about twenty-five miles west, but on learning that the federal troops were retreating, they faced about, taking possession of the battle-ground and all of the southern and western portion of the state; and then the rebels, being encouraged by the late victory, determined to rid the country of all union men at once. about that time about men mostly from oregon county commanded by two very prominent men, made a scout into ozark county, missouri. on reaching the north fork of white river they went into camp at what was known as jesse james' mill. the owner, a man of about or years of age, as good a man as resided in ozark county, was charged with grinding grain for union men and their families; at the time he, and a man by the name of brown, were cutting sawlogs about two miles from home in the pinery. they went out and arrested them, arrested an old man by the name of russell and several others, carried them to a man's house, who was a union man, and had fled to prevent arrest. they took brown and james about yards from the house, procured a rope, hunted a long limb of a tree, rolled a big rock up to the first rope where it was tied to the limb, placed the noose around james' neck, stood him on the rock, rolled the rock from under him and left him swinging, rolled the rock to the next rope, stood brown on it, placed the noose around his neck, rolled the rock out and left brown swinging in the air, went to the third rope, placed russell on the rock, and just as they aimed to adjust the noose, word came that the home guards and federals were right upon them in considerable force. they fled, leaving russell standing upon the rock and both brown and james dangling in the air. [illustration: hanging jesse james and mr. brown.] their wives and other women bury them. every union man now having fled in fear of his life, the next day the wives of brown and james, with the help of a few other women, buried them as best they could. they dug graves underneath the swinging bodies, laid bed clothing in the graves and cut them loose. the bodies fell into the coffinless graves and the earth was replaced. so the author is satisfied that the bones of these men still remain in the lonely earth underneath where they met their untimely death with no charge against them except that they had been feeding union men, with no one to bury them but their wives and a few other women who aided. some of the men who were in the scout and present when the hanging was done are still living in the counties of howell and oregon. a general jackson soldier shot down. a short time after this hanging there was a man by the name of rhodes, who resided on the head of bennett's bayou in howell county. he was about eighty years of age and had been a soldier under general jackson. his head was perfectly white and he was very feeble. when he heard of the hanging of brown and james he said openly that there was no civil war in that, and that the men who did it were guilty of murder. some two weeks from the date of the hanging of brown and james, about twenty-five men, hearing of what he had said, organized themselves and commanded by dr. nunly and william sapp, proceeded to the house of rhodes, where he and his aged wife resided alone, called him out and told him they wanted him to go with them. his aged wife came out, and being acquainted with a part of the men, and knowing that they had participated in the hanging and shooting of a number of union men, talked with them and asked: "you are not going to hurt my old man?" they said: "we just want him to go a piece with us over here." ordering the old man to come along, they went over to a point about one quarter from the house and informed him of what he had said. there they shot him, cut his ears off and his heart out. dr. nunly remarked that he was going to take the heart home with him, pickle it and keep it so people could see how a black republican's heart looked. they left him lying on the ground, proceeded directly to joseph spears', who resided about six miles west of town on the yellville road, declaring that they were going to treat him the same way. they reached his house about two hours in the night, all full of whiskey. when they arrived there spears was sick in bed. they dismounted, came in, ordered their suppers and their horses fed. spears at that time owned a negro man, and he ordered him to put up the horses and feed them, and his wife to get them supper. after supper, they concluded to remain until morning. during the night they became sober, and concluded, since spears owned a "nigger," that it could not be possible that he was a union man, and the reports that they had heard that he was a union man might be untrue, and they would let him alone until they could investigate further. [illustration: cutting out rhodes' heart.] in the meantime, rhodes not having returned home, and not a single union man left in the country that mrs. rhodes could get to look after him, and having heard when they reached joseph spears' that the old man was not with them, although very feeble, she still continued the search; on the second day, about fifty yards from the road and about a quarter of a mile from home, while she was looking for him, she heard hogs squealing and grunting as though they were eating something. she proceeded to the place and found the hogs were just about to commence eating the remains of her husband. the union men having fled, she notified some of the neighbors, and the women came in and helped dress the body and buried him the best they could; and neither at the taking down or burial of brown and james and the burial of the old man rhodes did a single rebel put in an appearance. there never was a man arrested by the confederate authorities, or a single word of condemnation uttered, but as far as could be heard there was general approval. it was said that the means used were desperate, but that was the only way to get rid of the men and strike terror to them so they could neither give aid nor countenance to the lopeared dutch. benjamin alsup taken to little rock. in a few days following they proceeded to arrest benjamin alsup, residing in hutton valley, who was a strong union man, took him to little rock, placed him in the state penitentiary, and kept him there until after little rock fell into the hands of the federals, when they exchanged him with other prisoners. while they had him in prison they worked him in a bark mill by the side of an old mule, with a strap around his breast and two leather hand holds. he pulled so much in the mill that his little finger was calloused and he almost entirely lost the use of it. after they had hung, shot, captured and driven from the country all of the union men, they called a public meeting for the purpose of taking into consideration what should be done with the families of the union men, which meeting had a number of preachers in it. after discussing the premises, they arrived at the conclusion that if they let the families of the union men, who had escaped and gone into the federal lines, remain, they would return and bring in the lopeared dutch. they didn't believe that both parties could ever live together, and as they now had the country completely rid of the union men, they would force their families to leave. they at once appointed men, among whom were several preachers, to go to each one of the union families and notify them that they would not be allowed to remain; because if they let them stay, their men would be trying to come back, and they didn't believe both parties could live together. they stated at the same time that they were really sorry for the women and children, but nobody was to blame but their husbands and sons, who had cast their lot with the lopeared dutch. also, as they had taken up arms against the confederate states, all the property they had, both real and personal, was subject to confiscation and belonged to the confederate authorities; but they would allow them to take enough of the property to carry them inside of the lines of the lopeared dutch, where they supposed their men were and where they then could care for them. loyal women driven from their homes. they said they might have a reasonable time to make preparations to leave the country, and if they didn't leave, they would be forced to do so, if they had to arrest them and carry them out. the wildest excitement then prevailed among the women and children. they had no men to transact their business and make preparations to leave. little had they thought, while they were chasing, arresting, hanging and shooting their men, that they, too, would become victims of the rebel hatred and be forced to leave house and home, not knowing where their men were or whether they were dead or alive. all they knew of their whereabouts was, that those who escaped arrest had left their homes, aiming to reach the nearest federal lines. women were at once dispatched to reach the nearest federal lines, if possible, and inform them of the confederate order, and procure help to take them out. their homes and houses were being continually raided by small bands of confederates roaming over the country, claiming that they were hunting union men, taking all classes of property that they might see proper to take, without any restraint whatever. when the union men heard that an order had been made requiring their families to leave, not thinking that a thing of that kind would ever occur, having left them with comfortable homes and plenty to eat, the wildest consternation reigned amongst them. the federal authorities were willing to give them aid, but were placed in such a condition that they needed every man in the field, and for that reason couldn't give them any help in getting out. the women had to speedily fit up as best they could, close their doors and start for the federal lines, leaving the most of their property in the hands of the rebels. the rebels proceeded at once to take possession of and occupy most of the homes. the suffering that followed the women and children is indescribable. they had to drive their own teams, take care of the little ones, travel through the storms, exposed to it all without a man to help them, nor could they hear a single word of comfort spoken by husband, son or friend. on reaching the federal lines, all vacant houses and places of shelter were soon filled, and they were known and styled as refugees. many of them went into soldier huts, where the soldiers had wintered and covered the tops of their huts with earth. they had to leave home with a small amount of rations, and on the road the rebels would stop them and make them divide up the little they had started with, and reaching the federal lines they would be almost destitute of food and many of them very scantily clothed. [illustration: mrs. monks and children being driven from home.] they would at once commence inquiring for their husbands and sons. numbers of them never found them, as they had been captured, killed and imprisoned while attempting to reach the federal lines. o! the untold misery that then confronted them! after they had traveled and half starved and suffered from cold and exposure, promising themselves that when they reached the federal lines they would again meet their loved ones who could again care for them, they were doomed to disappointment, in a large number of instances. those who did meet their husbands and sons were also disappointed; they had either joined the service or been employed by the government as guides and scouts, and the small amount of pay they received from the government, wouldn't provide food and raiment for their families. they were compelled to still be absent from their families, although they were suffering greatly for all of the necessaries of life and for clothing and shelter. the women's task of caring for and looking after the family and the little ones was just as great after they had reached the federal lines as before. the government ordered that wherever aid could be given, rations should be issued to the families, and while the government did all it could in this way, it was not able to furnish shelter and houses for their comfort. winter came on and they underwent untold suffering; disease set in from exposure, besides the contagious diseases of smallpox and measles, and hundreds of them died for want of proper attention, while their men were in the lines of the service of the government. here let the author speak a word in behalf of the devotion and patriotism manifested by those loyal women who had given their husbands and their sons to be placed upon the altar of the country, and sacrificed their homes and their firesides, had become exiles and wanderers, without home or shelter, had undergone untold suffering, had faced disease and death, had seen the little ones die, calling for papa, shivering with cold, suffering with hunger--all for the love of their country. yet when they would see the federal troops move by, with the stars and stripes unfurled, they would cheer the boys in blue as they would pass, and urge them to save the country they loved so well and had made so many sacrifices for and were still willing to suffer and wrestle with all the ills that a desperate war had brought upon the country, and wanted to live to once more be returned to their own hearthstones and be permitted to live under their own vine and fig tree, where no man dare molest them or make them afraid, to again enjoy all the sweet comforts of life. we revere and honor every federal soldier who enlisted in the interest of his country from the northern states, where they knew nothing about war except what they read, their families being left in comfortable circumstances, with plenty to eat and wear and friends to speak works of comfort to them, while their husbands and sons had gone to the front and were willing to sacrifice themselves on the altar of their country, if it became necessary. but o! the comparison between the sacrifices made by the loyal element in those portions of the country where they were completely surrounded by the enemy. those who were willing to lay upon the altar of their country, their fathers and sons, their wives and children, their property and their sacred honor in support of the government they loved so well, with no protection from the government; no arms, amunitions, rations, clothing or pay from the government, was thought of for a moment. the only question that prompted, ruled and controlled them was their patriotism to their god and their country. when we come to compare the sacrifices, privations, suffering and services between the two classes of loyalists the first referred to, sink into insignificance. o! never let us forget to honor and revere patriotism and sacrifices that were made by the loyal men and women that were surrounded in the enemy's country and continual fighting without and within. their husbands and sons were shot and hung and imprisoned all over this country, whose bodies never were even honored with a burial. orders being made by the rebels that they should not be buried; but yet they live and speak in thunder tones to the living. let us plead with the living to revere and honor the stars and stripes that were maintained and supported by the blood and lives and sacrifices of the loyal men and women of the south. after the rebels had completely driven all the loyal element out of the country and had but one political party left they exclaimed, "now the means that we have been forced to use are very harsh but the line has been drawn and all of the parties who are giving aid and comfort to the lopeared dutch are all outside of the confederate line and we will never be troubled with them and the lopeared dutch any more." the author went back in retreat with general siegel, after the wilson creek battle. on reaching rolla, missouri, siegel went into quarters for the winter. the author was almost worn out with exposure and traveling, and as general siegel informed him that there would be no advance made south until the spring of , and as his family had been left in comfortable circumstances, with plenty to eat and wear, and he, being acquainted with some men by the name of cope, who lived near jerseyville in jersey county, illinois, went to that place, remained a month, and being taken sick with lung fever, came very near dying. he told his friends where he was staying that if he died, he would die dissatisfied; that he wanted to live and be able to move with the federal command in the spring of when it moved south. after he had partially recovered he learned that a mr. cope, who was living neighbor to him at the time of his arrest and capture, had moved into randolph county, illinois. he visited the family at once, hoping to hear from his family at home, and remained there about a month. his wife, among many others, being notified to leave, had been informed that the author had made his escape, reached springfield, and had gone back with siegel in his retreat to rolla. she was permitted to dispose of just enough of the property, at the rebels' own prices, to enable her to move, the family consisting of herself and five small children. she was followed on the road and her wagons searched for arms, and the rebels threatened to take her to little rock, arkansas, but to enable her to reach rolla, missouri, she posed as the wife of a rebel who had gone into the confederate service, and said she was trying to reach her father, who resided near rolla. by making that impression, her wagons were not disturbed any more. on reaching rolla, she went to colonel phelps, who was afterwards governor of the state, and inquired if he knew anything of the whereabouts of the author. he informed her that he had no knowledge of his whereabouts at that time, but he would take her name, place an advertisement of her arrival at rolla, in the paper, and if he was alive it might reach him. every house and cabin was full, it being in the dead of winter, and a deep snow upon the ground, but through the aid and assistance of one cyrus newberry, who had escaped through the lines in howell county, she procured a shelter about three miles north of rolla, which was very uncomfortable; her clothes were partially frozen on her at that time. in a short time the advertisement reached the author in randolph county, illinois. he at once set out for rolla, missouri, to meet his family. the house that she had first got into was used by her but a short time, and she had been forced to go into one of the huts that had lately been occupied by the soldiers and had been made vacant by their moving west to springfield. on the arrival of the author, o! the horror and the joy that were intermingled! i was proud to once more meet my wife and children, but in a moment the thought would pass through my mind, "i left you in a comfortable home, with plenty to eat, and now to see you here in this 'dug-out,' suffering for food and shelter! o! the war, the horrible war! what is it that men won't do?" i set out at once to procure a comfortable shelter for my family and to get in readiness to move south with the army. gen. curtis, then in command of the western department, was preparing to make a general move south. i was employed by the government as a guide, receiving $ . per day, with rations and clothing. establishing a federal post at west plains. the army soon broke camp and moved southward. on arriving at west plains, the federal army located a post there. capt. mcnulty, of the first illinois cavalry, who had been wounded in a battle with gen. mulligan, was made provost marshal. the author was at once detailed and placed in the provost marshal's office as assistant, as he was well acquainted with all of the people in the surrounding country. the provost marshal would order the author to be seated in a conspicuous place in the office, and as a general order had gone forth from curtis requiring all rebels and rebel sympathizers to come in and take the oath, and as hundreds of them were daily coming into the office for that purpose, the provost marshal ordered the author to watch every person who entered the office and whenever any person entered who had been taking an active part in committing depredations, just to put his hand upon his forehead and move it down over his face, and he would order them to the guard house for further examination, without any further words being said at the time. many of the rebels who were taking the oath couldn't see how he could draw a line between the different persons; let some take the oath and be released at once, and others ordered to the guard house without a word being spoken. among the persons who came in and took the oath and were released, was the man who was present at the time capt. forshee attempted to deliver the author to the mob, who asked the captain at the time to tie the author with his face to a tree, and let him shoot him in the back of the head, to show him how he could spoil a black republican's pate. the author remembers one incident that occurred during the stay at west plains. a man named lusk, who was constable of howell township, and resided in west plains, was a strong union man at the beginning of the war; when the general order was made that every man who had been a union man had to join the confederate service and show his colors or be hung, lusk enlisted in the confederate army and went out with mcbride's command. three or four days after the capture of the author by the rebels, lusk came up to him in a braggadocio manner and says, "you ought to have your black heart shot out of you." lusk had taken the oath and been released before the author reached west plains. the author met him in west plains and remarked to him: "hallo, lusk! how are you getting along? and what are you doing here?" he replied that he had taken the oath; that he was tired of fighting. the author asked him if he felt like he did when he wanted to shoot his black heart out. lusk replied: "captain, i am sorry for what i did, and captain emmons so maltreated me the other day that i could scarcely sit in my saddle." the author remarked to him: "i will just give your face three good slaps with my hand." after giving him three raps, the author let him pass. lusk sees some lop-eared dutch. soon meeting captain emmons, who belonged to the th missouri cavalry, had asked him what the trouble was between him and lusk. he said that while he was prisoner lusk came to him with his big knife belted around him, and said that he was just equal to ten lopeared dutch and he had that knife for the purpose of taking ten dutch scalps before he returned home, and otherwise abused him for being a union man and a friend to the dutch. on the arrival of the troops in west plains he inquired of the citizens if lusk had returned home. they informed him that he had and was residing on spring creek, about six miles from town. about half of emmons' company were germans. he went immediately to his company, ordered the orderly sergeant to make detail of ten men and he wanted them all to be germans. he ordered them to be mounted and ready for a scout at once. taking charge of them in person he proceeded to the house of lusk, about six miles west of west plains at the head of spring creek, rode up to the house and holloed. lusk immediately came out into the yard and recognized dr. emmons and said "o! doctor! is that you? i am proud to see you." the doctor said to him, "i am proud to see you, too." the doctor at once informed him of what he had said to him when he was a prisoner in regard to being equal to ten lopeared dutchmen and how he had his knife prepared to take that number of scalps before he came back home, and wanted to know if he got the scalps before he came home. lusk replied that if he killed a single dutchmen he didn't know it and that he got all of the fighting that he wanted, didn't want to fight any more. the doctor wanted to know if he ever saw any lopeared dutch and lusk replied that he "didn't know that he had." the doctor replied, "i have selected ten of the smallest sized of the full stock and i want you to step over the fence and view them." he then ordered the scouts to dismount and form in line. lusk told the doctor he didn't want anything to do with them whatever. after they had formed a line the doctor made him step in front and view them; asked him what he thought of them. he said "they are good looking men." the doctor said to him, "if you didn't get the chance when you were out in the service to fight ten of them, and you say you didn't get any scalps, i have brought these ten down and intend that you shall fight them." lusk pleaded with the doctor that he didn't want to fight them and for god's sake not to let them hurt him. emmons said to him "why lusk! you said you were equal to ten of them and intended to bring back ten of their scalps and there will be nothing now unfair about this fight. i intend to give you a fair show." he ordered lusk to get his horse and get onto it and get ready to march. there were some four-foot clapboards stacked up near lusk's house, and emmons ordered six of the germans to get a board apiece. they were all soon mounted and moving toward west plains, soon coming to a "horsen" log. emmons ordered them to dismount and form a line, placing the men about ten paces from lusk, then said to lusk, "now, prepare yourself, and if you can whip these ten lopeared dutch i will let you go back home and give you a chromo." lusk pleaded pitifully to not let the dutch abuse him. emmons ordered the six who had the clapboards to move one pace in the rear, leaving four of the number to attack lusk; he then ordered the four men to seize lusk, take him to the "horsen" log and take down his clothes. two of them were to take him by the hands and two by the legs and buck him tight against the log; if they succeeded, the six would proceed, one at a time, and strike him three licks across that part of the body that he generally used for sitting on. he then turned to lusk, saying, "prepare to meet them; if you are a better man than they are, down them and pile them up." at the command of capt. emmons, the four men advanced on lusk, who did not attempt to move, seized him by the arms, led him to the log, bucked him over it, two holding him by the arms and two by the legs, ordered the six men to advance, one at a time, strike three licks with the flat side of the board, march on a few paces and give room for the next. after the performance had been completely carried out as commanded, the captain declared that he could have heard lusk holloing a mile distant every time the clapboard hit him. after he had received the boarding, emmons said that lusk's setter was blistered where the boards had hit him, and that he never saw ten germans enjoy themselves as much in his life. he then asked lusk, in their presence, how he felt now in regard to fighting lopeared dutch. lusk declared that he had nothing against the dutch and that he never would want to fight another one as long as he lived, and he hoped that dr. emmons would not let them do him any more harm. he dressed himself, they were all mounted, formed a line, and lusk was brought into west plains and took the oath, under the promise that he never would fight another lopeared dutchman. goes to washington city. after the post was discontinued at west plains, the author was again ordered back to rolla. the state had made a proposition to the federal authorities that if the government would arm, feed and clothe the troops, it could place a number of regiments of state troops in the service, and they would be able to send some of their regular troops to the front. a delegation was appointed by the state to visit washington city, wait upon the president and see what the government could do for the state. the author was appointed as one of the delegates, and on the night following the departure of the delegation for washington city, a rebel scout appeared at the house where the author's family was living and demanded the author. his wife replied that he was not at home, that he was one of the delegation that had left that morning for washington city. she distinctly heard one man remark: "i expect that is so, for there was a delegation left this morning for washington city." the house wasn't more than a quarter of a mile from the picket posts. after parleying for some little time, they left the house, marched west about a mile, where some refugees were located in a house, and demanded their surrender. the house was full of women and children, there being also one boy and two men, to-wit: peter shriver and a man named johnson. they ordered the doors opened; the inmates refused; then the rebels knocked down the door, and fired a volley right into the house. shriver and johnson being armed, returned the fire, killed one of the rebels on the spot, and fleeing through the rear part of the house, made their escape. the rebels killed one boy and severely wounded a girl and young johnson, and retreated south, leaving their comrade dead. it was learned afterwards that most of the scout were men from howell county who had learned that the author had placed his family just outside of the federal lines and had marched all the way there, with the avowed purpose of capturing the author and either shooting or hanging him. on arrival of the delegation at washington city they organized the delegation and made chas. d. drake their spokesman. he was afterwards elected to the united states senate. soon after the arrival president lincoln informed us that he would be prepared to meet the delegation in a large hall, near the mansion, at which time and place he desired to be introduced to the whole delegation. when the delegation entered the hall the president and his secretary were seated together. the delegation meets the president. the delegation entered the hall in a single file. chas. d. drake approached the president and when within a few feet of the president and secretary, they arose to their feet and as the delegation marched by each one was introduced to them. afterwards they were seated, and the petition and address of the people of the state of missouri was delivered in an audible voice by chas. d. drake. in the opening of the address we addressed the president and called ourselves his friends. as soon as the address was read the president rose to his feet and proceeded to deliver an address to the delegation and the author never will forget the impression that was made upon his mind in a part of that address. he said: "you should not address me as your friend; i am the president of the whole people and nation and while i am president, i expect to try to enforce the law against all violators of law and in the interest of the whole people of the nation; but if i have any friends in missouri i suspect you men compose a part of them. i listened to your petition and offers, which make me proud for the patriotism that you manifest, in offering your services to your country in the darkest hour of her peril and i would be glad if the government was able to grant every request that you have made. the government at the present time is not in a condition to furnish clothing and commissaries for the number of men that you propose to put in the field, but the government will furnish all the arms that they can possibly spare, amunitions and commissaries and authorize the state to organize and put in the field any number of state troops, not to exceed sixty regiments." he said he would do all in his power to feed them but in the present condition of the government the state would have to pay them. the delegation returned and informed the state of what promises the government had made and at once went to organizing and putting state troops into the field. the author was commissioned as lieutenant of company h. and the regiment was ordered into active service for the period of sixty days. at the expiration of the term of service, the government ordered that a company of scouts be organized and that the author be made captain of the company, to receive first lieutenant's pay and be clothed and fed by the government, be ordered on duty at once and placed under the direct command of captain murphy, who was then commanding the post at houston. the company scarcely saw an idle day, it was kept continuously scouting and fighting. the counties of texas, dent, wright, crawford, laclede and phelps, outside of the post, being completely under the control of the rebels. not a single union man nor his family could remain at home outside of the post. incidents of . in the fall of , colonel livingston, who was acting in the capacity of brigadier general, was ordered to proceed to batesville, arkansas, and there erect a post. the author was transferred, by order of the government, and made chief of scouts receiving captain's pay and ordered to move with the command of colonel livingston and be under his command and control until further orders. on or about december , , colonel livingston, who was colonel of the st nebraska regiment and the th missouri cavalry regiment, broke camp at rolla, and marched in the direction of batesville, arkansas. colonel livingston, on leaving rolla, issued a general order and sent the same in all directions, that all rebels, or "bushwhackers," who were captured wearing federal uniform, would be court-martialed and shot; or all persons who were captured in robbing or plundering houses would be court-martialed and shot. on our arrival at west plains the advance of the command captured three confederates dressed in federal uniforms, near what was known as the johnson farm. one of them broke from custody and escaped; the other two were court-martialed and shot, while the command was camped at west plains. after those men were shot, some of the confederates, dressed in federal uniforms, came inside the federal lines, while in camp at west plains, just after dark, and took nine black cavalry horses from the line and made their escape. the soldiers saw them take the horses, but thought it was their own men taking them to water. the command, breaking camp at west plains, marched in the direction of batesville, passed through salem, ark., and on big strawberry encountered the rebels and had quite an engagement. the weather was quite cold. i remember that after the fighting ceased, some of the soldiers had been fighting with their revolvers, and their hands had become so benumbed that they had lost the use of their fingers, and couldn't return their revolvers to their scabbards, and the revolvers had to be taken from their hands; the hands of some of them were badly frostbitten. the command again renewed its march for batesville. small bands of bushwhackers and rebels kept up a continuous fire every day on the advance, and committed depredations by pillaging; claiming they were federal forces, most of them being dressed in federal uniforms. the pillaging grew so annoying that col. livingston, just before breaking camp, divided the advance into two columns, marching from a mile to two and a half miles apart. late in the afternoon, one wing came onto a number of those irregular confederates, or bushwhackers, robbing the house of a union woman whose husband was in the federal army. nearly all of them were dressed in federal uniforms, claiming to the woman to be federal soldiers. they had all dismounted and gone into the house to plunder it, except their captain, elliott, whom they had left on guard. the road came around in a short bend and concealed the approach of the federals until they were within a hundred yards of the house. there was a large gate in front of the house. the woman was standing in the yard about ten steps from the gate. she saw the troops coming before they were discovered by the captain, and supposed them to be of the same command. they were all cavalry. as soon as they saw the captain, they put spurs to their horses, and with revolvers in hand, charged upon them. the captain gave the alarm, and fled as rapidly as possible on horseback, a part of the federals in hot pursuit after him. every avenue of escape was cut off from those who were in the house, and they were forced to retreat through a ten-acre open field, before they could reach the timber. the woman of the house, seeing them flee, knew at once that they didn't belong to the same command. while the federals were approaching the gate at full speed, she ran to it and threw it open, so that they would not be checked in their pursuit. they overtook them about two-thirds of the way across the field, as the rebels were cut off from their horses and were on foot. three of the rebels were killed, and three taken prisoners. they had everything in their possession--bed clothing, domestic, knives and forks, and even axes, that they had been taking from confederates as well as from unionists; also a number of women's dresses. all of the dresses were given to the woman whose house they were robbing at the time of their capture. the soldiers had a fine time after they reached camp, by turning the domestic into new towels. just after supper, the author was notified to appear at the provost marshal's office, to see whether or not he could identify the prisoners. on his appearing and entering into conversation with the prisoners and inquiring their names, one claimed to be named smith, another taylor and the other johnson. one of them lisped a little when talking. the author soon recognized one of them and said to him: "your name is not smith. you had just as well give your proper name, for i know you." the provost marshal asked him if he knew the author. he hesitated to answer. on the provost marshal urging him to answer, he said: "i ought to know him, as he was one of my near neighbors when the war commenced. my name is calvin hawkins." the author replied, "that is correct," and turning to the other prisoner for a second look, recognized him. he remarked, "taylor is not your proper name." the provost marshal asked him if he knew the author. he hesitatingly replied that he did. his proper name was then demanded, which he gave as jacob bridges. the other was a boy named hankins, years of age. court-martialed and shot. the provost marshal asked them if they had ever read or heard of the general order that had been issued by col. livingston. they replied that they had. he said to them: "you have violated the order in every particular; you are wearing federal uniforms, and have been caught robbing and pillaging citizens' houses. tonight your cases will be submitted to a court martial, except the boy's." he then ordered the author to take them to a room and inform them that they would certainly be convicted by the court martial, and the only way they could escape death would be to give the rendezvous and names of all irregular troops in their knowledge, and agree to pilot a scout to the different places of resort. the author informed them of what the provost marshal had said, and further informed them that col. livingston, then acting in the capacity of brigadier general, would have the only power to commute their sentences, after they were convicted. they refused to give any information that would aid the authorities in capturing the different irregular roving bands. the author bade them good-bye, told them he was sorry for them, that they were in a bad condition, but had brought it upon themselves and each of them had better prepare for death, for they were certain to be court-martialed that night. he then left the prisoners, the guard taking charge of them. the court-martial convened that night; charges and specifications were preferred before the judge advocate of violating both orders. they were accordingly convicted, and the next morning, before we broke camp, the author saw the detail that had been selected to execute them; saw the prisoners under guard moving out to the place selected for the execution, heard the discharge of the guns, and soon learned that they both had been shot. somewhere on the head of big strawberry, in izard county, the boy's mother came to us, and he was turned over to her. the command broke camp and proceeded on the way towards batesville, with more or less skirmishing with the rebels every day; and on the th of december, , we had come to within about three miles of batesville, independence county, the rebels in considerable force then being in possession of the city. they had a strong picket about a quarter of a mile from the main city, leading right down poke bayou. another road turned to the right and entered the lower part of the city. the commander halted and threw out a considerable force in advance. the author was placed right in the front of the advance, with orders to charge the pickets, and on their retreat, to charge the enemy, and if they found them in too strong a force to fall back on the main command. the rebel ladies had procured a large hall in the city, situated upon high street, leading west through the city. they were all dressed in gray, and had any amount of egg nog and other delicious drinks in the hall and all through the public parts of the city. a large number of the confederate soldiers were in the hall dancing, a number of them belonging to col. freeman's command. on reaching the rebel pickets, they fired, and the commander ordered a charge with revolver and saber, and we followed close upon their heels. on reaching the city, the firing became promiscuous. the rebels retreated south, a number of them retreating in the direction of white river, and swam the river with their horses, while many of them abandoned their horses and swam the river. one part of the rebel command filed to the right, thinking that it was a federal scout, and attempted to retreat upon the lower road. the federals saw them coming, and knew from their actions that they were retreating. they at once deployed two lines in front of the command, one on each side of the road. before the rebels found out their real condition they were completely into the trap, and they surrendered without the firing of a gun. how received by the batesville ladies. after the fighting had subsided, the author, with a part of the command, rode up high street to the hall where they had just been dancing. there must have been as many as two hundred and fifty or three hundred ladies in the hall and on the roof. some of the boys dismounted, went up into the hall and drank some of their eggnog, although there were strict orders against it. the main command reached the east end of high street, marching in a solid column of two, with a brass band and drums and fifes playing, and striking up the tune of "yankee doodle," they came marching down high street, in the direction of the hall. the women began to use the strongest epithets possible in their vocabulary against the union soldiers, calling them "nigger lovers," "lopeared dutch," "thieves" and "murderers." the author spoke to them saying, "you are mistaken. these men are gentlemen, sent here by the government to establish a military post, and if you treat them nicely you will receive the same kind of treatment." about this time the front of the command had moved up to the hall. at once a number of the ladies began to make mouths at them and spit over the banisters toward them, calling them vile names. the soldiers then began to hallo at the top of their voices: "o, yonder is my dixie girl, the one that i marched away from the north to greet." "god bless their little souls, ain't they sweet; sugar wouldn't melt in their mouths." "i am going to get my bandbox and cage up one of the sweet little morsels and take her home for a pet." the voices of the soldiers completely drowned the hearing of anything the women were saying. in a little while the women hushed. as the column was passing by, one of the women remarked, "i believe that gentleman gave us good advice; i think we had better stop our abuse and we will be treated better." we marched down to the west end of high street, marched across to the next main street, then the head of the column turned east again up main street, and striking up the tune of "hail, columbia, my happy land," marched up to the east end of main street, and ordered a guard placed around the whole town, to prevent the escape of the rebel soldiers that were concealed in the town. the author never saw as much confusion as there was there, for a short time, among the citizens, especially the women. some were laughing, some were abusing the soldiers, some crying, and some cursing. after things had quieted down the soldiers went into camp. colonel livingston began to hunt suitable buildings for his head quarters and for an office for the provost marshall and judge advocate. it became a fixed fact with the citizens of the city that the federals were going to locate a permanent post at that place. while they were in pursuit of the rebels the author remembered an incident that attracted his attention. there were four or five negro men standing upon the street corner and one of the officers holloed out to the negroes; "which way did the rebels go?" on one corner of the street there was a bunch of rebel citizens standing and as soon as the corner was turned and they were out of sight of the rebel citizens they answered the officer, "massa, we don't know which way the rebels went;" one of them dodged around the corner in an instant, and in a low tone of voice, and with a motion of his hand, said, "massa dey went right dat way," almost in an instant came back around the corner and said in hearing of the rebel citizens "massa, i declare i don't know the way dem rebels went." the next morning livingston issued a general order for all persons who claimed protection from the federal army to come in and report and take the oath. the author remembers an incident that occurred on the evening of the fight. there had been two or three men killed just across the bridge and they placed a guard there with orders to let no person cross it without a pass. shortly after dark a young lady who had secreted around her waist under her clothes, two pistols, a belt and scabbard which belonged to a confederate soldier, just after dark came to the bridge and wanted to cross. the sergeant of the guard ask her if she had a pass, to which she replied that she had not. he informed her that he could not let her go over. among the guards was an irishman and the young lady remarked to the sergeant that "it was very hard" that she "had a relative that was killed just across the bridge and she wanted to go over and see him and that a woman couldn't do any harm and they might let her go over without a pass." the irishman sprang to his feet and remarked "be jasus, women can do a divil of a sight of harm, can convey more information, can carry more intelligence through the lines to the rebels than twenty men and there are so many of our officers, if she happens to be good looking, would let her pass through." the sergeant believing that she was a near relative of one of the men that was killed a short distance from the bridge, let her pass over, and that night she delivered the pistols to the confederate soldiers. she afterwards admitted this when she was arrested for refusing to take the oath. if you will grease and butter him. she declared that she "wouldn't swallow old lincoln," and the commander ordered all persons who refused to take the oath, either men or women, arrested and sent to little rock. when she found that she had to take the oath or go to little rock, she said to them that "if they would grease and butter the oath she would try to swallow it." afterwards she became very intimate with one of the young federals, married him and when the command broke up left the post, left the country and went with him. the author remained there all that winter, being in active service almost every day, capturing some of the worst men that there were in the country. in a short time after the post was located the west side of the river was all in the control of the rebels. the rebels began to boast and brag that those northern yankees could stay around the open field and around cities but whenever they crossed the river they would show them just how rebel bullets would fly. colonel freeman's head quarters were near the head of silamore creek, they would get on the mountains, on each side (as the yankees knew nothing about mountains) and roll rocks down on them and what they didn't kill with rocks and bullets would be glad to get back across the river to batesville. there were no ferry boats on the river, they had all been sunk or run out by the rebels. the weather was very cold. white river froze over solid. the old residents there said it was the first time they ever knew of the river freezing over solid. the ice was so thick that it would hold the weight of horses and wagons. col. livingston ordered lumber hauled and laid the planks flat on the ice. he then sent some men who resided in nebraska when at home, to make a test. they reported that the ice was safe for a command to pass over. the commander at once organized a force, crossed the river on the ice, and took up the line of march for the purpose of attacking freeman's forces, which were distant about ten or twelve miles. as soon as the rebel forces found that they were moving up silamore creek in the direction of freeman's headquarters, they placed men on the hills on each side of the creek, and as soon as the federal forces came within reach, they opened fire, and commenced rolling stones. the commander halted, deployed skirmishers, ordered them to fall back, march on foot and flank the rebels, while they would continue the march up the creek and attract their attention until they would have them completely flanked, and then close in on them. while the main force moved up the creek slowly, under almost continuous fire, all at once a general fire opened up on both sides of the hills. i never before saw rebels running and dodging in all directions, trying to make their escape, as they did then. a number of them were killed and wounded, and the others taken prisoners. the remainder got down from the hills, wiser men, and made a hasty retreat up the creek. upon the federal column reaching the headquarters of freeman, it was so unexpected that he had to retreat, leaving all his camp equipage, his trunk and clothing, and about $ , in confederate money. they retreated in an almost northerly direction. our force returned to batesville. the scouts, with a small force of troops, were sent up white river to find where the line of march of the rebels was. they found that they had crossed white river near the mouth of the north fork and were moving in the direction of pocahontas. there had been two federal companies detailed and sent out northeast in the direction of spring river. freeman's command surrounded them and made prisoners of one of the companies. the other company, commanded by capt. majors, made a charge on the lines and cut their way through. reinforcements were at once dispatched in the direction of the moving columns of rebels. in the meantime, the rebels had reached pocahontas, on black river, and had effected a crossing onto the east side of black river, except the rear guard, which were in their boat about midway of the river, when the federal forces reached the west side of the river. they fired on the parties in the boat, wounding some of them, but they succeeded in reaching the bank, and turned their boat loose. a strong line of rebels was drawn up on the east bank of black river, and opened fire on the federal forces on the west side. after considerable firing, both sides ceased. the rebels appeared to move east; the federal forces again countermarched and returned to batesville. the country on the west side of white river was still under the control of a strong force of rebels commanded by col. weatherford and three or four other confederate commanders. about three weeks after their return, an order was issued for two wagon trains with six mule teams and a detail of two companies, to escort it. the train moved out, for the purpose of getting corn and other forage, about fifteen miles distant on white river. after they had arrived at their destination and were loading their wagons, a large force of rebels surrounded them, charged on them, and made prisoners of about half of the escort. the federal captain, who belonged to one of the th missouri companies, surrendered, handed his pistol, about half shot out, to a rebel soldier, who turned his own pistol on him and shot him dead. the scouts who escaped capture, retreated with all possible haste to batesville. in the meantime, the rebel forces cut the wagons down, piled them in heaps and set them on fire; while the mules, with all their gear and breeching on were put into white river and swam across to the other side. as soon as the news reached headquarters, a force was speedily organized, and started on a forced march. upon reaching the scene of action the rebels were all safely across on the other side of the river, harness and wagons were just about completely burned up. no chance of any boats to cross the river and the river being full, they countermarched and returned to batesville again. the whole winter was taken up in scouting and fighting small bands of rebels. sometime in the latter part of the winter the commissaries and forage were becoming scarce and the nearest federal post down white river was at duvall's bluff. the commander called on the author, who was captain of scouts, for a detail of two men who could procure a canoe and try, if possible, to reach duvall's bluff and inform the federal authorities there of the conditions of the post. the author detailed a man by the name of johardy ware and a man by the name of simon mason. they were to procure a canoe and travel in the night, drawing it, when daylight came, into thick brush, and in that way, if possible, reach the federal post. they succeeded in reaching the post and in a short time commissaries and provisions, with forage, were forwarded up the river on two small transports, with a number of troops to force its passage up the river. sometime in the latter part of the winter the boats reached batesville and supplied all of the wants and short rations of the soldiers and again made everything merry and happy. give an oyster supper in april, , the author had promised to return to rolla for the purpose of aiding and recruiting a regiment, known as the th missouri cavalry volunteer. he informed the commander and asked for his recommendation which was granted. he wanted to know when i wanted to start so that he could make preparations to send me around by water. the author informed him that he intended to march through by land. the commander thought it was a thing impossible, that scouting bands of rebels had possession of the country, from a short distance outside of batesville almost to rolla, missouri. the commander and provost marshall gave the author an innovation, made an oyster supper for him and his company of scouts, said they were loath to give them up, that they had performed so much valuable service, and he didn't know where he could get any other men to take their places. after taking leave of the officers and soldiers, the author took a small flag, fastened upon a staff, fastened it to the browband of the bridle and remarked to the officers as he bid them good bye, that the stars and stripes should float from batesville to rolla or the author would die in the attempt. the company then set out for rolla, missouri. colonel woods of the th missouri cavalry had been on detached service and lieutenant colonel stevens had been commanding the regiment. he had received orders to join his regiment at batesville, arkansas, and, with a considerable force of men, reached the state line about o'clock, and came in sight of the command. they saw our company approaching, at once drew up in line of battle, and as many of the rebels had procured federal uniforms, both parties sent out couriers to ascertain who the forces were. on learning that both sides were federals, we marched up and went into camp with them. the author was immediately taken to col. wood's headquarters. he informed him that he had camped near west plains the night before, and that the bushwhackers had kept up a continuous fire until after they got a considerable distance down south fork; and he believed it impossible for as small a force as i had to reach rolla without great disaster and perhaps annihilation. he said that the author and his company of scouts were the very men he wanted, and offered to increase his salary to $ . per day if he would go back with him and remain with his command. the author told him that he was honor bound to return to missouri and assist in organizing a regiment of cavalry for the united states service, and if the bushwhackers didn't keep clear, he would give some of them a furlough before he reached rolla. after dinner woods broke camp and moved in the direction of batesville, and we in the direction of rolla. near where the last firing was done they had arrested a man named craws, who really was a union man, and the author had been well acquainted with him before the war commenced, but woods' soldiers could with difficulty be restrained from shooting him. on my informing the colonel that i was well acquainted with the man and that there was no harm in him, he agreed to turn him over to the author and let him bring him back home with him. after we had started, craws informed the author that he knew the parties who had been firing on the federal troops; that their headquarters were about two miles from where he then resided; and that he was satisfied from the last firing he had heard, that they had turned off from the main road and gone up what was called the newberry hollow. after passing the old newberry farm, they had a plain trail that turned to the right and led directly to the camp. they were commanded by two men named hawkins and yates. on reaching his house he agreed to continue with us to the road he thought they had gone, and then return home. i think he was the happiest man i ever saw when he found he had been turned over to my care, believing that woods' command intended to shoot him. on reaching the road, we found a fresh rebel trail leading right up the creek; we moved on until near the newberry residence, which we had been informed by craws was occupied by hawkins' wife. we turned from the road and halted, and the author, with two or three of his men, being familiar with the country, reached a high point from which we could distinctly see one horse standing at the door. supposing the rebel scouts were all there, we went back to the company, moved cautiously toward the house, and gave orders to charge upon them as soon as our approach was discovered. on coming within fifty yards of the house, which was unenclosed, a woman stepped outside the door, looked toward us, and then wheeled for the house, and we charged. hawkins' horse was hitched to a half of a horse shoe driven in at the side of the door, the bridle rein looped over it, his halter rein being already tied over the saddle horn. the author had ordered all to charge with pistols in hand. as hawkins reached the door and made an attempt to take his bridle rein, he saw that it was impossible. the author demanding his surrender, he attempted to draw his pistol and had it half way out of its holster and cocked, when the author fired upon him. he fell back, still holding his pistol. the author, supposing more of the enemy were inside the house, dismounted, and rushing to the door, demanded the surrender of every person that might be in the house. as the author entered the door, he heard hawkins, still holding his pistol, remark: "monks, you have killed me." the author replied that that was what he intended to do, and he must let go of that pistol or he would be shot again. he took his hand loose from the pistol and in a short time was dead. his wife asked the author to lay him out, which request was complied with. we mounted and again took the rebel trail and by this time it had grown so dark that we lost it and went on to the residence of captain howard, dismounted, fed our horses and got our supper. captain howard afterwards informed the author that he had just been home and started back to the rebel camp and heard the horses feet, stepped behind a tree and that we passed within fifteen feet of him; said if it hadn't been dark we would have been certain to have found the rebel camp; that that day some one of the rebel soldiers had killed a deer, stretched the skin and had it hanging up and the camp wasn't more than two hundred yards from the main road. after we ate our suppers and fed our horses we again resumed our march and reached rolla, missouri, on the second day afterwards. another meeting with captain forshee in the spring of general davidson was ordered to move from rolla, missouri, directly south to little rock. on breaking camp and marching in the direction of west plains the author, with his company of scouts, was ordered to report to him for service. on reaching west plains he went into camp. west plains and vicinity were completely covered with tents and troops. all of the hills adjoining west plains were literally covered with tents, davidson's headquarters being inside of the town. the author being sent out on a scout, came to the home of a man named barnett residing in gunter's valley and not being able to reach town, went into camp near barnett's. in a short time barnett came in home. he had been a lieutenant in the company where the author was prisoner. he informed the author that he had been to thomasville mill and that captain forshee, who lived about one mile below, had also returned with him. the author at once placed a guard around barnett's house (barnett being the father-in-law of the captain) detailed two men to accompany him, prepared, mounted, and started to the residence of forshee fully determined to kill him. the author instructed his men that if forshee remained in the house and didn't attempt to run, to play off and tell him that they belonged to colonel woods, a confederate officer on white river. the author then being clothed in federal uniform and having but a limited acquaintance with forshee before the war did not think that he would recognize him. on reaching the house we repaired to the door, hallooed, and his wife invited us in. the author had his pistol under the cape of his coat still determined upon killing him. on entering the house, found him in bed with one of his children, his wife did not have the supper on the table. the author asked him if he had ever been in the confederate service; he answered that he had, went out in the six months provisional confederate service; didn't stay his time out, resigned and came home. the author asked him if they had taken any prisoners while they were in service; he hesitated a moment and replied that they did. the author asked him if he remembered the names of any of them; he said he remembered the names of two of them well. the author asked him if he knew what became of them; he said that black enlisted in the confederate service, served his time out and then substituted himself and was now in the eastern confederate army; he again hesitated. the author asked him if he knew what became of the other man; he said that he didn't; that he made his escape from the confederate army and he had heard that he was a captain in the northern army. the author said with an oath "how would you like to see him;" he replied "i would not like to see him very well." the author then said, with an oath, "i am here, look at me and see whether you think i am worth a beef cow or not." at this his wife sprang between him and the author and he said to the author, "captain, there ain't one man out of ninety-nine but what would kill me for the treatment you received while a prisoner but i have always thought that if i ever met you and you would give me the time to explain the cause of it, you wouldn't kill me, and i want to live to raise my children." the thought passed through the mind of the author that he could not kill him in the lap of his family; but he would take him to barnett's house where he had some more prisoners and on the next day he would kill him on the way; ordered him to get out of that bed; forshee again appealed and said that he would like to know whether the author was going to kill him or not; that he wanted to live to raise his children. the author replied to him with an oath that "you ought to have thought of these things when you was pulling me away from the bosom of my family, never gave me time to bid them good-bye; get out of that bed." there was about a six months old child in the cradle. he slid out of the bed, kneeled down by the cradle, and was in the act of praying, his wife still standing close by. the author ordered him to get up; that it was too late to pray after the devil came; that i had been appointed by the devil to send him up at once and lie had the coals hot and ready to receive him and that i didn't want to disappoint the devil. he arose to his feet and again asked the author if he was going to kill him; said he wanted time to give me the whole truth of the matter; went on to say hawkins, sapp, kaiser and others were the cause of all the mistreatment, but would admit that he done wrong in agreeing to deliver the author to them for the purpose of having him mobbed and for abusing him, himself. his wife had hot coffee on the table and she asked that he be allowed to sit down, saying that she wanted to see him sup coffee once more. the author told her that they never gave him time to bid his wife good-bye, let alone to sup coffee with her. after taking a few sups of coffee, the author said that he couldn't fool any longer with him; that he must strike a line and move out. his wife said that she was going with him, but her husband told her she had no business going, as it was then snowing and the ground was considerably frozen. the author told her that if she was determined to go, the boys could take her and the children behind them, but the captain would have to walk right in front of the author, and if he made a crooked step from there until he reached barnett's, he would shoot him through. the boys took his wife and children on the horses, and the author started the captain in front of him. he had thought that he would be compelled to shoot him on the way, but he could not shoot him in the presence of his family; so he thought he would take him to the guard house and keep him until morning, and then on the way to west plains he would make a pretext to kill him, for he thought he must kill him. in the morning, after breakfast, we broke camp and moved in the direction of west plains. the author had now become cool, and while he believed he ought to kill him for what he had done, he could not afford to shoot, or cause a prisoner to be shot, while he was in his charge; so on reaching west plains, the prisoner was turned over to the guard house. the morning following was very cool, and the ground was covered with snow. gen. davidson had ordered out a large scout for the purpose of marching towards batesville and white river, to feel the strength of the enemy, and the author's company composed a part of the detail. after the command was mounted and waiting for orders to move, the sergeant of the guard came out and inquired if there was a captain monks in that command. the colonel informed him that there was. he said there was a prisoner in the guard house who wanted to see him. the author got permission to ride to the guard house, and on reaching the door, who should meet him but capt. forshee, who told the author that he had almost frozen the night before, and wanted to know if the author couldn't loan him a blanket. he was told that he was the last man who should ask the author for the use of a blanket. forshee replied: "that's so, captain; but i believe that you are a good man, and don't want to see a man, while he is a prisoner, suffer from cold." the author asked him if they had any gray backs in the guard house. he said he had none on himself, but didn't know in what condition the others were. the author had two new government blankets that he had paid $ apiece for a short time previous, on the back of his saddle. he told forshee that he didn't know as he would need them both until he had gotten back from the scout, and would loan him a blanket until he returned. forshee replied: "i will never forget the favor." the author handed him one of the blankets, and immediately started on the scout. while the scout was south reconnoitering with the enemy, gen. davidson received orders from headquarters countermanding the order to march to little rock by land, and that he would march his forces to ironton, missouri, and there await further orders. he at once broke camp and resumed his march in the direction of ironton, carrying the prisoners with him, with orders for the scout on its return to move up and overtake him, as they were all cavalry. so the author never saw capt. forshee nor his blanket any more, but was informed that he was paroled at ironton, took the oath, returned to oregon county, and died shortly after the close of the war. upon the return of the scout to west plains, a part of the command that belonged to gen. davidson's forces moved on after the army, while the author, with two companies, remained in west plains about half a day for the purpose of resting up. while in west plains a rebel that the author was well acquainted with, came to him and told him he had better be getting out of west plains, for a force of five hundred rebels was liable to come into west plains at any moment. the author pretended to become considerably alarmed, and reported that he was going to march directly to rolla with the two companies then under his command. after marching about fifteen miles in the direction of rolla, he made a flank movement, marched into the corner of douglass county, was there reinforced, and the next day marched directly to the west end of howell county. the rebels, believing that the federal troops had all left the county, came in small bunches from all over the county. the author made a forced march and reached the west end of the county about dark, turned directly toward west plains, took the rebels completely by surprise, had a number of skirmishes with them, reaching west plains with more rebel prisoners than he had men of his own. on the next day we turned in the direction of rolla, and by forced march reached texas county. on the next morning we reached the federal post at houston, in texas county, and turned over the prisoners, among whom were several prominent officers. capt. nicks was one of them. on the night of his capture the author said to him: "it appears to me that it is about the same time of night that they brought me prisoner to your house." he answered: "i declare i believe it is." after the rebels found the small number of the force that had made the scout, they declared that it was a shame to let monks run right into the very heart of the rebels and carry out more prisoners than he had men. murdering federal soldiers. some time in june, , a rebel scout and a federal scout had a fight about twenty miles northwest of rolla. the rebels were forced to abandon a number of wagons and mules, and the federals, owing to the emergency that confronted them at the time, did not wish to be encumbered with them, so they employed a farmer to keep the mules in his pasture until the government should send for them. the federal scouts from rolla and jefferson city would meet occasionally while scouting. on the scout's arrival at rolla, another scout composed of about one company of federals was sent out to bring in the wagons and teams. just before reaching the place where the wagons and teams had been left, they saw a command of about two hundred and fifty men, all dressed in federal uniforms, and they at once took them to be a federal scout from jefferson city. on approaching each other, they passed the army salute, and marched right down the federal line; they, being unsuspecting, believed them to be federal troops. as soon as they were in position each man had his man covered with a pistol. the rebel scout outnumbering the federal scout more than two to one, they demanded their surrender. the federals, seeing their condition, at once surrendered. they were marched about a quarter of a mile, near where the wagons and teams were left, dismounted and went into camp, as the rebels claimed, for dinner. several citizens were present. they marched the federal company together, surrounded them in a hollow square, brought some old ragged clothing, and ordered them to strip. after they were all stripped completely naked, and while some were attempting to put on the old clothing, all their uniforms having been removed a short distance from them, at a certain signal the rebels fired a deadly volley into them. then followed one of the most desperate scenes ever witnessed by the eye of man. the men saw their doom, and those who were not killed by the first volley rushed at the rebels, caught them, tried to wrest their arms from them, and a desperate struggle took place; men wrestling, as it were, for their very lives. a number of the federals had their throats cut with knives. after the rebels had completed the slaughter and hadn't left a man alive to tell the tale, they ate their dinner, and taking the mules and wagons, moved southwest with them. the citizens at once reported the affair to the commander of the post at rolla. the men who were killed belonged to an iowa regiment, and the author believes it was the rd iowa, but will not be positive. a strong detail was made and sent at once to the scene of the late tragedy, with wagons and teams to bring the dead back to rolla. on their arrival with them, it was the most horrible scene that the author ever looked upon. after they were buried, the regiment to which they belonged declared and avowed that they intended to take the same number of rebel lives. the commander, knowing their determination, and being satisfied that they would carry it into effect if the opportunity offered, transferred them to another part of the country. a rebel raid. some time in the fall of the federal authorities at rolla learned that the rebels were organizing a strong force in arkansas, for the purpose of making a raid into missouri. the rebels were under the command of gen. burbrage. the author, being still the commander of the scouts, was ordered to take one man and go south, for the purpose of learning, if possible, the movements of the rebels. the author left rolla, came by way of houston, where there was a post, thence to hutton valley, where there was living a man named andy smith, who was a union man, but had made the rebels believe he was in favor of the south. the author approached smith's house after dark, got something to eat and to feed his horses, and learned from smith that the rebels were about prepared to make the raid into missouri. on the next day the author was informed by smith that burbrage was then moving with his full force in the direction of missouri. the author at once started, intending to reach the nearest federal force, which was in douglas county. in the meantime, gen. burbrage, with his whole force, reached the missouri line, leaving west plains a little to the right, taking an old trace that ran on the divide between the waters of the north fork of white river and of eleven points river, this being afterwards known as "the old burbrage trail." the author, expecting they would march by way of west plains and on through hutton valley, thought he would be able to keep ahead of them and make his report; but owing to their marching an entirely different route, the author crossed their trail. he found that a large force of men had just passed and he, in company with a man named long, examined the horse tracks, found that the shoes contained three nails in each side, and knew at once that it must be burbrage's command. they had passed not more than three hours before this time. making a forced march, the author and long followed on the same trail, and soon came to a house, holloed, and a lady coming out, we inquired how far the command was ahead. the lady informed us that they hadn't been gone more than three hours, and she exclaimed: "hurrah for gen. burbrage and his brave men! the yankees and lopeared dutch are goin' to ketch it now, and they intend to clean them out of the country!" we then became satisfied as to whose command it was, and their destination. we rode on about two hundred yards from the house, turned to the left, and started with all possible speed, intending, if possible, to go around them and get the word in ahead of them. on striking the road at the head of the north fork of white river, we looked ahead of us about a hundred yards and saw twenty-five men, about fifty yards from the road, all in citizen's dress, wearing white hat bands. the state had ordered all the state militia to wear white hat bands, so that they might be designated from the rebels. the author remarked to long: "i guess the men are militia, but we will ride slowly along the road and pass them, for fear they are rebels." they remained still on their horses until after we had passed them, then they moved forward and came riding up and halted us, and wanted to know who we were. the author told them his name was williams and long told them his name was tucker. they asked us if we had ever heard of the alsups, and we told them we had. then they wanted to know where we were going. we told them we were going into arkansas, near yellville; that a general order had been made in the state of missouri that all able-bodied men must come and enroll their names and those who were not in the state service would have to be taxed; that we didn't want to fight nor pay a tax to support those who were fighting. they ordered us to dismount, surrounded us, with cocked pistols, and ordered us to crawl out of our clothes and give up our arms. we commenced to strip. long had on a very fine pair of boots, for which he had just paid $ . , and while the author didn't know at what moment they would be shot, he could not help but be tickled at the conduct of long when they ordered him to take off his boots. he crossed his legs and commenced pulling, with the remark: "my boots are tight." the pistols were cocked and presented right on him, not more than six feet away, and they told him to hurry up or they would shoot his brains out. while he was pulling at his boots he appeared to be looking right down the muzzles of the revolvers. as soon as he had pulled off his boots and pitched them over, they remarked: "hell, a right brand new pair of socks on. pull them off quick and throw them over." a part of these men were dressed in the dirtiest, most ragged clothes the author had ever seen--old wool hats, with strings tied under their chins, old shoes with the toes worn out, and old socks that were mostly legs; but claiming all the time to be militia. they ordered us to get into their old clothes and shoes, and placed their old hats upon us. our clothing and hats all being new, the author thought that was one of the hardest things they had ordered him to do; that he was just as apt to get out of the garments as to get into them. after we were dressed in their old clothing, one of them asked: "what did you say your name was?" long replied, "tucker." one that was standing a little back came running up with his pistol cocked, and remarked that if he was a certain tucker (naming the tucker): "i am going to kill him right here." another of the number said: "hold on, this man is not the tucker that you are thinking of." then their leader said, with an oath: "we belong to gen. burbrage's command. he is just ahead. do you want us to take you up to headquarters?" we told him we had heard of gen. burbrage, and expected that he was a good man, so if they wanted to take us to his headquarters all right: but we did not want to fall into the hands of the militia, as we wanted to get through to yellville while gen. burbrage was in the country. one of the men looked at the horses we were riding and remarked: "let's take the horses. we have orders to take all horses that are fit for the service." another said the horses were rather small for the service, and as we would have a great deal of water to cross between there and yellville, it would be a pity to make us wade it. then their leader remarked: "we are confederate soldiers, out fighting for our country, and you men are too damned cowardly to fight. we have got to have clothing, and as we suppose you are good southern men, when you get to yellville you can work for more clothes." they then ordered us to take the road and move on, and tell the alsups that the country was full of rebels. we mounted our horses and rode away, feeling happy on account of our escape. they remained in the road and watched us until we were out of their sight. the author looked over at long's feet and saw his toes sticking out of his old shoes; could see his naked skin in several places through his raiment. he hardly looked natural--didn't look like the same man. we hadn't gone more than a mile until we struck a farm and a road leading between the farm on one side and the bluff and river on the other, and looking in front, saw about fifteen men coming. the author said to long: "what shall we do? shall we attempt to run, or had we better pass them?" we concluded that it was impossible to get away by running; the only chance left being to try to pass through them without being recognized. we rode up to meet them, and they halted us and wanted to know where we were going. we told them we were going to marion county, arkansas, near yellville. they asked us our names and we again gave the names of williams and tucker. a man named charley durham who had resided at west plains and had met me several times, rode up near us and asked me; "what did you say your name was?" i replied, "williams." he asked: "did you ever live down here about the state line?" i told him i never did, but i might have had relatives who lived on the state line. he said: "i am satisfied that i have seen you somewhere." one of the crowd asked us if we had met about twenty-five soldiers just ahead, and when we informed them that we had, they remarked: "bully for the boys; we had better be moving on or we will be late." they moved on, and we continued down the road. as soon as we were out of sight i said to long; "we will not risk our chances in passing any more of them; there are too many men down here that are acquainted with us. if it hadn't been for my old clothes, charley durham would have recognized me beyond a doubt." we then left the road and took to the woods, reaching the federal forces about midnight. they had not heard a thing regarding the approach of the rebels. they hurriedly began to gather in all the forces, and at once set out to find, if possible, the destination of gen. burbrage. it was learned that he had completely cut us off from reaching either houston or rolla. on the next day the federal forces met gen. burbrage at hearstville, wright county, missouri, and there fought a battle with him. the commander of the post at houston, who was in command of the federals, was killed on the first fire from the artillery of gen. burbrage. col mcdonald, during the engagement, was shot dead at the head of the town spring. burbrage retreated on the same route that he had come up on. his command was separated into several divisions, to get food. long and i had been furnished clothes and arms. capt. alsup being in command, moved near the road that leads down fox creek, saw a rebel scout moving down fox creek, composed of a part of the same men we had met the day before. capt. alsup said he thought that by striking the road and taking the rebels by surprise we could rout them. on marching about a mile we came in sight of them, dismounted for dinner at the house of a man named ferris. i proposed to capt. alsup that we charge them. he thought it might be too dangerous; that they would have the benefit of the house, and might outnumber us, and we would be compelled to retreat and might be cut off from our horses. he ordered us to dismount, formed a line, left men to hold the horses, and on moving about ten steps, the rebel picket, who was placed just outside of the line, discovered us. they opened fire from each side of the house, and along a picket fence which enclosed the house. we returned the fire. the first volley that was fired, a ball passed near my ear, and wounded the horse that i was riding. the firing continued for some time. we had them cut off from their horses, unless they came outside and faced the continual firing. one man attempted to leave the house and reach his horse, but about ten feet from the door he received a wound in the face and fell to the ground. in a moment he arose to his feet, and he and several others again retreated into the house. the firing continued for fifteen or twenty minutes, when the rebels retreated on foot, by taking advantage of the house, except one man, who reached his horse, cut the halter, sprang into the saddle, turned his horse down the lane, leaning close to the horn of the saddle, put spurs and made his escape. in the meantime the wounded man attempted to make his escape by taking advantage of the house and retreating. capt. alsup, when he saw the rebels were retreating, ordered a charge. the wounded man was again wounded, and fell to the ground, helpless. all the other rebels reached the woods, and made their escape. farris, the man who owned the house where the rebels were stopping, received a serious wound in the breast. they left sixteen horses with their rigs, saddle-riders filled with new clothing, in our possession. gen. burbrage retreated from the state, and the author reported to his command at rolla. rescuing union families. in the fall of some of the union men whose families were still residing in ozark and howell counties went to the federal post and were promised arms and ammunition in order to return and try to get their families out, as it had become almost impossible for their families to get through alone, on account of being robbed. about fifty of them procured arms and started for howell county, from the outpost of the federal authorities. they marched at night and lay by in the day, and on reaching the western part of howell county, informed their families to get ready to move, still keeping themselves in hiding. about twenty families prepared for moving, and had assembled on the bayou, near where friend's old mill was located. just about the time they were ready to start, a bunch of rebels came up and opened fire on them. they returned the fire and held the rebels at a distance while they moved all their wagons up close together, and started in the direction of ozark county. one of the men who had come to assist in the escort became excited upon the first fire from the rebels and ran, never stopping until he reached the federal lines. the remainder of the men bravely repelled the rebels, while their families kept their teams steadily moving. on reaching the big north fork of white river, and while the families in their wagons were in mid-stream, the rebels reached the bluff and opened fire on them. the union men vigorously returned the fire. they all reached the opposite side of the river without one of their number being killed; some of the women and children had received slight wounds, but nothing serious. the rebels still continued to fire upon them until they reached the northern part of ozark county, when further pursuit was abandoned, and about twenty families were enabled to reach the federal lines. in a short time the union men attempted to again reach their homes, for the purpose of helping destitute families to get out. they traveled only at night, keeping themselves concealed in day time. in this way they reached fulton county, arkansas, when the rebels found out that some of the union men were in the country. the rebel forces at once became so strong that the federals had to retreat without getting any of their families, passing back through the western part of howell county, over into ozark, and went into camp on the head of lick creek. shortly after they got into camp the rebels slipped up on them and opened fire, mortally wounding a man named fox and slightly wounding several others. they had to scatter at once to avoid being captured, and when they reached the federal lines they were almost worn out. at this time all of the federal posts had numbers of refugee families stationed near them, entirely destitute of food and raiment, and relying entirely for their preservation upon the small amount of help they received from the government. general price's raid. upon my return from batesville, arkansas, in the spring of , i commenced recruiting for the th missouri cavalry volunteers, the most of the regiment being composed of men who had been in the state service. the required number to form the regiment was soon procured, and the regiment was organized, electing for their colonel, john mahan. the author was elected captain of co. k. the regiment was at once placed in active service, being quartered at springfield, missouri, up to the time of gen. price's raid. then the regiment was divided, one half of it being sent in pursuit of price. the other half, which was known as the second battalion, was placed under my command and held at springfield, it being expected that gen. price would change his line of march and attack the city. as soon as the fact was ascertained that price was marching north and west of springfield, orders were made to send every available man that could be spared from the post. among the troops sent out was the author's battalion. we were ordered on a forced march in the direction of utony, for the purpose of cutting off price's retreat. we reached utony about o'clock at night, where they had a strong federal garrison. two thousand rebels of price's command had just marched across the road before we reached the garrison, and gone into camp in sight of the town. strong pickets were thrown out on each side. about daylight the federal forces broke camp and moved on the rebel camp, soon coming in sight of the rebel forces, and fire was opened on both sides. the rebels commenced retreating, the federals pursuing, and continuous firing and fighting was kept up until we came near the arkansas line. a number of rebel prisoners were taken, besides some of their commissary wagons falling into the possession of the federals. the federal commander then ordered a retreat back to springfield. price's forces had torn up all the railroads as they passed over them, cutting off all supplies, and the soldiers and prisoners had been placed on quarter rations. the prisoners, numbering about three hundred and fifty, were ordered to be taken to rolla, missouri. after the first day's march from springfield they met a federal train carrying commissaries to springfield and other western points. the men being then on quarter rations, the colonel took possession of some of the commissaries and issued them to the soldiers and prisoners, for which he was afterward arrested and court-martialed. on reaching lebanon, missouri, i saw the quartermaster haul in about five or six loads of shucked corn, which was distributed to the soldiers and prisoners. i well remember that while they were distributing the corn to the prisoners, a general rush, which appeared to be almost uncontrollable, was made around the wagon. the corn was thrown out on the ground among them, they picked it up in their arms, and at once retired to their camp fires, so that they might parch and eat it. after leaving lebanon, the prisoners were all placed in charge of the author. he remembers one rebel prisoner who had on a fine dress coat, with a bullet hole right in the center of the back, and the soldiers had to be watched closely to prevent them from shooting him, as they believed it to be a coat that had been taken from the body of some union man, after he had been shot. on reaching rolla, the author turned over all the prisoners to the commander of the post, and they were sent directly to rock island, there to be held as prisoners until such time as they might be exchanged. i again returned to springfield and reported to my regiment. a short time thereafter, the loyal men of the counties of howell, dent, texas, phelps, ozark and douglas, in missouri, and of fulton, izard and independence counties, in arkansas, with a number of the officers and soldiers, including the commander at rolla, petitioned gen. schofield, who was then in command of the western district, to have the author detached from his regiment, then at springfield, and sent south of rolla to some convenient place, and given command of a post, as it was almost impossible to send commissaries through from rolla to springfield, on what was known as the wire road, on account of the roving bands of rebels, who had complete control of the country, a short distance from the military post. capt. monks establishes a post at licking. gen. schofield at once made an order that capt. monks be detached from his regiment and report at rolla, with his company, for further orders. gen. sanborn, then in command at springfield, informed the author of his final destination; that on reaching rolla, he would be ordered by gen. schofield to licking, missouri, to establish a post. it soon leaked out, and the rebels swore openly that if he established a post at licking or at any other southern point, they would soon drive the post into the ground and annihilate him and his men. i went to gen. sanborn and requested that he send a telegram to gen. schofield, and ask him to countermand that part of the order that required capt. monks to report at rolla for further orders, and order him to move directly from springfield to licking. the general hesitated for sometime, as to whether it would be good policy, owing to the large numbers of rebels in the country through which i had to pass. he didn't believe that i would be able to reach licking with the one company, but he finally decided that if i was willing to risk it, he would ask gen. schofield to change his order. on gen. schofield's receiving the telegram, he made an order that i be detached from my regiment, be furnished two company wagons, be well supplied with arms, and proceed directly to licking. on reaching licking i was to report by courier to headquarters for further orders; and in obedience to said order, two company wagons, with tents, commissaries, arms and ammunition were at once furnished, and i set out for licking, texas county; passed hartville, the county seat of wright county, and struck the waters of big piney. there was considerable snow on the ground at the time. i took the rebels by complete surprise. while they were expecting me from rolla to licking, i struck them from the direction they least expected. on reaching piney, i encountered a rebel force of about sixty men. we had a fight, two or three rebels were killed, and the rest retreated south. from that time until we reached licking, we had more or less fighting every day. we would strike trails of rebels in the snow, where there appeared to be over one hundred men, but they were so sure that it was a large scout from springfield that they did not take time to ascertain, but retreated south at once. on reaching licking, i sent a dispatch to gen. schofield, telling of my arrival, and immediately received orders to establish a post and erect a stockade fort, and to issue such orders as i believed would rid the country of those irregular bands of rebels and bushwhackers and protect all in their person and property, especially the loyal men. i immediately selected a frame building for my headquarters, with an office near by for the man acting as provost marshal; issued my order requiring all persons who claimed protection from the federal authorities to come in and take the oath, and bring with them axes, shovels, picks and spades, with their teams, for the purpose of erecting a stockade fort. and further setting out in said order, requiring all persons who knew of any irregular bands of rebels or bushwhackers roaming or passing through the country, to report them at once; and if they failed to report them, they would be taken as bushwhackers and treated as such. in a short time i had erected a complete stockade fort with port-holes, and room enough inside to place all the cavalry horses in case of an attack by the rebels. i had these orders printed and sent out all over the country. in a short time, a man who had been known to be a rebel, but had stayed at home unmolested, but who had been giving aid and comfort to the rebels, came into the office and said: "captain, i want to see you in your private room." on entering the room he said: "i have read that order of yours. you don't intend to enforce it, do you, captain?" i said to him that i did or i wouldn't have made it; that the rebels and i could not both stay in that country. he said to me, "captain, of all the post commanders we have had here, there never was one of them issued such an order as that. you know if i were to report those rebel bands they would kill me." i replied, "very well; you have read my order, and i have said to you and all others that if you fail to report them i will kill you; and you say if you do report them, they will kill you; now, if you are more afraid of them than you are of me, you will have to risk the consequences; for, by the eternal god! if you fail to report them, i have said to you that i would treat you as a bushwhacker, and you well know how i treat them." he dropped his head for a few minutes, then raised it and said: "well, it is mighty hard, captain." i replied that there were a great many hard things now; asked him where all of his union neighbors were. he said that they had been forced to leave their homes and were around the federal posts for the reason that they claimed to be union men. i told him that "a lot of you rebels have lain here in the country and made more money than you ever made before in your lives, and at the same time you have been giving aid, comfort and encouragement to all of these irregular bands--giving them all the information that they wanted, so that they might know just when to make their raids, and now i propose to break it up and stop it, unless they are able to rout me and drive me away. the government proposes to protect all of you who will come in and take the oath and comply with every requirement set out in the order. all i ask of you men is to give me information of these irregular rebel bands and their whereabouts, and you can again return home and your information will be kept a secret; but this much you are required to do." in a short time a large number of them had come in and enrolled their names, took the oath and went to work on the fort like heroes. occasionally one would come in and say "captain, i want to procure a pass for me and my family through the federal lines; i want to leave." i would ask him; "what's the matter now? you have stayed here all through the war, up to the present time, and now i have come among you, and offered to protect every one of you who will take the oath and comply with orders." he would reply with a long sigh, "yes, captain but that order that you have made." i would ask him "what order." "you require all citizens, especially we people who have been rebels, and stayed at home, to report all of the roving bands of rebels and bushwhackers; if we don't do it, you will treat us like bushwhackers; if we were to report them, they would kill us." i said, "now, you must chose between the two powers; and if you are more afraid of the rebels than you are of me, you will have to risk your chances. you say if you report them, they will kill you. now, by the eternal, i am determined to enforce everything that i have set out in that order. this day you must settle in your own mind whom you will obey. as soon as the first roving bands of rebels and guerrillas reached the country for the purpose of raiding the wire road between rolla and springfield, the night never was too dark but that this same class of men would come in and report them. i would at once make a detail, send these men right out with them. as soon as they would get near to the rebels, they would dismiss these men and let them go home." the rebels, for several years, had been sending out a large scout from north arkansas and the border counties of missouri and when they would reach texas and pulaski counties they would divide into small squads and travel the byways and ridges; on reaching the wire road they would then concentrate and lay in wait until the wagon trains and non-combatants who were merchants, were moving through from rolla to springfield under the protection of an escort; and all at once they would make a charge upon them from their hiding places, rout the escort, capture the train and all others that might be in company with it, cut the mules loose from the wagon, take all the goods that was not cumbersome, especially coffee, sugar, salt and dry goods, place them on the backs of the mules, travel a short distance, divide up again into small parties, take byways and mountains, travel fifteen or twenty miles, go into camp; on reaching the counties of oregon and shannon, fulton and lawrence, of arkansas, they would concentrate their forces, go into camp, eat, drink, and be merry. as soon as their supplies would run short, they would make another scout of a similar nature. the commanders of the post, as soon as they would attack the trains, would order out a scout to pursue them. they would strike their trail and follow them a short distance to where they would separate and take to the mountains. they would abandon the pursuit, return and swear that the country wasn't worth protecting. in that way they completely outgeneraled the federal forces and held complete possession of the country almost in sight of the post. on one occasion, when the weather was very cold and bleak, i knew of their capturing some of the federal soldiers within one mile of the fort, kept them until the coldest part of the night, just before day, stripped them naked, turned them loose, and they were compelled to travel a mile before they could reach a fire, and they were almost frostbitten. every union man was driven away from his home and moved his family to different posts. the author had declared that he and the rebels could not both remain in the country together; that he would either rout them or they would have to rout him, and for that reason every man that remained in the country would have to aid him in the work. so, in every instance, when he would send a force in pursuit of those raiding bands, he would order the scout to follow them, and when they divided to still continue pursuit of the most visible trail, and when they came in sight to not take time to count noses, but charge them and pursue them until they were completely annihilated. they would go into camp and move at their leisure, but not so when my scouts got in pursuit of them. in a number of instances they would overtake them from twenty to twenty-five miles from the wire road, in camp, having a jolly good time, and the first intimation they would have would be the boys in blue charging in amongst them, shooting right and left, and they would scatter in all directions. it was but a short time until they remarked to some of the rebel sympathizers that they had never seen such a change in the movements of the federal scouts; that they used to consider themselves safe from a federal scout as soon as they left the main road and divided into small squads; but now they were in as much danger in the most secluded spot in the mountains as they were in the traveled roads; therefore, their commanders would have to change their tactics in regard to the scouts, and abandon that part of the country, as almost every scout that they had made to the wire road had proved disastrous since "old monks" had been placed in command of the post. in a short time, the union men, who had been driven from the country, began to return and go onto their farms, and about five months after i had been placed in command of the post, the civil authorities came and held circuit court, judge waddle, of springfield, then being circuit judge. skirmishes with the rebels. some time in the summer, col. freeman, who was commanding the rebels in northeastern arkansas, whose headquarters were near the spring river mill, made a raid and threatened to capture the federal forces that were then at the licking post. i soon gained information of his intention, made every preparation to repel the attack, also informed the commander at rolla of the intended raid. col. freeman, accompanied by other rebel commanders, concentrated all of the available rebel force then at his command, raided the country, came within about five miles of the post, learned that reinforcements had been sent to the post, countermarched and retreated to his headquarters near the head of spring river. a regiment of federal troops, known as the fifteenth veterans, was sent as a reinforcement, with a part of the fifth missouri state militia that was then stationed at salem, with orders to remain at the post. i received orders to organize all of the available troops and pursue the rebel forces, and, if possible, to reach the spring river mill, in fulton county, arkansas, and destroy the mill, which freeman was using at that time for grinding meal. the federal force composing the scout, aggregating about three hundred and fifty men, moved from the post at licking. the author divided his forces, ordering one wing of them to move through spring valley, in texas county; the other wing to move directly in the direction of thomasville, with orders to form a junction about seven miles from thomasville, where there was a rebel force stationed. on reaching the wallace farm, in oregon county, we came onto a force of rebels, commanded by james jamison, who had met for the purpose of receiving ammunition which had been smuggled through from ironton. after an engagement, the rebels fled, leaving one man dead; james jamison received a flesh wound in the thigh. the federal force which had been ordered through spring valley had had an engagement near the head of the valley, which had delayed them. the plans of the author had been frustrated by coming in contact with the rebels sooner than he expected. as they had retreated in the direction of thomasville, where the main force was said to be stationed, i continued my march, and in about one mile came onto a rebel camp, where the rebels had cabins erected for quarters; here another spirited engagement took place, the rebels retreating in the direction of thomasville, the federal forces still pursuing. just above thomasville the command encountered a strong picket force, fired upon the command, intending to halt it, but being satisfied that there was a trap laid i ordered a charge. the picket force retreated to the left, up a steep hill, and at once the whole rebel force opened fire from the side of the mountain; the bullets flew just above our heads like hail, one ball passing through my hat. we still continued the charge and on reaching the top of the hill, routed the whole rebel force and they again retreated. the author marched into thomasville, selected his camping ground inside of captain olds' barn lot, giving us the advantage of the barn, in case we were attacked by a superior rebel force. i at once dispatched a forage train with strong escort to gather in all the forage possible, as it was very scarce in the country. after we had been in camp about an hour i inquired of captain olds if he knew of any corn. he said he did not. in about a half hour my attention was called by one of the captains pointing to a large smokehouse, and on looking, saw the soldiers taking down any amount of first-class corn. i informed the captain that captain olds had claimed that he had no corn; to take the quartermaster and let him place a guard over the corn, to see that it was not wasted, and that it was properly apportioned. in a short time the author saw captain olds coming. he went to one of the other captains and inquired who the commander was. he was informed that it was capt. monks. he came to the author laughing and remarked: "you found my corn, did you? i told you that i had none; i had to secrete it in that building to keep it so that the rebels could not find it." i just remarked to captain olds: "you needn't try to hide anything from these lopeared dutch, for i don't care where you put it they will find it." the men who discovered the corn were all germans and belonged to a german company. he asked us to feed just as sparingly as possible and leave him a part of the corn, which we did. he then attempted to warn the author of his danger and asked him if he intended to camp there for the night; said that colonel freeman had over one thousand men which he could concentrate within five or six hours and that he would cut the author's command all to pieces. the author replied to the captain that that was his business, that freeman had come up on the scout and claimed that he was wanting a fight; the author prepared for him and expected to accommodate him but he changed his notion and retreated, devastating the country as he went, and now the author was hunting him and his forces and wanted to fight. if he came up that night and attacked the author's command that it would save any more trouble hunting him. just about that time the author saw the other part of the command approaching and called the attention of captain olds and asked him if he thought that was a part of freeman's command. after looking a few minutes he said to the author: "they are federal troops." i asked him if he thought we would be able to remain there until morning? he said that he thought we would and invited me to come into his house and eat supper. while at supper asked if we intended to march any further south. the author informed him that if his information was correct in regard to freeman's forces we were about as far away from home as we ought to get and that we had better move back in the direction of the post. the author ordered the command to be ready to march by early daylight, next morning broke camp and moved in the direction of spring river. on reaching the head of warm fork of spring river, we encountered another rebel force; had a short engagement, and they again retreated. on reaching the head of spring river about the middle of the afternoon, we again met a rebel force; after considerable firing they retreated. the author moved up near the mill and went into camp. the mill was grinding corn with quite a lot of corn on hand, but the miller left and retreated with the rebels. the author soon placed a substitute in his place and the boys had a fine time baking corn cakes. after supper, some of the men had just retired to rest, when the rebels again made a fierce attack; after fighting for twenty or twenty-five minutes they retreated a short distance and went into camp, the river dividing the two forces. during the night the two pickets would dare each other to cross the river. during the night there came a heavy rain and made the warm fork of spring river swimming; there was no way to cross except on the mill dam. the next morning about daylight the author ordered them to take the millstones and break them up and destroy the machinery so it would be impossible to grind; dismounted about one hundred men, placed them in hiding and marched away a short distance, thinking the rebels would cross over and we would surprise and capture them. but on seeing the federals break camp and marching up on the west side of the river, they broke camp and marched up on the east side of the river. the author then mounted his men and marched up the warm fork to where he effected a crossing, marched about ten miles, went into camp for the purpose of getting breakfast. just after breakfast, the author noticed the advance of a rebel force march out on another road; as soon as they discovered that the federals were in camp, they fell back and the author at once mounted his men. on the other road, as there was a considerable hill that hid them from sight, he formed his men in two lines in a v; detailed a strong advance force, ordered them to move onto the rebels and charge them, and in case they found that they were too strong, to retreat back between the lines for the purpose of drawing the rebel forces in between the lines. after a fierce conflict, lasting but a few minutes, the rebels again retreated, leaving a rebel major dead upon the ground. we then marched into thomasville and had another running fight with the rebels, went into camp and the next morning marched back in the direction of the post at licking, reaching the post about o'clock that night. the author again took command at the post and the fifteenth veterans returned to rolla. ridding the country of bushwhackers. it soon became very rare to hear of a rebel scout north of the mountain. both rebel and union men who claimed protection by the federal authorities began to repair and improve their farms again. during the time that the author was in command of the post, which continued up to the time that peace was made, his command had routed and completely driven from the country all irregular and roving bands of rebels and bushwhackers and had had numbers of small engagements in which there had been from eighty to ninety of the most desperate class of men that ever lived, killed, which was shown in the adjutant general's report. after they had been driven out of the county, they located in the counties of oregon, shannon and dent, and at once commenced pillaging and robbing all classes of citizens, irrespective of their political adherence. col. freeman sent a courier through the lines with a dispatch, stating the condition of affairs, and asking that an armistice be entered into between col, freeman's scouts and the scouts which might be sent out from the post, with an understanding that they were going to aid each other in routing and driving out these irregular bands. while engaged in that work they were not to fire on each other, but to co-operate. the author was to enter into the agreement if it could be effected. col. freeman sent capt. cook into oregon and shannon counties to locate those roving guerrilla bands, and in some way, unknown to either col. freeman or myself, they gained the information, and while capt. cook was in oregon county locating them, they waylaid him and killed him. col. freeman, realizing the fact that they had come into possession of the whole scheme, came to the conclusion that we had better abandon the agreement. he organized scouts and captured and shot some of the most desperate characters that were leaders, while the author kept a vigilant watch to keep them from crossing over into texas or adjoining counties. at the time peace was made, it was admitted by the law-abiding people, irrespective of party, that the command of col. monks had completely rid the country of all irregular bands of rebels and had made it safe, in a short time after he had taken command of the post, for forage trains and all other classes of citizens to pass on the wire road from rolla to springfield unmolested, and that very often they passed through without an escort. battle at mammoth spring. col. wood, commanding the sixth missouri cavalry, left rolla on the th day of march, , with about two hundred and fifty men, for the purpose of making a scout south into the counties of oregon and howell and fulton county, arkansas, to ascertain the strength of the rebel forces in that portion of the country; reached licking and went into camp. the next morning he broke camp and marched to jack's fork, in shannon county, and on the morning of the th marched to thomasville; on the th he marched to mammoth spring, arkansas. on reaching mammoth spring they learned that there was a rebel force in camp on the south fork of spring river, just below salem, and on the morning of the th they broke camp and marched upon the rebels. on reaching the rebel encampment they found they had cut timber and blockaded the road, so that it was impossible to reach the forces, except on foot. in coming within a few hundred yards of the rebels, lying concealed behind the timbers, they opened fire upon the advance of the federal forces. the federal forces had two small pieces of artillery that they unlimbered and brought into use. the rebels having no artillery, were soon dislodged from the first line of works, and they stubbornly fell back about one quarter of a mile, and went in behind the second fortifications that had been hurriedly erected. after fighting for an hour and a half or two hours the federal force being greatly outnumbered, and the rebels having themselves so obstructed, col. woods saw that it was useless to further continue the fight and retreated. on the next night he reached howell valley just below west plains and went into camp and on the morning of the th they broke camp and marched in the direction of houston, missouri, reaching houston sometime after night. the federal loss in the battle referred to was seven killed and wounded. the confederate loss was said to be twenty-five or thirty killed and wounded. colonels coleman and woodside were commanding the confederates. col. woods being in command of the post at houston, learning that there was considerable of a rebel force, standing at west plains, missouri, under the command of coleman and others, organized a scout and on the th day of february, , broke camp and marched in the direction of west plains, for the purpose of attacking the rebel forces stationed at that place, taking two small mounted howitzers strapped on mules, made a forced march, and in the early part of the day on the th reached west plains. west plains had a frame court house in the center of the square where the present court house is located. the road at that time led due north where washington avenue is located until it struck the hill; also there was a road which led east where east main street is now located and on passing what was known as the thomas howell farm, turned directly north in the direction of gunters valley. the rebels had a strong picket thrown out on both roads; a part of the rebel command was quartered in the court house. woods being advised of the condition of the rebels and where they were all quartered, supposing that they would take advantage of the court house when the attack was made, selected a high position where the road first struck the hill, planted his artillery, divided his forces and made a flank movement, ordered them to strike the lower road and advance on the pickets and as soon as they were fired upon, to charge them, while he would remain with the other part of the force in readiness to dislodge them with his artillery in case they used the court house as a fortification. on the advance coming in sight of the rebel pickets, they fired and retreated with the federal forces pursuing. the rebel forces at once rallied their forces and took possession of the courthouse. as soon as col. woods saw them file into the house he leveled his cannon and fired a shell which struck the house near its center and passed clear through; that was the first artillery that the rebel command ever had heard. they filed out of the house faster than they went into it; then col. woods moved with his forces directly upon the forces near the court house when a general engagement ensued. the rebels retreated west on the road near where west main street is now located and a running fight was continued for about one mile, when woods abandoned the pursuit, marched back into west plains, and again returned to houston. the losses on both sides were light, several, however, being killed or wounded. "uncle tommy" and his crutches. i will relate an incident which occurred during the fight. old "uncle tommy" howell as he was familiarly known, resided just below the town spring a short distance from the road; he had a sister living with him who was an old maid, and was known as "aunt polly". howell being one among the early settlers of howell valley, had taken an active part in organizing howell county, which took its name from him and he had been once representative of the county. the author heard him relate the circumstance in a speech delivered in west plains after the war was over. he said when the fight came up that he was sitting on his front porch: all at once he heard firing commence, and heard horses feet and saw the rebel pickets coming on full gallop horseback, with the federals close onto them with pistols in hand firing on them; he had been afflicted with rheumatism for years and one of his legs was drawn crooked and he hadn't attempted to walk without a crutch for several years; when he saw the men coming and the others shooting at them, he supposed that every shot was killing a man; he said they came right by his door and he never became excited while they were passing; as soon as they got near the court house they then made a stand, where it appeared to him that there were thousands of shots being exchanged every minute. they had all passed his house and he was sitting there unmolested, when his sister, who was known as "aunt polly" ran out on the porch and cried out at the top of her voice "lord a massy, uncle tommy, run for your life; you have been a public man and they will kill you, sure." he said it so excited him that he sprang to his feet. all below his house the valley was covered with hazel brush and snow was lying on the ground. he first looked toward where the firing was going on and said "my god! they certainly have got them very near all killed in this time" for he was under the impression that every shot killed a man. he started southwest from his house, ran about a quarter of a mile, jumped over behind a log; he had hardly gotten still when he imagined he heard the horses feet of the federals in pursuit of him; he raised up and looked, could not see any person, so ran about another quarter, jumped over behind another log and as soon as he got still, the first thought came into his mind that they were still in pursuit, for he could hear the horses' feet, but on reflecting a moment he found that it was his heart beating; he said he could still hear the firing and he thought they intended to kill them all before they quit. he had a son-in-law by the name of hardin brown living on the warm fork of spring river, about twenty miles distant, and he started on foot and never stopped traveling until he reached his house. on reaching the house, his daughter asked him how, in the name of god, he ever got there without his crutches. he said that was the first time that he had thought of his crutches. he began to notice his legs and the crooked leg was just as straight as the well leg. he said that it completely cured him of his rheumatism and he had the use of that leg just the same as he ever did the other leg, and never used a crutch afterwards. after the war he removed to oregon county and was elected to the legislature, and died a member of the legislature. disposing of union men. in the spring of there was a man by the name of mawhinney, living about six miles below west plains, in howell valley, a union man, but who had taken no part either way, except to express an opinion. about fifteen men belonging to a rebel scout went to his house, called for their dinners, some of them had him shoe their horses, and after they had their horses shod and got their dinner, they told him that they wanted him to go with them. his wife said to them "it ain't possible that after you have been treated as kindly as you have been you are going to take mr. mawhinney prisoner; you men certainly will not hurt him." they made no reply, carried him about one half mile from his home, shot him off of his horse, took the horse and went on, leaving the body on the side of the road. his wife with what other help she could get brought him in and had him buried. about two weeks afterwards, in the spring of , there was a man by the name of bacon who lived near west plains, who has some relatives living in this county at the present time. he was a union man but had taken no part either way, except to express himself openly in favor of the union. there came a scout of about twenty men and arrested him, started west with him in the direction of south fork, and on reaching the vicinity where homeland is located, left the road a short distance, shot him off of his horse. went on to a house about one mile distant, called for their dinner. the woman in preparing dinner fried some bacon; after they were seated at the table she passed the bacon to them; several of them remarked that they didn't want any, that they had had some bacon, but had just disposed of it a short time before they reached the house. after bacon had laid where he fell dead for two or three days he was found and being considerably decomposed a hole was dug and the body placed into it and covered up, where his dust remains until the present day. union supplies captured by rebels. in the spring of , the department commander reestablished the military post at springfield. all of the commissaries and forage had to be conveyed from rolla to springfield, as the terminus of the railroad was at rolla, by wagon trains, a distance of one hundred and twenty miles. it required a large escort of soldiers to guard the trains to prevent the rebels from capturing them. all of the country south of the wire road was in possession of the rebels. there was scarcely a wagon train that passed on the road without being attacked by the rebels. they made their attacks generally on the front and rear of the trains, and before the wagon masters could corral the trains, they would capture some of the wagons, make the teamsters drive into the woods, cut the mules loose from the wagons, take sacks of coffee, salt, sugar and other commissaries, tie them on the backs of the mules, divide into small bunches and retreat into the hills. very often the escort would have to send back to rolla for reinforcements. the train would be tied up from twelve to fifteen hours before it could move on. it became a mystery to the federal commanders how the confederates could concentrate a force of men numbering from fifty to three hundred, and the first intimation the escort would have, they, the rebels, would come out of the brush at some secluded spot, yelling, whooping and shooting, and charge upon the wagon train. they would generally capture more or less of the loaded wagons with the above results, and it became a question with the military authorities at rolla and springfield how to capture or rout these bands, and as to how they managed to keep that number of men near to the wire road and yet the federals were unable to discover their hiding places. about the th day of august, the department commander ordered capt. murphy to take five hundred men and two pieces of artillery and move south from rolla; to go as far south as he thought it would be safe, without placing his men so far inside of the confederate lines that they might be captured; and, if possible, to learn the rebel movements and location of their troops. capt. murphy broke camp at rolla and moved south about fifteen miles, was fired on by the rebels from the brush, marched about twenty-five miles, went into camp; on the next morning resumed the march, hadn't marched more than five miles until they were fired on from the brush; they were fired on four or five times that day, and went into camp near thomasville. the next day he threw out skirmish lines on each side of his command, and resumed the march down the warm fork of spring river. there was more or less skirmishing all day. he camped on the warm fork and the next morning marched over to the myatt, where we had quite a skirmish. the rebels again retreated in the direction of the spring river mill, where they were said to have a thousand men. here the command countermarched back to rolla, having captured fifty or sixty prisoners; the federals had a few men wounded. in the spring of , the federal troops advanced on springfield from rolla. the rebels retreated west and the federals again established a military post at springfield. the rebels continued to retreat west until they reached prairie grove, where they concentrated their forces and the memorable battle of that name was fought, the federal troops being victorious. the confederates retreated from the state. the military post at springfield being over one hundred miles west of rolla, the terminus of the south pacific railroad, three-fourths of the distance being in possession of the rebels, all the forage and commissaries had to be conveyed by wagon train. the main rebel forces having been driven from the state, and all of the country south of the wire road, with few exceptions, being in possession of the rebels, the union men with their families having been driven from their homes. the leading confederate officers met and held a council of war and decided to change their tactics. the first thing was to place two or three hundred well-armed confederate soldiers south of and near the wire road leading from rolla to springfield, and so harass the wagon trains that the government wouldn't be able to get forage and commissaries through to springfield, and thus force the federals to abandon the post. in furtherance of this move, they ordered their soldiers to be taken near to the line of the road and divided into squads of from five to twenty-five men, conceal their arms and claim to be private citizens, live off the country and be so arranged that when a wagon train was about to leave rolla, they could be called together on short notice; and when they wanted to make a more extensive raid, confederate soldiers from as far south as the head of spring river would march up and meet them and make a general raid. the government had considerable trouble to learn the hiding places of these men, but they finally got officers who were acquainted with the country and men who were bona fide citizens, and knew who were citizens and who were not, and broke up their hiding places and drove them further south. it was learned that a part of this confederate force was composed of men who claimed to be citizens when they were not making their raids. bravery of captain alsup. in the summer of , the federal authorities established a military post at clark's mill, in douglas county, missouri, on bryant's fork of white river, erected a post and stationed some illinois troops under the command of a colonel, with capt. alsup's company, which was composed entirely of douglas county citizens, in all about two hundred and fifty or three hundred men. gen. joe shelby, a confederate, with about five hundred troops, made a forced march from arkansas and during the night time surrounded the fort, and the next morning had his artillery in readiness to open fire. he ordered a complete surrender of the garrison. the captain of the fort asked for a few minutes to consider the matter; at the expiration of the time, the colonel in command agreed to surrender, stack up the guns and side arms in the fort, march his men outside and make an unconditional surrender. when the commander of the fort ordered his men and officers to stack their arms and march out, capt. lock alsup and his company refused, and being cavalry, ordered his men to arm themselves and be ready to move whenever he ordered. while the commander of the fort was having the remainder of the garrison stack their arms, capt. alsup and his company made a bold dash for liberty, came out of the fort shooting right and left, took the rebels by surprise, broke the rebel line, went through, being mounted on good horses, retreated up bryant's fork with the rebels in pursuit. while going through an old field that had grown up to burrs about as high as a man's head, fritz krause, father of the assistant postmaster at west plains, was thrown from his horse, rolled under the burrs, the rebels passed by and never saw him. he laid in the burrs until dark, then made his escape and rejoined his company at springfield. the rebels pursued them for about two miles, then returned to their command. gen. shelby paroled the prisoners, and such things as he could not carry with him he destroyed, the fort being burned. he resumed his march in the direction of springfield and was reinforced by about five hundred troops. during this time, capt. alsup and his men had reached springfield and, strange to say, hadn't lost a man; had a few slightly wounded. gen. brown, who was in command of the post at springfield, was said to be a brother-in-law of gen. shelby, and on shelby's arrival at springfield he demanded the surrender of the garrison. the federal troops held a consultation and concluded to fight. after a brief engagement, gen. shelby drew his troops off and moved north; there were several killed and wounded on both sides. gen. brown's arm was broken by a piece from a shell. gen. shelby continued his raid towards the missouri river, had several small engagements and then retreated from the state. capt. alsup and his brave men should be held in memory by all comrades, especially by the loyal people of douglas and ozark counties, for their heroic action in charging through the rebel lines and making their escape after the post commander had attempted to deliver them into the hands of the rebels. the fort at clark's mill was never rebuilt. capt. alsup and the loyal men of douglas and ozark counties and part of wright county built a temporary fort near the center of douglas county, and old and young organized themselves into companies and armed themselves. with the help of capt. alsup's company, they appointed a few of their men as scouts, while the others worked in their fields. the scouts were out night and day along the state line and if a rebel scout attempted to raid the counties, notice was given all along the line and the men were all up in arms and ready to meet the raiders. it reminds one of reading the history of the early settlements along the indian border. the settlers would build forts and put out sentinels; if the indians were seen advancing, word was given and the families would hurry to the fort and the men arm themselves to drive the invaders back. so this organization, with some assistance from the post at springfield, held douglas and a part of ozark and wright counties during the remainder of the civil war, and after the war was over, douglas county gained the title of "old loyal douglas county." these old soldiers and comrades are fast falling and very soon there will be none left to tell of the heroisms and sacrifices they made for the country they loved. will these comrades and their sons and daughters be so ungrateful that they will let their heroism and sacrifices die with them and be forgotten, never to be written in history? the answer will be no, a thousand times no. the history of their heroism and sacrifices shall be written and go down to their children and their children's children, and may "old glory" ever wave over the country that they love so well and for which they made so many sacrifices. bushwhacking in howell county. the writer wants to say that there was not a union man nor a single union family left at home, from batesville, ark. to rolla, mo., a distance of two-hundred miles. the writer especially wants to speak for howell county, mo. the rebels took quite a number of union men from their homes and shot them, some of them being old men. i will name a few of them that were shot: morton r. langston, the father of t. j. and s. j. langston, while he was hauling wood; jeff langston, one of the firm of langston bros, was riding on the wood at the time his father was shot. i asked a leading rebel after the war, why they shot langston. his reply was: "he talked too much." shot mawhinney, bacon and a number of others. now i want to say right here, notwithstanding the treatment the union men received from the rebels, not a single confederate was ever taken from his home and shot or otherwise injured during the whole civil war and no truthful confederate will say to the contrary. there never was but one confederate hurt after being taken prisoner in howell county and he wasn't a citizen of howell county; was said to be a north missouri bushwhacker, charged with being one of the parties that shot old mr. langston, mawhinney and bacon. a federal scout in the year captured him below west plains and the next morning they hung him to a smokehouse rafter. notwithstanding a few of the friends of the bushwackers will tell to strangers that the writer shot a man in this county, by the name of hawkins, in the lap of his family, which is a positive lie; the facts are these; hawkins was one of the worst bushwhackers and murderers that ever lived in howell county and was commanding a company of bushwackers at the time he was shot. a short time before he was shot he had captured one of his cousins, by the name of washington hawkins, a federal soldier, and taken from him a fine mare with his saddle and rig complete. in the spring of , a battalion of the th missouri cavalry, commanded by col. woods, had been ordered to report to col. livingston at batesville, ark. the writer had been ordered to report at rolla, mo., with his command. col. woods had camped near west plains the previous night, the next morning resumed his march towards batesville; after he had passed west plains a few miles, hawkins and his bushwhackers fired on them from the brush and they continued to fire on them every few miles for sixteen miles. our force met the force of col. woods at the state line where col. woods informed me how they had been firing upon his men all morning. he had taken a man prisoner by the name of william krause, whom he turned over to me. both forces resumed the march, he in the direction of batesville, ark., and i in the direction of rolla, mo. the prisoner told the writer that he knew the parties who had been firing on col. woods' command; that they had a camp by a pond in a secluded place, and were commanded by hawkins and yates; that it was about four miles almost west. i told krause if he would place me on trail he could then go home. he did so and i then released him. krause said there were about fifty rebels in the command. we trailed them about two miles and came in sight of a house that belonged to old mr. newberry, a union man. he and his family had been run off from home. i saw a horse hitched to the side of the door, and supposed there were more inside of the house; there was a skirt of timber that enabled us to get within about sixty yards of the house. i ordered my men, when we reached a given point, to charge upon the house, dismount and reach the wall of the house and demand the surrender of all persons that might be within. we were about fifteen feet from the door when hawkins came out and attempted to mount his horse. the author demanded his surrender, but he drew his pistol to fire, the author having his pistol already in hand and presented, fired on him; the author was sitting in his saddle when he fired on him. the men examined the house and found he was the only man in it. the horse he was riding was the one he had taken from his cousin, washington hawkins, a short time previous, with a government rig complete. washington hawkins resided at bakersfield, mo., and got his horse and rig again. we took the trail again, but dark came on us and we lost it. these are the facts surrounding the whole case, the killing of hawkins, one of the worst bandits and guerrillas that ever roamed through south missouri and led the worst band of men in the state. i had previously taken him prisoner and he took the oath of allegiance, went right back and joined his command and, if possible, he was worse than before. i must say that there are few men in howell county that claim to be confederates, who tell strangers that monks shot hawkins down in the lap of his family and that he, hawkins, was a good man. the writer wants to say that no truthful confederate will tell any such a thing; they will tell you that hawkins was a bad man. ask such confederates as capt. howard, mark cooper, judge dryer, john ledsinger, harvey kelow, daniel galloway, p. n. gulley and a number of others, if hawkins was a good man. the writer wants to say that he don't believe all the confederates were in favor of killing and driving out the families of union men, but the most bitter element got in power and being backed by the order of gen. mcbride, to force all the union men to join the confederate service, or hang them, those confederates who were opposed to such treatment were afraid to open their mouths for fear they would receive the same treatment. you don't hear these same men, that talked about monks shooting hawkins, say a word about hawkins and his bushwhackers shooting union men all over howell county. there never were but two houses burned in howell county by the union men during the civil war, and houses owned by these men had been previously burned by the confederates. the town of west plains was burned by the confederates to keep the federals from holding a post at west plains. the writer wants to say that on his return after the war, in the spring of , he met the rebels, both those that had been officers and soldiers, and never spoke a harsh word to them, asked them if they thought both parties could now live together; their answer was, that they thought they could. all that they asked was that they be protected. the writer assured them that both federal and confederates would be protected by the civil laws and all they would be asked to do would be to aid in a strict enforcement of civil laws, which they readily promised to do. the union men who had returned to their homes and the late confederates joined together and went to building and repairing old church houses and school-houses and soon were found worshiping together in the same church and sending their children to the same school-houses and the old ties that had existed before the war were being re-united. the country appeared to be prosperous and the old war spirit appeared to be fast dying out among the people. i suppose the writer holds more commissions than any other man in the state, both military and civil and there never was a charge preferred against the writer of any failure to discharge his duties by the government or state. while in the military service thousands of dollars passed through the hands of the writer for forage and commissaries and ordinance stores and clothing, every dollar was accounted for and all contraband property was turned over to the government. i never converted, to my own private use, five cents of any man's property or money, before or after the war, in the war, nor since the war. the writer is now residing within about twenty-five miles of where his father located in the year and there are several persons yet living that have been intimately acquainted with the writer since his boyhood up to the present time, namely james kellett, sr., marion kellett, present county treasury of howell county, washington hawkins of bakersfield, mo., and quite a number of others that have been acquainted with the writer from forty to fifty years. the writer wants to say right here that he is not ashamed of anything he did before the war, in the war, nor since the war, and on his return home to howell county on meeting the late rebels; he never spoke a harsh word to one of them, but received them kindly and said to them that the civil laws should be strictly enforced against all alike, confederate and federal. in the year , sometime in the month of september, after the federals retreated from springfield, mo. and the confederates had taken possession of springfield, there was one capt. brixey who was captain of a company of home guards residing in the edge of webster county, mo.; soon after the confederates took possession of the post, they ordered a captain belonging to a texas regiment to detail one company and proceed to the residence of capt. brixey and arrest him. capt. brixey having no notice of the approach of the scouts, he and one of his men were sitting in the house; the first they knew they had a line within thirty yards of his door, hailed them and presented their guns and demanded their surrender. capt. brixey said, "the ---- you say." both parties fired on each other about the same time, the man with brixey fell dead, brixey shot and killed the confederate captain and wounded one or two other confederates; he retreated through his house and into his orchard and made his escape; one of his arms was broken by the shot from the rebels from which he entirely recovered and lived many years afterwards, and has a son residing in this county at the present time. colonel freeman's second raid. sometime in the spring of col. freeman, not being satisfied with his first raid on the federal troops at salem, planned the second raid to attack the troops then stationed at salem, missouri; he organized his scout and compelled one robert bolin, who now resides in howell county, to pilot him through the lines, as he, bolin, had lived near salem before the war. on reaching salem, col. freeman halted his troops and planned his attack. the federal troops had no knowledge of the approach of any rebel forces; they were in squads around salem. freeman divided his forces and gave them a countersign and selected a spot near a deep ditch in the road and instructed them, if they were defeated and got scattered to concentrate at that ditch which was beyond the federal lines a distance of some miles; on reaching the ditch they were to remain until they all were collected. after the first ones reached the place, it being dark, if they saw others approaching they would halt them and demand the countersign, and if they couldn't give it they were to fire on them without any further delay, knowing they were enemies. on reaching the public square they encountered a bunch of the federal troops in a building; fired on them, wounded a few, a man by the name of jacob shoffler now residing in howell county was in the house at the time, and they cut his clothes in about twenty different places with bullets and never drew blood; maj. santee was commanding, with one other officer. after they had rallied, all being in disorder, maj. santee ordered a charge on the rebels. armed with an old pistol he met col. freeman of the confederate side. freeman had just shot out; maj. santee ordered his surrender. col. freeman started to run, maj. santee in close pursuit, snapped his old pistol, which failed to fire. he then threw the pistol at col. freeman, struck him somewhere between the shoulders, drew his sabre, and still continued the pursuit. there was a creek near by and a stone fence had been built along the side of it; the creek had been frozen over and a skiff of snow on it at the time. just as freeman reached the stone fence maj. santee made a thrust at him with his sabre, inflicting a slight wound; about that time, for the purpose of escaping, col. freeman sprang over the stone fence and lit into the creek. maj. santee, being on horseback, could not pursue any further. the rebels by this time were scattered in all directions, started to retreat. it being very dark, the first ones fifty or sixty in number reached the ditch, halted to wait for the remainder of them to collect. in a short time about thirty or forty more of them appeared in sight, retreating with considerable speed; they were halted, the countersign demanded. they had become so excited in the fight they had forgotten the countersign and failed to give it. so those who arrived first opened fire and wounded several of them, scattering them to the woods. they failed to concentrate until they had retreated south about miles where they learned of the mistake they had made and that they had fired upon their own men. maj. santee being of the opinion that he had seriously wounded freeman with his sabre, concluded to investigate. on reaching the stone fence where he made his leap they looked over into the creek on the ice and (col. freeman being a large man) it looked like a large ox had been thrown over from the hole that he made in the ice. they saw that he had crossed the creek and reached the other side and saw no signs of blood. in the engagement there were about five or six wounded and killed. in the summer of there was a federal scout organized at springfield, commanded by col. holland. it was ordered to move by way of douglas county, get reinforcements then stationed at the fort, and from there march through the county of ozark. they entered the county of fulton, ark., where they had several small engagements. after considerable fighting and capturing a number of prisoners, they returned to springfield; loss, killed and wounded, very small. in the fall of , col. tracy, with a force of rebels, made a raid from fulton county, marched up through ozark county, and on reaching the union settlement in douglas county, he shot and killed nearly every man he captured, robbed houses, took everything in the house and out of doors, and burned the houses as he went. after raiding and pillaging a number of houses, he came to a house where a union man by the name of mahan and one by the name of mccarty were working in the blacksmith shop, with their arms near them. they were members of the home guard. the rebels demanded the surrender of the two men, and as it was generally believed that if a man surrendered to those irregular forces that it was sure death, they refused to surrender. when the forces of col. tracy commenced firing through the cracks of the shop, the men returned the fire. mahan killed one rebel, and they wounded two or three others. the rebels shot mccarty down, shooting him eight or ten times after he fell, knocked the door down and rushed upon mahan, disarmed him, took him prisoner and then continued their retreat. after reaching fulton county, near the bayou, they took mahan into the woods, stripped him naked and shot him, leaving his body lying on the ground unburied. strange to say, in regard to mccarty, after he had been shot eight or ten times and left for dead, he recovered from the wounds and became hearty and stout. some time in the early part of the spring of , a man by the name of mahan deserted from the th missouri cavalry, stationed at batesville, and on reaching howell county, about two miles from where valley star school house is now located, a bunch of bushwhackers commanded by b. f. hawkins and thomas yates captured him, took him into the woods a short distance, stripped him naked and shot him, leaving his body lying on the ground, unburied. after he had lain there nearly a week, a man now residing in howell county took a hoe and shovel and raked up some rocks and pitched them upon the decomposed body and threw a few shovels of dirt on him. as it was but a short distance from the road, the stench from the decomposing body was offensive to persons who traveled by. col. monks enforces the civil law. in the month of july, , the author was ordered to declare the civil law in force in the counties of texas, dent, shannon, oregon, howell, ozark and douglas and report to his regiment again at springfield for the purpose of being discharged. the long-looked-for and final result of the war had come with victory couched upon every man who had borne his flag to the breeze of his country, and to those who had lain themselves on the altar of their country and died that it might live. there was general rejoicing among the loyal people, that there was not a foot of territory on american soil but where the stars and stripes once more floated unmolested, either by foreign or domestic enemies, and while the confederates had fought manfully for what they conceived to be right, and had laid many of their sons on the altar and sacrificed them to a cause that they believed to be right, yet a large majority of them rejoiced when they learned that the cruel war was over. although their cause was forever lost, yet the country that they had loved so well and the flag still floated and invited them back as erring sons. the th regiment, with a large number of other regiments, was discharged at springfield. then a scene ensued that americans had never witnessed before; the blue and the grey began to meet and greet each other as friends and seemed to forget that just a few months previous they had been meeting each other armed, for the purpose of slaying one another. a general amnesty proclamation had been granted by gen. grant to all the rebels who had surrendered. their officers and commanders should discharge them and they should be allowed to retain their side arms for their own protection and return home for the purpose of again building up and establishing their homes; again meet their wives, their children, fathers and mothers, neighbors and friends, and once more be united in all the ties of love; to again reinstate churches, and instead of studying and practicing the art of war, they should beat their swords into pruning hooks and aid in establishing and building up society and good government. but, lo! one of the most sad and heartrending scenes confronted many confederates and federals on returning to the places where they had once had happy homes and sweet families, they were not found. during the terrible war, many of the loved ones that they had left behind had been called from time to eternity. the home had disappeared and nothing was left but the soil; all of the improvements being entirely destroyed. but they, with the courage of heroes, gathered the fragments of their families, went to work improving and building houses, refencing their farms, reerecting church houses and school houses, and in a short time the men who had lately been enemies and borne arms against each other, were again neighbors and friends, associating together, sending their children to the same school, becoming members of the same church; all experienced the difference between a civil war and peace and fraternity. many of them expressed themselves that they had read of civil wars, but never realized the effect of civil war until after they had passed through the present one: but they could not understand why they called it "civil" war, for if there was anything civil about the war they never experienced that part of it. the author's family had been residing at rolla during most of the time of the war. he commenced making preparations to return to his home in howell county in the fall of . he began to organize an immigration party of men who wanted to locate in howell county and a number of men who had left their homes in that county. just a short time before the parties were ready to leave rolla for howell county, he was met by several men who asked: "why, monks, ain't you afraid to go back to howell county? you have fought the rebels so bitterly and contested every inch of ground during the whole war, and some of them hate you so badly, that i would be afraid that they would kill me." the author replied that he felt like gen. putnam, when the british attempted to bribe him and said that the colonies never could succeed in gaining their independence, and that he had better return and renew his allegiance to the crown. the general's reply was, "d--n a man that is not for his country." now, my reply to you is, that i have forfeited almost all of my means and shattered the happiness of my family in contending and fighting for the preservation of the government; besides, myself and family have been exiled and banished from our home, and if the rebels had succeeded, all would have been gone. but now the government has been victorious in crushing the rebellion, liberty and protection have been once more guaranteed to every citizen, high or low, rich or poor, and, in the language of gen. putnam, i say, "d--n a man that is afraid to go back and enjoy the fruits of his victory." within a few days about twenty-five families left rolla for west plains, and on arriving at west plains, went into camp. there was not a single building left in west plains, as the confederates had burned the whole town in time of the war, with the exception of one store building, which was burned by the federal troops. the confederates' object in burning the town was to prevent the federals from establishing a post. the author procured some clapboards, built an addition to an old stable about two hundred yards south of where james' livery stable is now located. soon after we had reached west plains and gone into camp, capt. howard, capt. nicks and a number of other rebels who were residing in the county, came in, met the author and said to him: "captain. i am proud to meet you." the author replied, "i am proud to meet you. what do think now in regard to the two parties living together?" they said that they were satisfied that both parties could live together, that all they wanted was protection. the author remarked that the rebels had been in control of the country for several years, but the loyal men were going to take charge of it and run it now, and as the loyal men had been contending for the enforcement of the law and claimed that every american citizen was entitled to the protection of the law, the author could promise them that, if they would fall into line and help enforce the law, they should receive equal protection with any other class of citizens; to which they replied that they were willing to do so, but there were roving bands of rebels and guerrillas which had not been subject to the control of the confederate authorities, and still refused to lay down their arms, and might yet cause some trouble. the author was appointed sheriff of howell county, w. z. buck circuit and county clerk and peter lemons, judge alsup and ---- were appointed county judges. there had been an old school house about a quarter of a mile east of west plains that was still standing. they met at that school house, organized and set the civil government of the county in working order. soon after, governor fletcher ordered an election and the author was elected to the state legislature, tendered his resignation as sheriff, which was accepted and w. d. mustion was appointed to the vacancy. in a few weeks the author went to jefferson city, tendered his credentials and was sworn in and became a member of the legislature. everything, so far as howell county was concerned, appeared to move off quietly, while the counties of oregon and shannon, with a few of the border counties, were entirely controlled by irregular bands of late rebels, who openly declared that the civil law should not be enforced in those counties; that the confederacy was whipped, but they were not and they intended to live off the government; they were armed to the teeth. during the winter of and the year , howell county settled up faster than ever it had at any period before the war; the men who had homes in it and had been forced away on account of the war, mostly returned and commenced to improve their farms. their houses, outhouses and improvements, generally, having been destroyed, the soil was the only thing left. the town also built up rapidly and in the year the inhabitants had increased to six or eight hundred. in the fall of at the general election the author was re-elected to the legislature and capt. alley, who had been a confederate all through the war, was elected to the legislature from oregon county. the author again qualified and was present in the legislature during the whole time, when the great question was brought up before the legislature, as to what disposition the state would make of the first liens held by the state on the different railroads for aid that had been given to the railroad corporations in the way of state bonds in . in the state issued her bonds, delivered them to the companies and they went east and put them upon the market in new york and boston to procure money to construct roads, and the bonds with all the accruing interest, were due the state. then for the first time the author learned that many of the men who had been selected to represent the people's interest in the state legislature, failed to discharge the duties that their constituents had imposed upon them, betrayed their trust, and, through money, were entirely controlled in the interest of the railroad corporations. the author believing that it was one among the greatest duties that were imposed upon men of a representative government, to strictly contend and do all in his power to enact legislation in the interest of the people, therefore took a strong stand in favor of closing out all of the state liens against the different roads, held by the state. during the session of the winter of what was then known as the south missouri pacific, which terminated at rolla, missouri, was ordered to be closed out and the road declared forfeited. a resolution passed through both houses of the legislature ordering the governor to seize it, and that said road be run by the state. in the meantime the governor was to advertise and sell it. the governor by authority of law advertised it and sold it for $ , . sometime in april the legislature adjourned, to meet in an adjourned session in december, . the author returned home. the immigration into the country rapidly increasing, prosperity appeared to be on every side; people had plenty of money, good crops, wheat was worth $ to $ . per bushel, stock of all kinds brought first-class prices, peace so far as howell county was concerned, prosperity and the bettering of the condition of society were moving hand in hand, and the author felt thankful that the war was over. outlaw rule in oregon and shannon. in the fall of , the counties of oregon and shannon, were still controlled by those roving bands of outlaws who ruled the counties with an iron hand. a despotism, unequalled at any stage of the war, existed there. there was a public gathering in the fall of in thomasville. col. jamison, one of the leaders of these outlawed bands rode into town at the head of about fifty men, well armed, shot two men's brains out, paraded the streets and swore that any man that attempted to enforce the civil law against them, would fare the same; rode out unmolested and there was not a single attempt made by the civil authorities to arrest one of them. in a few days jamison with some of his men rode into town and a man by the name of philip arbogast, the father-in-law of mr. hill, one of the firm of hill-whitmire mercantile co., now doing business in west plains, who had been a confederate all through the war, remarked in the hearing of jamison, that the war was over, and he believed that the civil law ought to be enforced. jamison at once dismounted, cocked his pistol, approached arbogast and commenced punching him with the muzzle of it until he inflicted some wounds remarking to him that if he ever heard of him uttering a word again in favor of the civil law being enforced that he would hunt him up and shoot his brains out. some time previous to that occurrence, two men who had been discharged from the federal army and had once resided in oregon county, came into the county to look at their old homes. col. jamison, with about forty men, arrested them, took them to the house of the sheriff, informed the sheriff that no "feds" could ever reside in oregon county, and no damn black republicans could ever cast a vote at any election that was held in the county; that they were going to make an example of the men, that others might take warning; that they were going to take them out far enough away that their stench would not annoy good confederates. accordingly, they started from the house, took them about one-half mile, stripped them naked, shot them to pieces, returned to the sheriff's house with the clothing, which was the uniform they had worn in the service, horse and mule and saddles which they had been riding; gave the mule to the sheriff, took the horse with them, published what they had done, and said that those men shouldn't be buried and that if any confederate buried them, they would share the same fate. capt. alley, who had been a confederate all through the war, but was an honest man and wanted to see the law enforced, informed governor fletcher of the condition of the county. governor fletcher at once appointed him an enrolling officer, ordering him to enroll and organize the county into militia companies, to form a posse-comitatus to aid the sheriff in enforcing the law. as soon as he received his commission, he rode into the different townships, put up his notices requesting the people to meet him for the purpose of enrolling. jamison, with about forty men, rode into the township where his first meeting was to be, posted another written notice on the same tree, the purport of which was that if capt. alley, the old, white-headed scoundrel, appeared on the day to carry out the orders of the governor, he would meet him and shoot his old head off his shoulders. alley, being satisfied that he would carry out his threat, went to the place before daylight and concealed himself nearby. about o'clock on the day appointed, jamison and about forty followers came charging in on their horses, revolvers in hand, cursing and declaring that they would like to see the old white-headed scoundrel put in an appearance so they could make an example of him; that they didn't intend to let any man enforce the law against them. as soon as they retired alley returned home and wrote to the governor again, stating the acts, conduct and threats that jamison had openly made, and that troops would have to be sent into the counties to aid him and others in organizing, so the civil law could be enforced. he asked the governor to appoint capt. monks to command the troops which he might send. the author received a letter from the governor informing him of the condition; also stated in the letter that while howell county was peaceable and law abiding, that her citizens were not safe, by any means, while such a desperate band of outlaws were right at their very door, bidding defiance to the civil law, committing all manner of crimes from murder down and begging the author to consent to his being appointed major of state troops; that he would make an order for the author to organize the men in the county of howell and include howell county in his order, declaring them to be under martial law especially when it had been requested by capt. alley, who had been a life-long confederate. the author took the matter under advisement, and as jamison, with his band of men, had threatened time and again to raid howell county and kill the author with other union men, he decided to give his consent to the governor, wrote him while he reluctantly would consent to accept the appointment he had thought that he had discharged his duty in the late war and would not be required to take part in any further military operation. colonel monks commissioned by the governor. the governor at once appointed and commissioned the author major of state troops and ordered him to at once proceed and organize a company of militia, and at the same time sent one hundred springfield rifles and one hundred rounds of amunition for each gun. and soon as it was organized, he was to proceed to oregon county, for the purpose of aiding and supporting captain alley who had been appointed enrolling officer of oregon county, to enroll and form companies for the purpose of aiding the sheriff in enforcing the civil law. he was to pursue, arrest and drive out those roving bands of murderers from the counties of oregon, shannon and dent. the author at once organized a company in howell county, composed of men who had been in the confederate and federal service. on jamison and others in oregon county learning that the author had been appointed major and that he was organizing, and the state was arming the men with orders to enter the counties of oregon, shannon and dent to drive out the murdering bands and aid captain alley in organizing a posse comitatus to aid the sheriff in enforcing the civil law, they publicly declared that "old monks might get into oregon county but that he would never get out alive." at that time there was a secret order in the counties of oregon and shannon known as the sons of liberty. the author was informed that on a certain night they would hold a meeting on warm fork of spring river. the author made a forced march and, on reaching the place where they had assembled, surrounded the house and took all the inmates prisoners, among them being the sheriff of the county and a few other prominent men. the next morning capt. alley met the author, put up his notices ordering every man to come in and enroll his name. the author remained over the next day near the place, got in possession of their papers, with a secret oath placed upon them, and the aims and objects, binding themselves together to prevent the enforcement of the civil law, and further binding themselves to capture or take property from any man who had been in the federal army, and, when it became necessary to enforce it, to shoot men down. they claimed to have lawyers connected with it, so that if they should be arrested they were to make a pretense of a trial and allow no man to go onto the jury except those who belonged to the order. capt. greer, who had been a captain in the confederate service all through the war, and afterwards was elected to the state legislature, remarked that, "i can soon tell whether those grips, obligations and oaths were in the organization known as the sons of liberty;" said that "old uncle dickey" boles, a short time previous, came to him and informed him that the sons of liberty were going to hold a meeting in a big sink on the mountain and they wanted him to come and join it; that he was looked upon as a business man and he didn't know anything about what was going on right at his door; that if he would come and join it, in a few years he would be a rich man. capt. greer said he replied to him, "uncle dickey, i have always been an honest man and have worked hard, and if a man can get rich in two or three years by joining that order, there must be something dishonest in it." old uncle dickey replied: "you won't be in a bit of danger in joining it, for we are so organized that the civil law can't reach us." capt. greer said he had a son-in-law who was requested, at the same time he was, to attend the meeting, and that after the meeting he saw him and asked him what kind of an organization it was. he said his brother-in-law told him, "i dare not tell you; i took the bitterest oath that i have ever taken in my life not to reveal the workings of the order on penalty of death. but i will tell you enough; captain, i know that you are an honest man and that that organization is a damn jay-hawking institution, and you want nothing to do with it." captain greer at once sent for his brother-in law; he came, and the signs, grips and by-laws that were captured at the place of the meeting were submitted to him and he said he believed they were word for word the same, and contained the very same oath that they swore him to on the night that he went to their meeting. the author was informed that jamison was then lying in wait on the road that led from warm fork to frederick fork township, the next place where alley had notified them to meet, waiting for the author to pass with his men, so that he might fire on them from the brush. then the hardest task confronted the author that he ever had had to meet, to study out a plan to prevent jamison firing on his men from the brush as he marched by. he held four men as prisoners, whom he knew were jamison's right-hand bowers; he had just been informed that jamison had a spy then on the ground to learn the time the author would break camp and move in the direction of fredericks fork. he ordered a wagon brought up with three spring seats, took the four prisoners and set them in the two front seats, tied a small rope around their bodies and around each seat, with two guards in the back seat; then arrested jamison's spy, informed him what his business was, which he admitted and said that jamison was lying in wait to learn what time i would move out, and that he intended to fire on me as soon as i came within reach. i took him to the wagon and asked him if he was acquainted with the prisoners. he said that he was. "well," said i, "i am going to release you and i want you to go and tell jamison that, just as certain as he fires from the brush and kills one of my men, i will retaliate by killing these four men, whom i know are his right-hand bowers." the author also wrote a letter containing the same statement, and sent another man, who was a confederate, with jamison's spy, to see that the message was delivered. on reaching jamison, they delivered the message and informed him of what i had said, and told him that there was no possible chance for these men to escape, for there was a rope tied around each man's body and fastened to the spring seat, and they were also under a strong guard. the man who went to carry the dispatch said that after jamison read it, he appeared to be in trouble and remarked: "well, we will have to desist and not fire, for just as certain as we fire on him and kill some of his men, he is sure to kill our men." one of the prisoners, after he was placed in the wagon and heard the message sent to jamison, remarked to the other prisoners: "we are dead men, for jamison is sure to fire on them." we soon broke camp, and on reaching the place where jamison had been waiting, saw the camp fire and where their horses had been tied and fed, but there was not a man to be seen, neither was there a gun fired. [illustration: col. and mrs. monks at close of war.] on reaching fredericks fork township, capt. alley made a speech to the people and said, among other things, that the counties of oregon and shannon had been controlled by one of the most desperate class of men that ever lived. that they had ridden through the country on horseback, heavily armed, defying the enforcement of the civil law, intimidating the people, both federal and confederate alike, and committing all manner of crimes, robbing and murdering the people and boasting openly that the damn confederacy was whipped, but that they were not and intended to live off the damn "feds." now the war is over and all good citizens, be they federal or confederate, should be in favor of the enforcement of the civil law. "i am ordered by the governor of the state to enroll all able-bodied men in the county to form a posse to aid the sheriff in enforcing the law in oregon county; i am to organize companies to enforce the civil law. these bushwhackers and thieves have terrorized this county long enough. the governor has sent capt. monks, a man who is not afraid of bushwhackers and thieves, into this county to arrest these bushwhackers, thieves and murderers and bring them to justice. if the people of this county want the civil law enforced, they should aid capt. monks and his men to hunt these fellows down and either arrest them or drive them from the county. our people have been present and saw these men commit all manner of crimes, from murder down to the smallest crime known to the criminal code. they have done this openly and the people were afraid to open their mouths or say a word against it, on penalty of death. i wrote the governor, stating the condition of affairs in this county, that neither person nor property were safe, and to send capt. monks to this county. and he has sent him and we have got the right man in the right place." one of the prominent men of oregon county went to jefferson city to see the governor to procure the removal of the writer and have col. a. j. sea appointed in his place. he said to the governor that capt. monks was arresting some of the best men in oregon county and had them prisoners. the governor showed him some of capt. alley's letters that he had written to the governor. the letters stated among other things that persons and property were at the mercy of these desperadoes and the county was being terrorized by james jamison and his men; that they were robbing whom they pleased openly; that a day or two before he, alley, wrote the letter, that jamison shot a man's brains out in thomasville, and dared any man to say he was in favor of the enforcement of the civil law, that he would serve him the same way. the governor asked him if those things were true, and he replied that they were; the governor said to him: "you are a leading man in that county and a citizen of thomasville and never a word have you written to me that such terror and lawlessness existed in your county." he replied "governor, i was afraid to." the governor replied to him, "when i send a man down there that is not afraid to handle those men without gloves, then here you come with a howl. now i expected when i sent capt. monks down there, if he did his duty, that there would be a howl raised; i am satisfied that he is doing his duty. i am responsible for his acts and you men want to get rid of him; go home and tell your people to organize companies under captain alley and aid captain monks and his men in arresting and driving those bushwhackers and bandits out of your country and whenever captain monks reports to me that the person and property of your citizens are secure and that the civil law is being enforced, he will be removed, and not before." they then employed colonel a. j. sea as an attorney. some time during the night, while we were encamped on fredericks fork, some of the soldiers took the sheriff out and put a rope around his neck to make him tell where the bones of two soldiers were, who were murdered by jamison and his men. he admitted that he knew where the bones of the two federal soldiers were; that after they shot them jamison gave him the mule and saddle that one man was riding; that he was afraid not to take them and promised as soon as the command reached thomasville to go and show the bones. on the next morning after our arrival at thomasville i procured a big box and placed it in a wagon and brought the sheriff from the guard house and set him on a box under a strong guard. about that time colonel a. j. sea came up and asked what we were going to do with that man. i told him "that is my business; when you was in the military service did you inform the civilians of your object and aims? you are a civilian now and i will give you five minutes to get outside of the lines or you will go into the guard house." he took me at my word and left at once. [illustration: collecting bones of two federal soldiers shot by col. jamison and men in oregon county.] the sheriff piloted the scout to the bones of the men that had been murdered, and the sheriff, aided by the scout, picked up the bones and placed them in the box. on examination it was found that three bullets had passed through one of the skulls, and the other skull appeared to have been shot all to pieces. i brought the bones in and caused them to be buried in a cemetery, about one mile west of thomasville. captain alley had completed the organization of two companies, one commanded by captain lasley and the other by captain bledsaw. the companies were mostly composed of men who had been late confederates, as there were very few union men in the county. they immediately fell in with my soldiers and a vigorous search was at once made for jamison and his men. being aided by men who were thoroughly acquainted with the county and knew just where to look for jamison and his cut-throats, they agreed to keep on jamison's track and arrest him and his men if possible, in oregon county. i moved my troops up into shannon county to prevent jamison and his men from crossing over into shannon and scouted that county to keep them from hiding there. the oregon county companies shot and killed some of them and arrested others. jameson and the others left the county and never have returned to it since. but they left some of their sympathizers in the county, and the only weapons left them were their tongues; having no conscience or principle, and instigated by the wicked one, they began lying and preferring all manner of charges against the writer and his men who went into the county and, by the aid of the law-abiding citizens, drove out and arrested one of the worst set of men that ever lived, the savage not excepted, and restored the civil law, so that every citizen was secure in person and property. the writer informed the governor that a large majority of the citizens, both confederate and federal, had nobly responded to his call, had organized two companies of militia to aid the sheriff in the enforcement of the civil law; jamison and his bushwhackers had either been arrested, killed or driven from the county, and the strong arm of the military law was not needed any longer. on december , , the writer was ordered by the governor to withdraw his forces from the counties that had been placed under martial law and declare the civil law to be in full force and effect. i accordingly returned to howell county and disbanded my soldiers. during my march and stay in the counties of oregon and shannon, it was admitted by all honorable confederates that i had enforced a strict discipline over my men and protected all classes of citizens in person and property, had paid the people for all forage and commissaries that were required for the soldiers, and had driven out the worst set of bushwhackers, thieves and murderers that ever lived. reminiscences. in the spring of the loyal men had mostly returned to their homes; among them, benjamin alsup, who had been taken prisoner by the rebels in and confined in the penitentiary at little rock, ark. he was released in , when peace was made. there was but one house left in west plains, an old school house about one-quarter of a mile east of the town spring, which was used for a court house. judge van wormer, who resided at rolla, was judge of the circuit court and mr. perry was circuit attorney. a short time after the return of mr. alsup, a public meeting of the loyal men was called, signed by several loyal men. at the date set the writer was present. the meeting was called to order and mr. alsup was elected chairman. he stated the object of the meeting, and among other things said: "the rebels have hung, murdered, imprisoned and driven all the union men from their homes, and _by the living_, they didn't intend that a single rebel should live inside the limits of howell county." he was in favor of giving them ten days' notice to leave the county, and if they were not gone by that time, to shoot them down wherever found. someone introduced a resolution that the rebels be notified to leave with their families inside of ten days or they would force them to leave. the resolution was seconded, i got the floor and spoke as follows: "if that course is pursued, it will ruin the county; peace has been made and gen. grant has ordered the rebels to return home and become good citizens. admitting that everything mr. alsup has said is true and we were to turn around and do the same that they did, we would be just as guilty as they were, and it would be a question of might and not of right; and i want to say here now, if any man injures a late rebel, except in self-defense or in defense of his family or property, i will prosecute him to the bitter end of the law." mr. alsup called another man to the chair and replied to what i had said, saying: "_by the living_, i am surprised at captain monks, a man who has been treated by the rebels as he has, who now gets up here and says he will defend the rebels; _by the living_, i want capt. monks to understand right here, now, that if any loyal man kills a rebel and has to leave the country, and has no horse to ride, i will furnish him a good horse to ride off on; and _by the living_, let him prosecute me; he will have a sweet time of it." the next man that took the floor was a mr. hall, who resided about eight miles south of west plains. he said: "i am just like uncle ben; if any loyal man kills a rebel and has to leave the country, i will furnish him a good horse to ride off on, and let captain monks prosecute me if he wants to; i don't think it would be healthy for him to prosecute me for killing a rebel or helping a man who did kill one." the resolution was put to a vote and lost by a good majority. later in the spring, there was a man by the name of finley living seven or eight miles south of west plains; the family was composed of husband and wife, both of them about sixty-five years of age, a daughter of twenty-two years and a son of about eleven. they had been rebels, but were very quiet and peaceable citizens; they were residing on government land, had good improvements and a good orchard. there was a man by the name of frederick baker who had homesteaded the land mr. finley was living on. baker notified finley to leave in ten days; if not out in that time, they would be killed. mr. finley wanted pay for his improvements before giving possession. at the expiration of ten days, very early in the morning mrs. finley went into the lot to milk the cows; baker slipped up to the lot and with a colt's revolver shot the old lady dead. the daughter saw her mother fall, ran to her, and he shot her; she fell by the side of her mother. the old man ran to the door, reached up to get his gun out of the rack, when baker placed his pistol against his body and shot him dead. the pistol was so close to finley when discharged that the powder set his clothes on fire. the boy was the only one of the family left; he ran to the nearest neighbor for help and when they got back to the house they found the old man and his wife dead and the daughter shot through the breast, maimed for life. the old man's clothes were still on fire when the neighbors arrived. hall made his words good for he furnished baker with a first-class horse, saddle and bridle, to leave the country on and aided baker in making his escape. as soon as the writer learned of the murder he caused an affidavit to be made and procured a warrant for the arrest of baker and had it put into the hands of the sheriff and did all in his power to cause baker's arrest, but by the aid given him by hall and others he made his escape. the writer reported the murder to the governor and the governor offered a reward of three hundred dollars for baker's body, dead or alive. baker never was arrested. the writer was appointed assistant prosecuting attorney by mr. perry, who was circuit attorney at that time. after i qualified i caused an affidavit to be made against mr. hall charging him with being an accessory to the murder before the fact and caused his arrest. i was at once notified that if i attempted to prosecute hall i would meet the same fate as the finley family. hall was arrested, and the day set for his preliminary trial at the school-house east of town. on the day set for trial there were quite a number of persons present; the writer appeared, armed with a good pistol, laid it by his side during the progress of the trial; it was proven by the state that he, hall, was guilty as charged. the justice held him over to wait the action of the grand jury and ordered him to enter into a recognizance of two thousand dollars for his appearance at the next term of the howell county circuit court, which he readily filled and was released. soon after his release he took the fever and died. baker never was captured. it was one among the dirtiest murders that ever was committed in howell county. gen. mcbride, before the war, resided in texas county, on a farm, and was circuit judge of the th judicial circuit, which included howell county. he enlisted in the confederate army and was placed in command of the confederate troops at west plains. the union men well remember his famous order, given in the spring of , that all union men join the confederate service, and if they didn't join the confederate army he would hang them as high as haman. after his term of service expired, he moved his family to near batesville, ark., where he resided up to near the close of the war. he was taken sick and died in the spring of . some of the friends of the widow in texas county sent after her and her family to bring them back to her farm. reaching west plains on their return, they were out of money and provisions. they asked the people to help them and a donation was taken up for her in west plains; i donated five dollars to help her back to her home in texas county. after the loyal men had returned to their homes and the civil law had been fully restored i brought suits by attachment against the following persons, to-wit: william nicks, n. barnett, for aiding the parties in arresting and taking me from my home and abusing me while a prisoner. i attached their real estate which was well improved and valuable; procured a judgement of $ , . against said real estate, procured an execution and ordered the sale of said real estate. before the time for the sale barnett and william nicks came to me and admitted that barnett was st lieutenant and nicks nd lieutenant of capt. forshee's confederate company, while i was held prisoner by said company and that i was shamefully and cruelly treated while a prisoner, but they were sorry for what they had done and hoped i would forgive them. nicks further said to me, that he had saved my life; that while i was a prisoner, he overheard some of the confederate soldiers agree that on the next night while i was asleep they would slip up and shoot me in the head, and he got his blankets and came and slept with me. i knew that nicks brought his blanket and slept with me one night, but did not know why he did it. nicks and barnett further said, "captain you have us completely at your mercy; we believe you are a good man and we were friends before the war. you have a judgement against our homes and if you sell them you will turn us and our families out of doors and leave us destitute without any homes for our wives and children." i said, "i know it is hard, for my wife and children were driven from their homes because they were loyal to their government; but children shouldn't be held responsible for the acts of their parents and i will say to you now that i won't sell your homes, i will give them to your wives and children; we are commanded in the best book of all books to do good for evil; you men can each one pay me a small sum for expenses and i will satisfy judgement." barnett paid me $ . nicks made a deed to some tax lands and i entered satisfaction on the judgements. they both said to me that they ever would be grateful for what i had done for them. the country began to settle up and the people, irrespective of past associations, formed new ones, especially the sons and daughters of those who wore the blue and the gray, and seemed to forget that they had ever been enemies. as time sped on these attachments ripened into love. i had but two daughters living. nancy e. monks, the oldest, married v. p. renfrow, the son of a confederate; they have two children, a son, charles, and a daughter, mattie m., now grown. mary m. monks, who married h. d. green, whose father, a confederate colonel, died in the service. they have five children living and one dead, one girl and four boys. their children are mattie e., now mattie e. bugg; will h. d., frank, russell and dick. adeline turner, whom i had raised, married jacob schoffler, a union soldier, and has ten children, four boys and six girls. abraham roach, a boy who had made his home with me since infancy, married mattie hunt, a daughter of jesse hunt, a union soldier, has three children living, two girls and one boy, maggie, frank and bernice. i don't believe that there is any person that loves their children better than i do, and i don't see any difference between my grandchildren and my own children. i love my sons-in-law as well as my own children; i love the girl and boy that i raised, and their families feel as near to me as my own. they are flesh of our flesh and bone of our bone, and our highest duty to god and them is to teach them patriotism and loyalty to their government and that their first duty is to god and their second duty to their country. [illustration: frank green and charles renfrow.] god forbid that we ever have any more civil war. war is the enemy of good society, degrades the morals of the people, causes rapine and murder, destroys thousands of lives, brings misery and trouble upon the whole people, creates a government debt that our children will not see paid, makes friends enemies. god forbid that any more sectional strife ever may grow up among the people; may there be no north, no south, no east, no west, but let it be a government of the whole people, for the people and by the people. may the time speedily come when the civilized nations of the earth will know war no more; when the civilized nations meet in an international congress, pass an international law that all differences between nations shall be settled by arbitration. may this nation in truth and in deed become a christian nation and every man speak the truth to his neighbor and adopt the golden rule, "do unto others as you would have them do unto you." i take pleasure in giving the names of some of the loyal men who resided in howell county in , at the commencement of the civil war, who stood for the union in the dark hour when patriotism and loyalty to country were tested: john mcdaniel, sr., john mcdaniel, jr., jonathan youngblood, george youngblood, david nicholass, thomas wallace, martin keel, thomas nicholass, newton bond, william hardcastle, siras newberry, william newberry, david henson, john black, sr., daniel black, peter lamons, john lamons, solomon lamons, thomas lamons, thomas brisco, morton langston, stephen woodward, seth p. woodward, dr. d. d. emmons, alfred mustion, w. d. mustion, john mustion, wesley cordell, hugh cordell, william maroney, henry maroney, collins coffey, john coffey, william coffey, john chapin, silas chapin, benjamin alsup, andrew smith, andrew v. tabor, josiah carrico, josephus carrico, john dent, esau fox, thomas o. brown, jacob shoffler, thomas rice, sr., thomas rice, jr., john w. rice, nathaniel briggs, captain lyle, ---- rhodes, jesse hunt, joseph spears, james west, jesse west, dent west, thomas kelley. i will give the names of a few of the men of douglas county who remained loyal to their country in : joseph wheat, john wheat, ervin king, john coats, locke alsup, william alsup, thomas alsup, jack alsup, shelt alsup, aaron collins, william collins, toodie collins, doc huffman, jariah huffman, madison huffman, william huffman. i will give the names of a few of the men who resided in ozark county, at the commencement of the war, who remained loyal to their country in the dark days when it tried men's souls to be loyal: james kellet, sr., marion kellett, washington hawkins. jesse james, william james, ---- brown, r. r. gilliland, nace turley, washington webster, dick webster, macajar foster, jacob foster, henry saunders, stephen saunders, allan saunders, alexander huffman, james hall, bennett james. i would love to have space to tell of the patriotism, heroism and devotion to their country, besides their good citizenship, of the men of howell, douglas and ozark counties, but suffice it to say that there never was the same number of men, at any time, who made more sacrifices for the preservation of their country than did these men in its darkest hour. these patriots are growing old and will soon be gone and their lips closed in death, and there will not be one left to tell of their sacrifices and the services they rendered to their country in its extreme need. history only will tell of the hardships, privations and service that they rendered to the government. will there be no history left to tell of the heroism and devotion to their country in its darkest hour? the answer will come from ten thousand tongues that their history shall be written and go down to our children's children, that they may learn of the heroism, privation and sacrifice that was made by those brave men and women, that their country might live and not a star be dropped from its banner. while history is being written and monuments being erected to the confederate soldiers for heroism, shall we be so ungrateful to the loyal men and women, after they are dead and gone, and not tell the rising generation of the heroism and sacrifice they have made, that their country might live? the answer will come from every loyal heart: no; a thousand times no; it shall be written and perpetuated for generations not yet born. has known col. monks thirty years. i have known william monks for thirty years or more. i have been in court with him and a more kind and obliging man i never knew or had dealings with. he is very considerate in regard to the feelings of others, always willing to help those who need help. in later life he joined the church and preached; since he began the christian life, i have never heard of any conduct that was not in conformity to his profession of christianity. had he had the school advantages that others have had, he would have been a power in the community where he lived. the writer of this was born in lancaster county, pennsylvania, april first, . his father immigrated west and landed in pittsburg in . then the writer of this migrated southwest and finally landed in tennessee. at springfield he met catherine ebbert, or abbott, as they now call it, and married her march , . she was born in reeseville, kentucky, and is still living, aged years last january. j. b. winger, west plains, mo. [illustration: mr. and mrs. j. b. winger.] dr. dixon's long acquaintance. i will state that i came to howell county in the year and settled on hutton valley near where the town of willow springs now is. the present townsite was then a small field without a fence and one small log cabin. i followed the practice of medicine up to the present date. i was years old the th of august, , and the picture i send you was taken when i was years old. i was born in mcminn county, east tennessee, and remained there until i was eleven years old when i left there and have gone through many changes and experiences since then. i served in the mexican war. i married near louisville, ky., in . my wife is still living and is nearly eighty-five years of age and in pretty fair health. i will state that i have known col. wm. monks and wife for over forty years and know them to be good and true people. i will further state that there were said to be but seventy-eight families in the entire county of howell, and four families in the town of west plains in may, and col. wm. monks was one of the four. now i believe there is a population in west plains of over , and there is room for many more. this is an educational town, fine colleges and high schools besides quite a number of ward schools houses, almost entirely built of brick. schools last about nine months in the year. respectfully yours, dr. j. c. b. dixon, west plains, mo. [illustration: dr. j. c. b. dixon.] union woman leaves arkansas for missouri. mrs. giddens, a widow, before the war resided in conway county, arkansas. she had two sons, brad and john, who were about grown at the commencement of the war. this was a union family and these two boys, with others, kept themselves hid until the confederates issued a general order to hunt down all union men and either force them to join the confederate army or hang them. the boys at once saw that they would be arrested and forced into the confederate service. they held a consultation with their mother and decided to try to reach the federal lines near rolla. their mother took a couple of wagons with a large yoke of oxen to each wagon, and loaded them with her household goods, wearing apparel and provisions to last them through. in the spring of they started for rolla. the boys traveled at night until they reached missouri, and on reaching taney county they met some federal troops and made their way to rolla, where they enlisted and joined the th u. s. cavalry volunteers, and were attached to company k, commanded by capt. monks, and served until peace was made and they were honorably discharged at springfield. both of them are still living and are active ministers of the church of christ. [illustration: s. b. giddens and wife, mary dewett and stillen stellman.] their mother aimed to reach rolla by way of west plains, and on reaching howell county, near what is known as the newt bond farm, the bushwhackers stopped her wagons and robbed her, and ordered her to exchange her large cattle for smaller ones and her large wagon for a small, light wagon, so that the small cattle could pull it. finally, after being stopped several times by the confederate authorities, she reached rolla and found that her sons had enlisted in the federal army. she saw the stars and stripes unfurled and it appeared like a complete change of country. here she located and remained until her sons were discharged from the united states service. samuel b. giddens. summerville, mo. * * * * * all union families were forced to leave texas county. the illustration contains the pictures of s. b. giddens and wife, who were driven out; also mrs. mary dewett, now over seventy years of age, who was forced to leave all she had and flee for her life; mrs. stillen stellman, whose father went to rolla and got the federal soldiers to guard him while he removed his family. union men killed in izard county, ark. moody, mo., september , . prior to and when the war of the rebellion broke out the writer of this article was a citizen of izard county, arkansas; the few loyal people that lived in north arkansas, had a hope that war would be averted and when ft. sumter was fired upon they realized the awful condition and consequences of war at their very doors; those who favored a dissolution of the states had given notice in no uncertain way. and when the news was flashed over the country that there had been a clash of arms, the persecution of the loyal people began in the south and central states by those that favored secession. they organized themselves into companies and went from house to house notifying all those that seemed not to take sides either way, that the time had come when the sheep and goats had to be separated. the union element was arrested and many were sent to the penitentiary at little rock, arkansas, from the counties of izard, fulton and independence. those people were robbed and plundered as long as there was anything worth taking and some of them, after they had got all the union people had, commenced arresting and hanging the union men. they arrested a young man and placed a halter around his neck to hang him; he broke loose from them and he was run one mile before he was caught; then he was taken to a stooping ash tree and hung. the writer was creditably informed that a man who was a prominent member of the baptist church, scratched the dirt from under his toes in order that he might hang clear of the ground. i have seen the tree he was hanged on many times. another brutal murder was perpetrated upon the person of rube hudson, a union man who had been run from home and returned home in the winter of ; from an exposure, he took sick with pneumonia; his wife had secreted him under the floor near the chimney and fire place; the news got out that he was at home, the rebels raided his house; every thing in the way of beds and what little they had left was turned upside down and they gave up the hunt and started away; a spell of coughing came on him, for he was very ill and he was heard coughing by them and they came back and tore up the floor and found him; they dragged him out and took him about one hundred yards from the house; there he was beaten and hung to make him tell of others who might have come with him; finally he was hung and shot to death, where the family could hear him pleading for his life; he made a special appeal to one of his near neighbors calling his name and asking him to intercede for him and save him. the only consolation he got was "you are a goner, rube; you are a goner, rube," he was left hanging for the family to cut down and bury. he met his death for no other cause than that of being a staunch union man. another bloodcurdling murder was perpetrated upon the person of minor white, for no other cause than that of being loyal to his country. he was honest and upright in his dealings with his fellowmen, but he was arrested, taken to the county seat of izard county, tried and was released. before he started home a friend told him not to go the road for they would follow him and kill him, he said: "i have always been free to speak my sentiments; i have done nothing that i have to slip back home through the woods. i am going to take the public highway, if i am killed." he was overtaken about a mile out by the mob that took him there; he was shot and otherwise mutilated and left hanging to a tree. i could mention many things that were done to the union men and women in northern arkansas that make me shudder to think of, and if i were to undertake to relate all that came under my own observation, and many incidents that took place in the counties mentioned that were related to me by others who are entitled to credit for honor and truth. there was not a union family left at home in the counties above referred to. i am opposed to war on general principles: first, it never settles the issue; second, it is always a poor man's fight and a rich man's fuss; third, if the poor soldier is fortunate enough to get back alive, the debt is his to pay. j. m. dixon. [illustration: administering kuklux oath.] the kuklux the lawless bands that had been roving through the counties of howell, oregon, shannon and dent had been captured, killed or driven out of these counties by the officers of the law, aided by the militia forces of the state. all classes of persons and men of every political faith were secure in their person and property. the civil law was enforced to the letter and the people generally looked to the bright future of missouri. in the fall of , in the month of september during a political campaign that was being made in howell county, while a political speaking was going on at black's store in benton township in the southwest part of the county, a courier came with a dispatch stating that captain simpson mason, registering officer of fulton county, arkansas, had been shot and killed from ambush, near the state line adjoining howell county, by men who styled themselves kuklux, and had ordered all union men, and especially the officers of the law, to keep inside of their doors and to tender their resignations as such officers or they would fare the same as mason had. it was stated that the law-abiding citizens were without arms and that the kuklux were raiding the whole country; the whole country was being terrorized by said men and in god's name asked us to come and bring men and arms to aid the civil officers to enforce the law. the writer advised the people to be cool; that if there was an organization in the state of arkansas to overturn the state government and the loyal people of said state were helpless, since the rebels at the commencement of the civil war had had no regard for state lines i thought that we would have the same right to go down and help our loyal brethern to enforce the civil law. a committee of twelve men was selected to say what action we would take; among the committee were benjamin alsup, rev. adam wright, rev. john collins, david nicholass. old men were placed on the committee. the committee retired to deliberate upon the matter, and in a short time returned and made the following report: "that we, the loyal people of howell county, go at once with all available men and arms." the writer had in his possession at that time one hundred springfield rifles, with one thousand rounds of cartridges for each gun. during the night and the next day about seventy-five men were organized into a temporary company and were placed under the command of uncle benjamin alsup. on the night following we made a forced march reaching the widow pickrum's farm, situated on bennet's river, in fulton county, arkansas, the next morning. we found captain richardson, with one company of state guards, fortified in a barn. on our arrival we offered our services to captain richardson, which were readily accepted. they were looking for an attack to be made by the kuklux at any moment, as colonel tracy was said to be at jackson port with three hundred and fifty well armed kuklux. while waiting for further orders from governor clayton a vigorous search was commenced for the murderers of captain mason. we soon learned that on the day previous to the murder of mason he was registering the voters on the big north fork, at what was known as the calhoun mill, and on the next day he was to meet the people at the harbor precinct for registration. and on the previous night the kuklux, according to a general move that was to be made throughout the state, met at colonel tracy's, at the widow pickrum farm. among them were colonel tracy, dow bryant, u. r. bush, and about forty others; they selected about twenty men to do the shooting and divided them into three bunches and erected three blinds, as they did not know which road captain mason might travel. they placed about seven well armed men in each blind, who had been sworn by the kuklux and after they had been placed in their blinds one of the men who did the shooting said, "let him come; i am sure to get him for i can hit an old gobbler's neck that distance." the blind was erected where the road made a short curve with very thick brush on the left side of the road. when captain mason and posse had approached within about thirty yards of the blind they fired a volley, five of the shots taking effect in mason's body. captain mason fell from his horse and expired in a few moments. the assassins fled through a thick bottom growth. bryant, bush, and two or three others were arrested, charged with being a part of the men who did the shooting. they were arrested by the state guards, as the civil officers were afraid to issue a single warrant on account of the threats of the kuklux. on an investigation it was proven that tracy, bryant, bush and about forty others were present the night before mason's murder. and that bush was the man who remarked after he had gone into the blind "let him come. i can get him. i can hit an old gobbler's neck that far." in the meantime, the governor had gotten a dispatch through to capt. richardson that the kuklux in large numbers were organizing and threatening to attack the state officers; that he and the state officers were barricaded in the state house and that he was organizing the state guards as fast as possible. capt. richardson was ordered to recruit every available man and protect the civil officers as far as possible; that he had made arrangements to send arms and ammunition up white river on a boat. i suggested to benjamin alsup and others who had come down from missouri that the only way we could make our acts legal would be to join the state guards and be mustered into the state service, to which proposition my old friend alsup objected and remarked: "that's the way with monks; he is afraid he will hurt some rebel, contrary to law. now, by the living, i came down here to hang some of these old rebels and murderers to the first limb we come to, and if we have to join the state guards and wait on the civil and military law to punish them, they never will be punished. i am going back to missouri." about two-thirds of the men who came down enlisted in the state service; alsup and others returned to missouri. as soon as governor clayton learned that the writer had come into the state with men and arms, he sent another dispatch stating that he and all the law-abiding people of the state would ever be grateful to him for furnishing men and arms at a time when they were entirely helpless and at the mercy of a secret and bloodthirsty enemy, bent on overthrowing the state government; that if i would remain in the state with my men and arms he would make me lieutenant-colonel of the seventh regiment of state guards. we were watching the movements of the kuklux, and in about eight or ten days after the murder of capt. mason, late one evening, the deputy sheriff of the county came to headquarters and informed capt. richardson that there were three hundred and fifty kuklux, well armed, in camp at salem, the county seat of fulton county, and intended to attack capt. richardson before day, the next morning; they had ordered him, the deputy sheriff, under penalty of death, to bring bush and turn him over to them. a brief consultation was held by the officers, and being satisfied that they were not able to meet the force of kuklux then marching upon them, it was agreed that the writer should take the men from missouri and recruit men for the service and get all the arms and ammunition that were left at home and return with all possible speed. in the meantime, they would retreat to some secluded place and watch the movements of the kuklux. they turned bush over to the deputy sheriff and he started in the direction of salem, and capt. richardson broke camp and retreated. the deputy sheriff had not traveled more than two miles when a posse of armed men met him and demanded bush, and he, supposing that they were a part of the kuklux command, turned him over. they took him about two hundred yards and shot him to death. the next morning, before daylight, col. tracy charged upon the late camp of capt. richardson, but found it had been vacated. the kuklux began a regular, organized system of raiding the union men's houses, especially the officers of the civil law, posting written notices, ordering their resignations at once, and if they attempted the arrest of any kuklux, death would be the penalty. they posted a picture of a coffin with the notice, at the same time ordering all influential union men to leave the state at once, under the penalty of death. in about two weeks the governor ordered a part of the seventh regiment of state guards to fulton county, to be stationed on bennett's river, and to complete the organization of the regiment with all possible speed; col. dail was placed in command. after my return home, i organized three companies, commanded by capt. f. m. monks, capt. nicolas and capt. rice. about three days after the regiment reached fulton county, the writer rejoined his regiment with three companies, one hundred springfield rifles and one thousand rounds of cartridges for each gun, and soon completed the organization of the regiment; he was commissioned lieutenant-colonel of the regiment. the governor had sent arms and ammunition up white river, but the kuklux captured and sunk the boat with all the arms and ammunition. the governor said that my arrival saved the north part of the state from the control of the kuklux, as he would not have been able to procure arms for months. the regiment began an active campaign at once, by which they came into possession of the intentions, aims, secrets and oaths of the order; found that the order extended up into missouri, along the state line. it was a complete military organization. the intention was to overturn the state government by intimidating the civil officers of the state, and with this purpose in view they procured a human skull and two thigh bones, and while the member was looking on these bones the following oath was administered by the grand cyclops: "we (or i, as the case might be) do solemnly swear before almighty god and these witnesses, and looking upon these human bones, that i will obey and carry into effect every order made by any cyclops or assistant cyclops, and if i fail to strictly conform and execute every order made as above required of me, unless i am prevented from some cause which shall be no fault of mine, or if i shall give any information to any person or persons except members of this order, that the doom of all traitors shall be meted out to me, and that my bones may become as naked and dry as the bones i am looking upon. and i take this oath voluntarily, without any mental reservation or evasion whatever, for the causes set out in said order, so help me god." after the oath had been taken the persons taking said oath were ready for duty. the intentions and aims of this organization were to intimidate the civil officers and, if necessary to the accomplishment of their aims, to kill and murder all officers of the state by assassination or drive them from the state. all civil officers of the state were at once notified to tender their resignations and to cease to discharge their official duties as peace officers, and if they failed to comply with said order, death would be the penalty the governor and all the state officers received the same order; all union men that were influential in the state were ordered to keep themselves in doors or be driven from the state, or be murdered by assassination. the following words, with pictures of coffins, were attached to said notices: "if you fail to comply with this notice, this coffin will be your final resting place." the kuklux organization, having but one object and aim, to turn the state government over to the control of the late rebels or democratic party of the state, was a complete secret military organization with the most desperate means to-wit: murder, by assassination whenever ordered by a cyclops or assistant cyclops. a grand cyclops took the place of a colonel. an assistant cyclops lieutenant-colonel. an order from one of these officers to shoot any man was final, from which there was no appeal; and men were selected to execute said order by the most desperate oath known to man or history. this kind of warfare, being inaugurated throughout the whole state, with a thorough understanding that their organization would revolt against the civil authorities of the state government, and had the day set throughout the whole state. on the same day that captain simson mason was assassinated in fulton county, ku-klux attempted to assassinate governor clayton in little rock. they were seen in considerable numbers near the state capitol, after night, all wearing masks. they notified the governor, that they intended to capture and take possession of the state capitol by a force, if he did not resign his office as governor; the danger became so great that he barricaded the state house, as he had but few state troops. the whole state was invaded by the kuklux at the same time and they commenced raiding the state in bands of from twenty-five to two hundred and fifty men; all wore masks and large rubber pouches concealed by a cover. they visited the union men and colored men's houses and raided the whole country generally, proclaiming that they were dead rebels who had been shot on the different battlefields during the civil war and that they had come back to rid the state of black republicans and carpet-baggers. they would claim that they were very thirsty, that they never had a drink of water since they had been killed at the battles of gettysburg, corinth, vicksburg, and other big battles. they would call on the colored people to bring them a bucketful and one of their number would pour the whole bucketful into his pouch and called for more water, making the colored people believe that they drank the water; then they would give the colored people orders not to be caught off their plantations, and if so caught, the penalty of death would be inflicted; many of the influential colored people were shot down. the author saw a number of fresh graves of the colored people that had been shot by the kuklux; saw holes in windows in houses in towns and villages that had been shot through after night, while men were reading, who had been notified to resign their offices or stop using their influence in favor of the enforcement of the civil law. the author remembers passing some colored people on the side of the road; one old colored woman cried out at the top of her voice "lawd, massa, massa are you men hunting dem dar kuklux? wi, da told us dat bullets wouldn't kill them. i fought we could fight live men but when it come to fightin dead men, don't know what to tink about it. wi dey come to our house, rode up to de fence called for water; said they hadn't any water since the battle of shiloh. wi, one man drank a bucketful, and den call for mo. i thought to my soul that they would never get enuf water." the author replied, "auntie, when these rebels are killed, they never get back here; the bad man keeps them to build fires for him. these kuklux are the men that ran away from the battle of shiloh and have just crawled out of their dens. that's why they are masked." the old woman said, "dat what i thought bout it." while the kuklux were raiding the country they visited an old darkie's house and gave him three day's notice to leave the country; and if he failed to leave they would visit him again and death would be his penalty. in about three or four day, twenty-five or thirty kuklux rode up to his cabin in the night and called for him; he was armed with an old u. s. musket; he fired into the crowd and killed one of the band and then ran and made his escape. part of the regiment received orders to report to general upham, who was stationed at cottonplant, on white river, leaving captain richardson in charge of the forces in fulton county and captain toney in charge of the troops in izard and sharp counties. the regiment broke camp and marched by way of jacksonport and on their arrival went into camp on the wadel farm, two miles below jacksonport. the kuklux had declared that we should not march through jacksonport. a brother-in-law of mr. wadel from north missouri invited the writer to supper; the writer believing that a trap had been fixed to decoy him outside of the lines took one lieutenant and a posse of men and went to his house; on our arrival, we found a bountiful supper; had every thing that a hungry man could wish; had eggnog served in silver cups with silver spoons. the residence was about forty-two by twenty feet; two large rooms with a ten-foot hall between, with kitchen on west side, fine portico, with about ten or twelve negro cabins, about sixty to one hundred feet from the dwelling-house. just before supper i noticed eight or ten men come in on foot dressed in gray clothing. i at once ordered my men to be ready at any moment and to not let them get the drop on them. just about the time that most of my men were through eating supper, i noticed that some of the men that came in to the supper table had arms on their persons and noticed that the negroes were excited. i stepped out at a back door and just as i entered the hall door i saw the landlord approaching the room where my men were seated at the table with a navy pistol cocked in his right hand, holding it behind his back. just as he attempted to open the door where my men were seated at the supper table, i sprang forward and grabbed his pistol and wrenched it out of his hand, and said to him, "don't you dare to attempt to shoot one of my men." he turned around facing me and said "i went all through the civil war and you are the first men that ever disarmed me." in a moment my men had pistols in hand ready for action, and i noticed some of the men that came dressed in gray had pistols in their pockets. i remarked to them, "i came here on an invitation; i am here as a guest, i wish to treat all persons as gentlemen, especially the landlord and his family; but this hostile move made upon the part of the landlord and the presence of these armed men shows me that there is something wrong." i ordered my men to fall in line and return to the camp. his wife appeared to be a perfect lady and her husband appeared to be under the influence of whiskey. he agreed that if i would release him, he would go into his room and stay there until my men had all returned to the camp. after he had gone into his room, i gave his revolver to his wife on her promising not to give it to him until the next morning. i learned from mr. wadel's brother-in-law that he came from northern missouri at the commencement of the war and at about the close of the war he married his sister; that he was a cyclops and came to fulton county in the kuklux raid, and that the men who came that evening were all kuklux, that if i had gone alone to his supper, i would have been killed. the next morning we broke camp and resumed our march. on the regiment arriving at cottonplant, col. dail reported to gen. upham and we were ordered into camp. as soon as the citizens of the city learned of my arrival, they requested gen. upham that i be invited to deliver a speech in the city hall; that they had heard and read of col. monks and they wanted him to deliver an address to the people at early candle-light on the present condition of the state. there were about seven or eight hundred men stationed at the post. after supper, the adjutant sent an order by an orderly to detail about fifty men for a patrol guard; that the soldiers had broken into the warehouse and were taking out whiskey and other articles. i ordered the detail to be made and report at headquarters for further orders. our headquarters were not more than forty yards from the warehouse. i spoke in an audible voice, "now, we claim that our mission as soldiers is to protect persons and property. i want you to see that your guns and pistols are well loaded, and go direct to the warehouse first and arrest all soldiers that you find in or about the warehouse and take them to the guardhouse and there keep them safe until further orders, and patrol the city closely. order all soldiers and officers who have not passes to be inside of their quarters in thirty minutes, and if you find any soldiers on the street after thirty minutes, arrest them and take them to the guardhouse; if they resist you, shoot them; and if you have to shoot, shoot to kill." about that time some man near the warehouse called out: "who in hell are you? this whiskey is kuklux whiskey, and we will take what we please." i replied, "if we cannot enforce discipline over the soldiers, we will go back home and send others; you will find out who i am if you wait until the patrol gets there." i ordered the officer to sound the reveille. inside of thirty minutes every soldier was inside of his quarters. the citizens said that such a thing had not occurred since the post had been established. capt. sharp was reckless when drinking; he had mutinied and the men that were disposed to be wild had terrorized the people of the city. gen. upham had failed to enforce discipline over capt. sharp and his company. capt. sharp had ridden up and down the streets before the regiment had arrived and proclaimed, "when colonel monks arrives we will clean all the kuklux up." the citizens were considerably frightened on my arrival in august, but after they saw how completely i enforced discipline everything became quiet, they appeared to be perfectly secure in person and property. on the next night, at early candle light, the large hall was filled. after being introduced by gen. upham, i spoke in part as follows: "gentlemen and fellow citizens of arkansas: i am from your sister state, missouri, and i am very sorry to find you people in the state of war. war is not very pleasant; it has its effects upon society; demoralizes the morals of the people, besides the great sacrifice of life and property. besides this, it alienates those who should be brethern and makes them bitter enemies. your people may ask the question, what right have you missourians to come down into our state? my first answer will be, captain simpson mason was but recently assassinated in fulton county, near the state line, while in the discharge of his official duty. at the commencement of the civil war he was a citizen of fulton county, arkansas, and i was a citizen of howell county, missouri. both of us were unconditional union men. both of us were driven from our homes and posses of men from your state, regardless of the state lines, scouted our county, murdering and driving out union men, women and children and hung and shot down loyal men. captain mason and i met in the early part of the war of the rebellion and soon become fast friends. served together during the war. when peace was made we determined to go back home. men would meet us and say "if you men go back among the old rebels who hate you so badly they will kill you." our reply would be, "damn a man that is afraid to go back and enjoy the fruits of his victory." we met and pledged our sacred honor to each other that if, after our return to our old homes, either one of us was killed by the late rebels, the other would do all in his power to bring the guilty parties to justice. a better and truer man never lived than captain simpson mason. each of us came back with the olive leaf in his mouth. now i don't say that all rebels are kuklux, but i will say all kuklux have been late rebels and have organized a secret organization, the objects and aims of which are to overturn the civil government of your state by murder and intimidations, through the most vile and desperate means known to man, the savage not excepted. besides your organization extends into the border counties of missouri and as the rebels thought right to cross the state line during the civil war, we think it right to cross it now to help our loyal brethern, and these are the causes that brought us to your state. we don't want booty. we want to see the civil law enforced, and we ask your cooperation, and promise you, that all law abiding citizens, be they union or rebel, shall be protected in person and property during our stay in your state and we intend to enforce the very strictest discipline among our troops. i hope by the cooperation of the people of your state this unholy war will soon cease." at the conclusion of the speech they gave three cheers for missouri troops. [illustration: making a pledge--col. wm. monks and capt. simpson mason.] on the third day after our arrival at cottonplant, captain j. b. nicholas' and captain sharp's companies were ordered to be detached from the regiment and placed under the command of the author and ordered to march at once and report at marion, the county seat of crittenden county for further orders. on our arrival at marion we were ordered to proceed directly to osceola, the county seat of mississippi county, arkansas and to erect a military post and issue an order ordering all the persons that were armed to come in and take the oath. on our arrival at that place to report the same to the governor of the state. i issued the following general order: "to the people of the state of arkansas, especially the citizens of mississippi county; greeting; whereas a part of the people, disregarding their duties as good law-abiding citizens, have by and through a secret organization known as kuklux revolted against the civil government of the state of arkansas and are now armed and attempting by murder and intimidations to overthrow the civil government of the state, now therefore, by the authority in me vested and as commander of said post, do order all persons who may be in armed hostility to the present government and those who may be by act or deed aiding or encouraging those who are in arms against the legal constituted laws of the state to return to their allegiance and aid in enforcing the civil law. and any person who may be found from and after this date armed or aiding or abetting those who are in arms against the civil law of the state will be promptly arrested and punished to the extent of the law. wm. monks, commanding the post." when i arrived there was not a single civil officer in this county. they had either resigned or had kept themselves indoors. i at once commenced a vigorous campaign and soon learned that there were two men charged with being cyclops; one of them resided about thirty miles down the river on an island; he was charged with killing eight or ten colored people. i made a detail of about fifty men and placed them in charge of captain sharp and ordered him to go down and arrest both and bring them up to headquarters. the second day after the scouts started they returned by steamboat with both men, as well as several other prisoners. after the boat arrived captain sharp came to headquarters and suggested the release of one of the men as he didn't think he was guilty. i ordered the prisoners brought to headquarters at once. there was a man by the name of edington who resided in osceola, one of the wealthiest men in the county; he was well acquainted with one of the men, as he had been sheriff of the county in which he resided and a colonel in the confederate army. he asked me to parole him to the limits of the city and he would go on his bond for one thousand dollars until said charges could be investigated. in a few days after he was paroled mr. edington came into the office and informed me that after his arrest and while on the boat coming up the river cap. sharp came to him in the presence of the captain of the steamboat and remarked. "well, colonel, you have got a hard man holt of you now; if you will pay me one hundred and fifty dollars i can use my influence with col. monks and have you released." the colonel said to captain sharp that he didn't have the money with him. the captain of the steamboat said to the colonel, "i have the money, i will loan it to you." the colonel paid captain sharp one hundred and fifty dollars. captain sharp agreed to have him released and let him go back on the boat. mr. edington said he had watched all my proceedings since i took command of the post and had become satisfied that my highest aim was to protect every person in his person and property. i ordered the orderly to arrest the colonel and bring him to headquarters. i told him that i had been informed that after his arrest and while in custody of captain sharp on the steamboat he paid captain sharp one hundred and fifty dollars and captain sharp was to release him and let him return home on the boat. he admitted that he paid the money and made a full statement of all the facts that caused him to pay the money. i notified captain sharp to appear at headquarters at once. informed him of what i had just learned, that while he had the colonel prisoner, coming up on the steamboat, that he, the prisoner, paid him one hundred and fifty dollars to procure his release. captain sharp admitted that it was true; i asked the captain if he had the money. he said he had. i asked the colonel if he had a friend that he could pay the money to; that i could not pay the money to him, that he might bribe another one of my officers. he said that i could pay the money to mr. edington. captain sharp paid the money to mr. edington by the order of the colonel. i ordered the colonel to the guardhouse for bribing my officers. i ordered captain sharp to report at headquarters the next day at ten o'clock. the captain promptly appeared at the hour set. we went into the back room of my office alone. the captain and myself took seats. i said to the captain, "i am very sorry that this thing occurred; that you have allowed one of your prisoners to bribe you and you have betrayed that confidence imposed in you by the state. it become my painful duty to place you under arrest and of all crimes known to the criminal calender the worst is that one of treason. we claim that we are hunting violaters of the law and if we become violaters of the law then it will devolve on the state to place a new set of men in the service so that all violaters of the law can be arrested and brought to justice. now i have been informed that while you composed a part of the command stationed at cottonplant under general upham you was arrested for disorderly conduct and you caused your company to mutinize. now i want to say to you that i am going to put you under arrest and disarm you and i will parole you to the limits of the city and your first lieutenant will be placed in command of the company and if you cause your men to mutinize i will arrest the whole company and send them to little rock." i ordered the whole company to appear at headquarters and informed them of what i had done. i then sent the orderly and brought out the colonel and paroled him to the limits of the city under one thousand dollar bond. i never had a more obedient set of soldiers in all my service than captain sharp's company and they were as true and as brave men as ever lived. captain sharp said he was sorry for what he had done and i had done my duty and in about one week i returned his arms and placed him in command of his company. and during the remainder of service captain sharp discharged every duty with honor to himself and his state. while i was in command of the post i made a vigorous campaign. arrested or drove out all the armed kuklux and had the civil law fully put in force and the ministers of the gospel reorganized their churches and business of all kinds was resumed. intimidations of the people, of the civil officers, and of the county by the kuklux was a thing of the past. i received orders from the adjutant general at little rock to declare the civil law enforced in mississippi county and to report with my command to the commander of the post at marion, crittendon county, arkansas, for further orders. my command was conveyed by steamboat to hopefield and from hopefield we marched to marion. and in obedience to said orders i issued the following order: "to all whom it may concern, especially to the citizens of mississippi county, arkansas, i send greeting. it affords me great pleasure to say to the people of mississippi county that the kuklux organization is completely broken up and there is no armed opposition to the enforcement of the civil law. therefore, by the power in me vested i declare the civil law from this date in full force and effect in said county. and i invite all good citizens to aid in the enforcement of the civil law. wm. monks, commander of the post." and when the people of the city learned that my command had been ordered to leave the city they at once presented the writer with a new suit of clothes. and on the arrival of the boat and while we were loading our camp equipage, arms and amunition, about three or four hundred persons composed of men, women, and children assembled on the bank of the river to bid us good-bye. and as the boat moved out they waved their handkerchiefs and hats and gave three cheers for the soldier boys and their commanders. on our arrival at marion we turned over our guns, amunition and camp equipage and were ordered by the adjutant general to proceed to jacksonport for further orders and on our arrival at jacksonport the writer was ordered to leave his command at jacksonport and to report in person to the governor at little rock. on my arrival at little rock i was informed by the adjutant general that the governor was dangerously sick and confined to his room. the legislature of the state being in session i was invited by both houses to deliver an address to the legislature. both bodies met in the lower house. the writer was introduced by the speaker. spoke as follows: "mr. president of the general assembly of the state of arkansas, it affords me great pleasure to have the honor of addressing this august body of men assembled in this hall. men who have been elected by the people of the whole state. men who have the interest of the people at heart. men who have the confidence of the people. men who are intelligent and know what kind of laws the people need. men who are determined to do your whole duty; men who have the courage, patriotism and love of country at heart, who have stood by your post while one of the most secret organizations, known as kuklux, bound by one of the most desperate oaths to overturn your state government by intimidation and murder of all the civil officers of the state and to kill and murder the loyal citizens of your state. the intention of said organization was to overturn the legally constituted laws of the state, but through the untiring effort of your governor and his subordinate officers and the loyal people of your state and the valor and patriotism of your soldiers, this organization has been completely routed and broken up and the civil law is again declared to be enforced in your state. now may your wisdom as legislators guide you and your successors in all duties that you may be called upon to perform in the legislative capacity. and may you always have the interest of the whole people at heart. and may all the laws that may be enacted by this legislature or your successors be in the interest of the whole people. and may patriotism and the love of both state and nation grow in the hearts of your people and may they become so united that nothing can sever that cord of love for their state and nation. may god's blessing guide and direct every one of your public acts, and go with you to your homes and families and now that your state is once more at peace and the civil law is being enforced, and your people are secure both in person and property, i therefore will return to missouri to the bosom of my family. i bid you all good bye." the whole house rose to its feet and gave three cheers and pressed forward to give the writer a good, parting handshake. the governor continued to grow worse. the doctors would not admit any person to his sick room. the adjutant general informed me that the governor wanted to see me in person. that i had come to the rescue of the people with men and arms, when the loyal people were completely overpowered and saved the northern part of the state from the control of the kuklux. he said the governor was well pleased with my services while in the state; that even the rebels spoke in the highest terms in regard to the discipline that i enforced over my men; that i had protected the person and property of both union and rebel, and that i had given general satisfaction to all classes of persons that were favorable to the enforcement of the civil law and that it was the desire of the governor to promote me to a brigadier-general for the valuable services that i had rendered in the state, and place me in command of the northern district. i said "you can tell the governor when he gets well that i was very sorry to find him sick, that it would have been a pleasure to me to have met him in person. and the offer that he has made to me to promote me to brigadier-general for the meritorious services that i have rendered to the state places me under many obligations to his honor for the high esteem and confidence he imposes in me, as touching my military service, and as a private citizen while in this state. and while i thank him for his offer to promote me to the rank of brigadier-general and place me in command of the northern district of arkansas, i must decline the offer and return to missouri for i love the people of my state, i love my home and my desire is to become a private citizen. the only thing that impelled me to come into your state was to aid the state in enforcing the civil law and protect your people from assassination and murder and to do all in my power to aid in bringing violaters of law to justice. this being accomplished and civil law again being enforced in every part of the state, my services as a soldier and an officer not being needed any longer i will ask you again to give my respects to the governor and will ever hold his memory sacred, and may god's blessing rest upon the people of your state and your chief executive. so i will bid you good-bye." i returned to jacksonport and rejoined my command and marched directly to west plains. there my men bid each other good-bye and returned to their homes, hoping that this thing of war would be over forever. on my arrival home i found, to my great surprise, a new political organization, composed of men who styled themselves liberal republicans, and democrats and rebels; and through some of the most vicious and unprincipled rebels, they charged me with being a thief and a murderer. my friends came to me and requested that i at once institute suits of slander against them, for they knew that it was false from beginning to end. during the intervening time they had called an indignation meeting and publicly denounced me as a thief and murderer. i instituted a civil suit for slander against all persons who took part in said indignation meeting. i also instituted suit against one other man on the same charge. the county of howell at that time, especially the judicial circuit, was presided over by a judge, who was an extreme democrat. the defence made application to the judge for a change of venue from this judicial circuit; he ordered the change sent to laclede county, to the city of lebanon, before judge fian. the defence then set about taking depositions. i was notified to meet them in sharp county at evening shade for the purpose of taking depositions. when we met at evening shade they commenced hunting around for witnesses to prove their charges, but failed to find a single one. but every person they interviewed touching the charges declared that they were false and that colonel monks enforced discipline over his men while he was in their state and protected every one in person and property and that all classes of persons regarded him as being perfectly honest and a good military officer; they failed to procure a single witness at that place. i next was notified to meet them in oregon county, at the court house, for the purpose of taking depositions. i accordingly armed myself with two good navy revolvers and went to alton, the county seat of oregon county; the circuit court being in session at that time, on my arrival i put up at a boarding house conducted by alfred harris, who still resides in that county. circuit court being in session i went into the court room and remained until recess. just after recess the judge came and told me that he had been informed that a mob then had the court house surrounded and was going to mob me whenever i entered the square, and to remain in the court room for a few minutes and he would try and have the mob removed; in eight or ten minutes the deputy sheriff returned and informed me that the mob had been removed, and that i could go down and go to my hotel. as i passed down i saw about fifty or sixty men in front of the saloons, swearing at the top of their voices "he fought us during the civil war and he shall not be allowed to come into this county and live." after reaching the hotel, mr. harris with several other friends urged me not to meet the parties, who were going to take depositions in one of the rooms of the court house, for they believed the mob would kill me. i laughed and told them that i reckoned not and that i thought the war was over and that they couldn't play that game on me, to notify me to meet them to take the depositions and then prepare a mob to prevent me from appearing, so that they would be able to manufacture evidence in the case. and i would either be present at one o'clock, the time i was notified to meet them, or i would die in the attempt. so i appeared promptly at one o'clock, the time set, but not one of the opposite party, either attorney or client put in an appearance. i remained there until four o'clock and still no appearance had been entered by the defendants or their attorneys, and i again returned to my hotel, after circuit court had adjourned for the day. while we were seated at the table eating supper, a man rapped at the hotel door and called to mr. harris, the landlord, that he wanted to see him privately for a few moments. mr. harris soon returned and remarked to the writer that he had been ordered to deliver a message; that he had just been informed that a mob of about one hundred men then had the hotel surrounded and they would give me ten minutes to get out of town or i would be shot to death. i replied to mr. harris, "in the first place, i am too old to run; and in the second place, if these bushwhackers have not shed enough innocent blood, they will have the best opportunity now that they will ever get; tell them that i don't intend to leave or run." mr. harris said that he would deliver the message to the bearer. there were two confederates seated at the table, eating. they said, "what does this mean? we thought the war was over." they got up and left the table. after the writer finished his supper, he retired to the sitting room, which adjoined mr. harris' library. mr. harris immediately came in and offered to barricade the doors and windows. i objected. he then remarked that the mob would shoot in through the windows, that he would blind the windows. i consented to his putting blinds on the windows, but that the doors shouldn't be interfered with. there was but one door entering the sitting room except the door that came through the library. i took my seat on a bench where i could reach the knob of the door with my left hand and hold my revolver in my right hand. mr. harris proposed to blow out the lights, to which i objected. i told him that if the mob came i wanted the light so that i could see how to shoot. he then took his seat and entered into conversation. in a few moments some person took hold of the knob of the door. i rose to my feet with my revolver cocked, in my right hand and let the door open just so that one man could enter at a time. mr. maxey, of howell county, an attorney-at-law, had come in to get a book out of the library, not knowing that there was any trouble up. as he came inside of the room i had my pistol cocked and presented on his left breast. when i recognized mr. maxey i lowered my pistol and remarked to him, "your face has saved your life." mr. maxey became very much excited, walked across the floor once or twice, and inquired what was up. i informed him of the notice of the mob and the time that i had been given to leave the hotel and that the time had then expired, and that when i heard him take hold of the door, i supposed the mob was coming. mr. maxey remarked that "this thing will never do, i'm going to see if it can't be stopped." i requested him to say to every person that might be disposed to come into the house to make themselves known outside of the door before entering the house. in a short time the circuit judge and deputy sheriff, with two or three others, came to the door and made themselves known and came in. the circuit judge said: "colonel, i have been informed that you have been notified by a mob to leave the town in ten minutes or you would be shot to death, and i have come to see if you wanted a guard." i replied that i didn't. "if these god damn bushwhackers haven't shed enough innocent blood and are still bloodthirsty, they will never have a better opportunity; so just let them come." the judge and sheriff and those who came with them left the room. i remained in the room until the usual bedtime. i heard them cursing outside and declare that they would take me out before daylight. i thought of my horse that was in the stable, a few yards away. i remarked to mr. harris that i was going to the stable to look at my horse. he begged me not to go out, that i would be shot down. i said to him that it was a game that two or more could work at. [illustration: loyal women of howell county.] on reaching the stable, i heard the men quarreling on the public square. a man by the name of jones, who had been a confederate and then was prosecuting attorney of the county, and another citizen, who appeared to be leading the mob, were having an altercation. jones remarked to the other man that he had never met col. monks until to-day and that he appeared to be a perfect gentleman, that the war was over, and that he had the same right to come here and transact business as any other man; to which the other declared, with an oath, that a man who had fought them through the war shouldn't come there, and they intended to take him out and shoot him before daylight; and further charged that jones was not a good confederate. jones then gave him the lie. the two appeared to be about to come together, but others interfered to keep them separated. i returned to the hotel and said to mr. harris that the seat of war had moved up onto the square. mr. maxey informed me that just outside of the door of the hotel he met the mob, and they declared that they intended to take monks out and shoot him before daylight. he replied to them that they might do it, but they had better take their stretchers along, for some other persons would have to bring some of them out; that he had just been in the house and in a moment he was confronted by col. monks with a revolver presented at his left breast and the very devil was in his eye, and if they entered the room he would shoot as long as he could move a finger. when bedtime came, i was placed in an upper room and locked the door, expecting that if they located my room they would shoot through the windows. i could still hear them cursing and threatening to take me out until late in the night. the next morning everything was quiet. i went to the stable and took my horse down to the spring to water; a number of men were standing at the side of the street, and one said: "where do you suppose the captain and his men are?" i remarked to them that they were just like a pack of wolves; they were in the brush this morning, waiting for night to again renew their howling. there was one, capt. wagoner, who resided in town, who remarked to me the next morning that he never was as proud of anything in his life; that if they could have scared me and i had attempted to leave town in the night, they intended to murder me. after circuit court convened, i went into court, and at noon of that day the court adjourned. and i, with a number of others, went to thomasville, put up at the hotel, had my horse fed and took supper. while on the road, the man that led the mob passed me on his way to thomasville, where he resided. the defendants and their attorneys failed to produce a single witness to testify in the case. i returned home to west plains. i was notified to meet them at other places in the country, to take depositions in said cause. the political feeling was strong then between the parties, and they sent the suits to a county over a hundred miles distant from where the suits were instituted; this county, at that time, was completely controlled by the democratic party. when the suits came up to be tried, over half of the jury had been late rebels, yet they failed to introduce a single witness to support their charges, and i recovered a verdict in each case. judge fian, who tried the case, said that he was never so surprised in his life; that he opened up the floodgates and let them bring in all their evidence from the beginning of the war up to the time of the trial. judge fian had been a colonel on the federal side in the civil war. on the account of failure to get any proof the juries were compelled to give a verdict in both cases for col. monks, although it was against the will and feeling of them. it cost the defendants between five and seven hundred dollars. after the trials, all parties returned to howell county. the defendants, after they had procured a change of venue to laclede county, boasted openly before trials, that they were going to beat both cases, that they had got them into a democratic county. the defendants being beaten at all points, returned, but not being satisfied, and being backed by the late bushwhackers and kuklux (the most desperate set of men that ever lived,) at the next term of the howell county circuit court they procured the appointment of a special prosecution attorney, who had been a late rebel and selected a jury of men composed of liberal republicans and so-called democrats, with the express purpose of indicting the writer for killing one of the most desperate bushwhackers and rebel desperadoes that ever was in south missouri. the men who composed the jury knew well that he was killed in an open hand to hand fight during the civil war. the writer soon found out that they were trying to get a bill of indictment against the writer, so the writer watched the proceedings of the grand jury. on saturday the grand jury came into court and turned in their indictments and reported to the court that they had no more business. the court discharged them. at the same moment the writer asked the court if there was any bill of indictment preferred against him. he ran over the indictments and informed the writer that there was an indictment against him, for murder in the first degree. the judge said that he was sorry that i had called it out for he wanted to go home until monday. i told him "just adjourn your court and go home. the sheriff is here." i remarked to the jury that they needn't have put the county to any cost hunting witnesses; if they had come to me, i could have told them that i killed him and the only thing that i was sorry for, was that i hadn't killed a lot more of the bushwhackers. i would love to ask this jury if they have indicted any of the bushwhackers and rebels who have hung and murdered union men all over howell county, irrespective of age; the most of those men were killed at their homes or taken from their homes and afterwards killed. a part of the men who did these things are still living in howell county and that jury knows it. the sheriff and the judge stepped out of the court house and in a few minutes returned, and the judge remarked "i will turn you over to the sheriff." he then ordered the sheriff to adjourn the court until the next monday. the sheriff remarked to the writer "you can go where you please and report to the court at ten o'clock next monday." the writer remarked, in the presence of the judge and sheriff, "i did not know that a man indicted for murder in the first degree could be paroled." the sheriff adjourned the court and he and the judge left the court house together. when i met a number of my friends (as there was a political meeting going on that day) and informed them that i had been indicted and paroled until next monday, i couldn't make some of them believe it. [illustration: capt. will h. d. green, grandson. lieut. mark springer, co. k.] i appeared at ten o'clock the next monday morning and before court was convened, edward seay, an attorney-at-law, one among the ablest lawyers at the bar, a strong rebel sympathizer, came to the writer and said, "it is a shame that you have been indicted. it has been done for political purpose and i want your consent to file a motion to quash the indictment." i remarked to him that i would rather have it tried before a jury of my country so that i could show the intention and aims of those who caused said indictments to be procured. he still plead with me to let him file a motion to quash it, that it would not cost me one cent. i at last told him to use his own pleasure in regard to it, so he filed a motion to quash it, and submitted the motion to the court without any argument, and the court sustained the motion and quashed the indictment. so ended that charge of murder against the writer. they saw they were beaten again and their schemes were again exposed to the whole people and they fell back sullen and became desperate. in a short time the writer was informed that they were threatening to assassinate him and to be continually on the watch. i put men on their trails. several attempts were made to decoy the writer into their nets, but they failed. they then employed one dr. beldon, who made an attempt to shoot the author in his own dooryard, but the writer saw him in time to prevent his shooting, and he left the county at once. shortly after, the author was again warned to be on the watch, that they were still making threats. there was a man by the name of w. h. mccowen, who had been a confederate colonel, living in west plains. he was known to be a very dangerous man when drinking and was an uncompromising rebel. the writer then resided in the house south of the town spring, known as the west plains house, and the street ran within a few feet of the gate, which opened into a hall between the house and kitchen. there was a saloon about forty yards west of the house, on the same street, run by a man by the name of jackson, another uncompromising rebel. this saloon appeared to be headquarters for these would-be assassins. i had just brought my horse from the stable and tied him by the gate, with the intention of going to my farm. mrs. lasater, who still resides in west plains, had just come over to my house and was there at the time of the shooting. mrs. mccowen, the wife of col. mccowen, came to my house that morning, came in the back way, and appeared to be very much excited, and informed me that certain men were going to assassinate me that morning; that to her knowledge they had been plotting for three days. they had been using every inducement, making her husband drunk and trying to work him into it. she had shut him up and locked the doors to keep them away from her husband, but they would raise the windows and come in. she had done all she could to keep her husband out of it, and she thought it was her duty to come and let me know that they had agreed to shoot me that morning. i thanked her for the information and said to her that i would ever be grateful to her. i further said to her that i did not want to hurt the colonel or any other person, but they must not come to my house on that kind of business if they didn't want to get hurt. in a few moments she returned home, going around the back way. i at once sent to s. p. woodworth, a merchant who resided in west plains and a strong union man, for his double-barrelled shotgun. i had two good navy pistols. he sent me his gun and said it was well loaded with buckshot and was sure to fire. i advised the women, if they came, to keep cool and go into the back room so they would be out of danger. i raised the two front windows of the sitting-room about two or three inches, so i could shoot under them, keeping a close watch on the saloon. in about thirty minutes after mrs. mccowen left, i saw two of the men leave the saloon and come in the direction of my house. they came to the gate, opened it and stepped onto the porch. my wife went to the door and begged them to leave. one of the men said that he wanted to see the colonel. he was armed with two first-class pistols, one of the pistols belonging to col. mccowen. i cocked both barrels of my shotgun and stepped out on the porch with my gun presented and ordered him to turn around and leave my premises in one minute. just at that moment my youngest daughter, now the wife of mr. green, sprang forward and caught my gun. i said to her; "for god's sake keep away from me." but she stood by my side. during this time he had passed outside of the gate and had gotten behind a tree; had his pistol cocked and presented at me and in a moment i had him covered with my shotgun. he would attempt to get sight on me and would dodge his head back behind the tree. not knowing where the other man was, i watched his head and when he attempted to take sight i fired at his head; at the crack of the gun he fell. then six or seven men commenced jumping out at the door of the saloon. the first thing i thought of was, "they will pretend to arrest me and give the mob a chance to shoot me after i am disarmed." i sprang on my horse and rode east and in a few moments five or six men came to my door and asked my wife who shot first. she ordered them to leave the house. they soon found that one of the would-be assassins was shot. on an examination it was found that one of the shot had struck him in the right side of the forehead, the right side of the brim of his hat was torn into fragments and the tree had caught a part of the load. the tree is still standing in the yard. immediately afterward i sent them word that they had again opened the ball and i was ready to fight it out. i never saw men begin to plead for peace as hard in my life. the sheriff and others would come to me and say: "colonel, why didn't you shoot some of those fellows long ago? that is just what they needed." i asked them why they hadn't arrested some of the assassins long ago. when the union men learned that an attempt had been made by these would-be assassins to assassinate me about two hundred and fifty of them headed by such men as j. f. reiley, esau fox, andrew v. tabor, david b. nicholass, john b. nicholass, josiah carico, chas. long, j. youngblood, and geo. youngblood rode into town well armed and publicly notified these assassins and those who were aiding and abetting them, that if another attempt was made to assassinate colonel monks, or if they did assassinate him it would take ten of their leaders to pay the debt and they knew just who they were. on an investigation, it was proven that on the night before they attempted the assassination about ten or twelve of these would-be assassins met together in the town of west plains, and one of their leaders set out among other causes why colonel monks would have to be killed; that they had tried to scare him away from the country but found they couldn't scare him and the only way to keep the republican party from going into power again in this county was to kill colonel monks. some of the men that were present were hired to do the shooting next morning and paid the money. they drank a health to each other on the death of colonel monks next morning. the man who advised and instructed them and paid them a part of the money is still living in howell county. this failure in their attempt to assassinate me and the action taken by the loyal men appeared to put a quietus on their idea of assassination; if they ever made any further effort the writer never learned about it. they had been defeated in every attempt made either to slander or murder me. i want to say here that i shall ever hold sacred the memory of mrs. mccowen, for i owe to her the preservation of my life, and may god's blessing ever follow her and rest upon her. the bushwhackers and the kuklux element were not yet satisfied and had but one way to vent their spleen against me. that was to get right down to hard lying. having failed to prove a single one of their charges against me in the courts they were bent on injuring me and damaging my character. with no regard for the truth they would go around secretly and tell strangers who knew nothing about me that i was a murderer and a thief. the better element among those who had been confederates declared openly that these statements were false from beginning to end. many of them have said that i was an honest man, and that if any one wished to employ an honest lawyer monks was the man to go to, for no one could buy him. sometimes i would be informed that a late confederate would say: "i believe col. monks was a good man and an honest one. but i dislike him because he fought us so hard during the war." i would reply: "tell him that i couldn't please them in any way at the commencement of the war; i didn't want to take up arms. i was an unconditional union man, and they, the rebels, came to my home and arrested me, took me into their command and swore that i should fight; that they would make me fight and attempted to force me into the confederate lines, and when i found that nothing else would do them but to fight, and i went to fighting, then they turn about and curse me for fighting." again i would be informed that some of those persons, who had no regard for the truth, would secretly charge me with being a murderer. in reply i would inform them that every part of the country where i had performed military service was now in the control of the democratic party and there was no limitation to the crime of murder. henry dixon green. henry dixon green was born in henderson county ky., in the year . his father, h. d. green, was a colonel in the confederate army, and died while in the service. in , the younger green left his native state, taking horace greeley's advice, and went west to grow up with the country. he located at west plains, mo., and soon began reading law in the office of hon. a. h. livingston. he was admitted to the bar, and formed a co-partnership with mr. livingston in the practice of law, which continued for several years. afterwards he formed a partnership with judge b. f. olden. this firm was for years the local legal representative for the kansas city, fort scott and memphis railroad company, now part of the frisco system. mr. green acted as claim agent for this railroad, and afterwards had charge of the claim department of the missouri pacific railroad company for the territory of kansas, nebraska, colorado and indian territory, but resigned to resume the general practice of law at west plains, mo. he has served as probate judge of howell county. [illustration: russell green and dixon green.] mr. green was married in at west plains to miss mary m. monks, daughter of col. wm. monks. mrs. green is a strong republican while mr. green is a strong supporter of the principles of the democratic party; but their home life is perfectly peaceful and happy. five children have brightened this home, a daughter, now mrs. arch bugg, and four sons, will h. d., frank, russell and dixon. the children all take their politics from their mother. the oldest son, will, has been admitted to the howell county bar and is now practicing law with his father. he is also captain of company k, the local military company of west plains. the second and third sons are also members of the company. frank works and studies at present in his father's law office, and the other boys are in school. * * * * * * transcriber's note: silently corrected simple spelling, grammar, and typographical errors. retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed. changed a few instances of ku-klux (excepting the title page) to kuklux as the author clearly preferred the latter spelling. changed lop-eard, lopeard, and lop-eared to lopeared as that spelling was somewhat dominant. up terrapin river. by opie p. read. chicago and new york: rand, mcnally & company, publishers up terrapin river. chapter i. terrapin river flows through the northern part of arkansas. it is a small stream, winding its way among hills, which here with graceful slope, and there with rugged brows, overlook the smooth and gliding water. the water, when the current is not swollen, is so clear that the stream suggests the blended flow of countless dewdrops. the brooks that flow into terrapin river seem to float down sun-beams, gathered in the hill-tops. up the "hollow," the cow-bell's mellow clang floats away in slowly dying echo. the spring frog struggles through a miniature forest of rank ferns; the dew that has gathered on the rugged cliffs, trickles slowly down at the rising sun's command, like tears flowing along the wrinkles of a time-worn face. the soft air plays in gentle hide-and-seek, and the wild rose, leaning over, bathes its blushing face in the mirroring stream. the country through which upper terrapin river flows is slow of agricultural development. wild hogs abound in the cane-brakes, and on the hill-sides, where the dogwood saplings tangle their blooming boughs in perfumed network, the bristling deer kills the rattlesnake, and the wild turkey-gobbler struts in barbaric vanity. the shriek of the steam-whistle has never disturbed the blue jay's noontide nap, but the water-mill, with its rhythmic splash, grinds the corn which the whistling boy, barefoot and astride the sack, brings from over the hills. the rankest of corn grows in the "bottoms," and on the uplands the passing breezes steal the fragrance of the mellowest of horse-apples. the people, the most of them at least, are rude of speech. to them the smooth sentences of culture are as over-ripe strawberries--unfit for use. the popular estimate of a man's mental strength in this neighborhood is based upon the roughness of his expressions. there are schools, but, save in the winter, they are ill attended, for the children, so soon as they are old enough to study, are also large enough to lend important aid to the cultivation of the crops. among those people there are many peculiar characters. they know of no country but america, and are therefore strictly american. they have a half-formed idea that there is an outside world, and that andrew jackson whipped it; and tradition tells them that george washington became involved in a quarrel with a king, an awful monster with horns of gold, boxed his jaws, knocked off his horns, and sent him howling home. their ignorance is not of the pernicious sort, but of that humorous kind which finds bright laughter clinging to the very semblance of a joke. one afternoon a boy was plowing corn in a field not far from the river. he was apparently about sixteen years old. under the sunburn on his face there could be seen the soft color of sadness. he was tall and well formed, and his eyes, when he looked up to tell the time of day by the sun, showed, by their wide-open earnestness--if there be anything in such surmises--that his nature was deep and his disposition frank. he had reached the end of the row, near a rail fence along whose zig-zag way there ran a road half overgrown with briers, and, after turning his horse about, was fanning himself with his broad-brim straw hat, when someone called out: "halloa, young man!" the plowboy looked around and saw a man standing on the road-side, with his arms resting on the top rail of the fence. the man was of uncommon height, and his hair and bushy beard were of such fiery red as they caught a sunbeam that came down through the wavering boughs of an oak, that the boy, bursting into a laugh, cried out: "ef you ain't on fire, i never seed er bresh heap a burnin'." "well," the man replied, with a smile of good nature, "i'm not exactly burning, but i am pretty warm. drive your horse up there in the shade, and come over and sit down awhile. you look as if you are tired, and besides, i feel disposed to talk to someone." "i am tired," the boy rejoined, "but ef my uncle wuz ter ketch me er settin' erroun', he mout norate it about that i'm lazy. "the fresh-stirred soil shows that you have plowed many furrows to day. if your uncle should circulate such a report," he added, with another good-natured smile, "i will go with you about the neighborhood, and assist you in correcting it. come, for i know that in talking with me, you would not be ill-spending your time." "then i reckon you air a school-teacher." "no, i am nothing--nothing but an everyday sort of wayward man." "b'l'eve i'll jine you wunst jest fur luck." he drove his horse into a fence-corner, where the tall alder bushes cast an inviting shadow, and joined the man, who had sat down with his back against a tree. "what is your name?" the man asked. "john lucas. what's yo'n?" "sam potter." "you air a mighty big man, mr. potter, an' i reckon you'd be a powerful fine han' ter break a yoke uv steers. peers ter me like ef i wuz ez strong ez you air, i'd go roun' the country an' grab er-holt uv cattle, an' hold em' jest fur the fun uv seein' 'em kick." he laughed boisterously, and then, when his many shouts had ceased, potter saw the soft color of sadness, under the sunburn on his face. "just now you spoke of your uncle," said potter; "do you live with him?" "yes, sir. my daddy an' mammy wuz drownded a long time ergo, in the river up yander at the fo'd. did you come that er way?" "yes." "did you see er tall rock stickin' up outen the groun'?" "i think i did." "wall, i put that rock thar when i got big ernuff. it's ther tombstone." "are they buried there?" "no; they wuz washed erway, an' never wuz found, an' i put that rock thar becaze it is the place whar they wuz last seed. thar's a caterpiller on yo' neck. let me bresh him off." "john, i rather like you." "much erbleeged ter you, sir." "and i think that there is about you excellent material for the making of a man." "i dunno; but that's what old alf says." "who is old alf?" "he's a nigger; but lemme tell you thar ain't no whiter man nowhar than he is. he works fur my uncle, ur ruther sorter craps it on the sheers. he don't peer to kere fur nobody much but me an' his daughter, that's all crippled up with the rheumatiz, an' when she cries in the night with her pains, it don't make no diffunce how hard he has worked durin' the day, he takes her up in his arms, an' walks erbout with her till she hushes. that's what i call a white man. whar air you frum, mr. potter?" "from almost everywhere." "whar do you live?" "nearly everywhere." "ain't you got nothin' ter bind you down ter one place?" "no." "then you ain't ez well off ez old alf, fur he has got that little crippled-up gal." potter bent upon the boy a look of contemplation, and addressing himself more than his companion, said: "ah, young man, you do not know the force of your own philosophy. from the woods there often come the simple words of truest wisdom. any tie of life that holds us to someone, although at times its straining may fall little short of agony, is better far than slip-shod freedom from responsibilty." "you talk like er preacher," said the boy. "air you one?" "no. as i told you, i am not anything, except a tramp. i used to be a sort of lawyer, but my neglect of law texts and love for other books drove my clients away. what's that noise?" "it's the dinner ho'n, an' i ain't sorry ter hear it, nuther. won't you come ter the house, an' take pot-luck with us? ain't fur. see," he added; "its right over yander on the hill." "i will go with you, john, for to tell the truth, i am as hungry as a bear. wait a moment until i get my carpet-bag. there is nothing in it but a shirt and a few old books--nothing in it to eat, i well know." when they reached the stable, potter climbed up into the loft, to throw down some corn and fodder, while john was taking the gear off of the horse. "now we'll go ter the house," said john, when potter had come down, "but ez we walk erlong lemme tell you suthin'. no matter whut aunt liz says, don't pay no ertention to her. mebbe she won't say nuthin' much, but ef she's on one uv her tantrums, ez uncle jeff calls 'em, she's mighty ap' ter make you bat yo' eyes like dust wuz er-blowin' yo' way, but keep on er battin' an' don't say nuthin'. you mout think that she is the audationist woman you ever seed, an' it mout 'pear like she's goin' ter eat you bodatiously up, but ez i said befo' keep on e' battin' an' don't say nuthin'!" just as they were entering the yard, a woman's shrill voice cried out: "my stairs, john, who on the top uv the yeth have you picked up this time? wall, ef he ain't er sight fur ter see i wish i may never stir agin." "keep on er battin'," john whispered. "fur pity sake," the woman continued, "is he er red shanghai ur old satan's whut not? john, i oughter bump yo' head ergin the wall fur pickin' up ever rag-tag an' bob-tail that comes erlong." "madam," said potter, making a profound bow, "i hope i do not intrude." "lissen at him! my stairs, he's the biggest thing i ever seed lessen it wuz on wheels." "hush, an' keep on er battin'," whispered john. "i never seed the like in my borned days," the woman went on. "the shotes got in the garden, an' momoxed up the cabbages, an' now the fetchtaked bucket had to git off down in the well. pap, he's gone ter the blacksmith shop, an' old alf is er-pokin' roun' summers, an' thar aint er body on the place ter do nothin'. shew thar! the fetchtaked hens is boun' ter scratch up the red pepper, an' the red ca'f has run agin the corner uv the fence an' mighty nigh killed hisse'f. laws er massy, it do 'pear like eve'thing is goin' ter rack and ruin." potter, as he stood looking at her, thought that he had never before seen so strange a creature. she was angular, and, using a country expression descriptive of extreme leanness, was rawboned. her iron-gray hair stood out in frowsy fierceness, and her fading black eyes seemed never to have been lighted with a glow of gentleness. she had a snarling habit of wrinkling her long, sharp nose, and at times all her ill-nature would apparently find settlement on a hair-covered mole that grew on her chin. "madam," said potter, "i don't think that i can repair all the damage that has been done, but if you will show me the well i will make an effort to get the bucket." "yander," she replied, pointing. he went to the well, climbed down the rough stones of the wall by placing his feet on each side, and soon came up with the bucket. "wall, ef he ain't got it, hope i may never stir agin," the woman exclaimed. "yander is pap." a man well advanced in years dismounted from a swayback horse at the gate, threw a plow point on the ground and came forward. so far from being ill-looking, there was something comical about him. "uncle jeff," said the boy, "this here man's name is potter. i met him over at the fiel' an' axed him ter come ter dinner with me, an' he 'lowed he wuz as hungry as a b'ar." "how air you, sir? glad to make yo' 'quaintance. we ain't got no great show uv suthin' ter eat, but i reckin we kin sorter dam up yo' appetite er leetle." "pap," said the woman, "erbody ter hear you talk would think that we never did have nuthin' ter eat. i spize ter see er man ack like he didn't have no raisin'." "yas," the old fellow replied, "but i'd ruther see that than ter see er woman with the tanterums." she cast a quick glance at him, wrinkled her nose, and then turning away, said: "come on in now, an' let yo vidults stop yo' mouth." during the meal, potter talked with the spirit of such entertainment, that at times the old man sat in open-mouth heed of his words; and the old woman, forgetful of her snappishness, bestowed upon him many glances of not unkind attention. after dinner, as they sat under the trees in the yard, the old man, addressing john, said: "ez it is saturday evenin', you mout ez well knock off yo' plowin' fur the balunce uv the day. me an' yo' aunt liz is goin' over ter frazier's ter stay all night, an' go frum thar ter meetin' ter-mor'. thar's plenty ter eat cooked, an' ef yo' frien' wants ter stay here with you, all right." the boy's face lighted up with a smile, and turning to potter, he said: "wish you would stay." "i will," replied potter. when old jeff and his wife had gone, when the horses' hoofs, rattling over the flinty road, were no longer heard, john, awakening from a seeming reverie, arose, placed his hands with a sort of tender touch on the back of potter's chair, and said: "i am powerful glad you air goin' to stay, for you air the first great big man that ever tuck the trouble ter talk much ter me. i aint never been cuffed erroun' none, but thar is a heap er ways to make er boy feel bad without cuffin' him erroun'. not understandin' him is er putty sho way uv hurtin' his feelin's." "you are right, and i wonder that a boy of your surroundings should have such ripe conclusions--i mean that i am surprised at your good sense." "i hope i don't look like er fool." "oh, no," potter quickly rejoined; "there is at times about your face a glow of struggling inspiration--i mean that i like your face. if we were together very long i think i could teach you to understand my odd expressions." "it would be ez good ez understandin' uv er book, wouldn't it?" "well, i could help you to understand books, and books would help you to understand me." john sat down, and potter, glancing at him, saw that on his face there lay a strange expression--that through the soft color of sadness a ray of hope was shining. at length the boy said: "uncle jeff told me the other day that the best way fur er boy ter make er man outen hisse'f is ter git out an' hussle. he ken git ernuther boy ter plow for his vidults an' clothes. let me go with you." "what, do you mean that you really want to go with me?" "yas." "let me lie down under this tree and sleep a little while, john. when i awake we will talk over the matter. the fact is i have been walking all day and am very tired." chapter ii. had potter been less tired, to sleep would not have required an effort. nature's noises, it seemed, had conspired to "weigh the eyelids down" with pleasant drowsiness. the "chatter-jack," clinging to the nodding iron-weed's purple top, trilled his carol in praise of midsummer. the cat-bird, with soft nursing song, taught her young ones among the trumpet vines; and all the sounds were gathered up and borne away by breezes that brought sweetened scents from gullied hill-sides where larkspurs grew. the boy sat gazing at his new-found friend, and with that innate admiration of the powerful, which is felt alike by the savage and the cultivated man, contemplated his great chest and mighty arms. nature's sleep-wooing sounds began to affect him. he nodded, and felt himself sliding from the chair, but making no effort to regain his seat, he stretched himself upon the grass and slept. when john opened his eyes, he saw potter sitting on a chair looking at him. "well, my young friend, have you enjoyed your nap?" "yes, sir. seein' you sleep so easy, made me sleepy. now," he continued as he got up, "let's talk erbout me goin' with you." "all right. i have just thought of a plan that will be better for us than to stroll about the country. there, i see you are disappointed. let me explain my plan. i thought that we might rent a small farm somewhere in this neighborhood, and together cultivate it. we would not permit our work to interfere with necessary pleasure. we would not strive to make money, but would compel our farm to render us liberal support. in season we could hunt and fish, and beside our own fire-place, we could grow wise in the study of books. i would be your teacher. you spoke of the negro, old alf. let him and his daughter go with us. after a few years you would be fitted to go out into the world. ah, your eyes brighten. you approve of the plan?" "yes, sir. if you will learn me how to read i'll go anywhar with you." "i will take as much pains with you as if you were my son. you may wonder why i wish to settle down in such an out-of-the-way place. after awhile you shall know--i hope." "why do you say you hope; kain't you tell me now?" "no, not now; perhaps never, but i hope to--well, we will talk about that some other time. all i ask of you now is to have perfect confidence in me. it is a strange request, no doubt, but you shall not regret the granting of it. who is that coming?" "alf," the boy replied. a negro, not very large, and yet seemingly possessed of much strength, climbed over the fence, hung a scythe in a tree, and approached the place where potter and john were sitting. his face was a study of good humor, tenderness, and quaint thoughtfulness. he was more intelligent than the average man of the neighborhood. he had lived in other parts of the country, and had, before the war, belong to a north carolina planter. when john introduced him to potter, and when potter had courteously taken his hand, alf, removing his straw hat, made a profound bow and said: "i'se mighty pleased ter meet you, sah, caze i sees de true genermen er shinin' on yo' face; but lemme tell you, white man, i wouldn't hab you hit me wid dat fist o' yo'n fur all de co'n dars gwine ter be raised in dis yere county fur two year. er haw, haw! if dis man doan tote er maul 'roun' wid him i neber seed one. look here, mr. potter, whar you frum, nohow?" "as i told our friend john, i am from nearly everywhere." "yas, sah, i better b'leve you is, better b'leve dat fur er fact, caze da ain't turnin' out sich men in dis yere 'munity at de present ercasion. haw, haw! john, jes look at dat man, will you? huh, er pusson would be flingin' way his time ter come projickin wid you; but lemme tell you, i likes er big man. dar's a heep mo' comferdence ter be put in er hoss den dar is in er fox. yas, sah, yas. how long you gwinter circle 'roun' in dis yere neighborhood, mr. potter?" potter replied by gradually unfolding his plan. old alf listened with his head turned to one side, like a blackbird that hears the twanging of a fiddlestring. when potter had concluded, old alf scratched his head for a moment, and then, addressing john, remarked: "dem's calkerlations, i tell you dat. whut does yo'se'l think erbout it?" "fits me so well," john replied, "that i feel like gittin' out thar an' caperin' 'round like er ca'f. i ain't had no chances; alf, you know that. i have allus been tied down here with er putty short rope, too, an' ain't had er chance ter graze out ter the end uv the line; an' i've pulled agin the rope till my neck is gettin' putty sore, yit knowin' all the time that ef i broke the rope i wouldn't know whar ter go, nor what ter do arter i got thar." "talkin' like er floserfer an' er gogerfy an' er rithermertik, now, chile. i thinks it will be er good thing myse'f," old alf went on. "i knows what edycation is--knows what it is by de lack o' it. dar's one man dat knows de full wuth o' er dollar, an' dat's de man dat ain't got it." "you can trust me," said potter, "to carry out with the utmost faithfulness my part of the contract. of course, i am a stranger to both of you, but----" "jes hol' on er minnit," alf broke in. "you ain't gwine tell us how hones' you is, i hope." "oh, no; for i do not claim to be more honest than the average man is." "glad ter yere you say dat, fur de man dat's allus er talkin' 'bout how hones' he is, an' sorter wants ter prove 'fo' anybody dun 'sputed it, is 'spicious o' de fack hisse'f, an' de proof is 'tended ter 'vince his own mine ez much ez it is de folks dat's listenin' ter him. dar wuz er man in ole north kliney dat one day while ridin' long de pike come ter er toll gate. de gate wuz open, but dar wa'nt nobody at de house. de man looked way 'cross de fiel', he did, an' he seed de toll-gate keeper at work. he pitched out ober dar, er ha'f mile through de brilin' sun, an' gin de man five cents. 'you'se de hones' man i eber seed,' said de toll-gate keeper, 'ter come all ober dis hot groun' ter gin me five cents.' 'yas,' said de traveler, sorter drawin' his mouf down like he been eatin' er green pear, 'nobody is mo' hones' den i is.' he went on er way, an' sah, in three munts from dat time he'd dun been sent ter de penytenchy fur stealin' er hoss." potter laughed with good-natured uproar--laughed so loud that a bee martin, which had just alighted on the fence, flapped its wings in sudden fright and flew away. "i am not going about making a show of honesty, alf," said potter, when the echo of his merriment had died in the valley. "glad to know dat, sah, mighty glad ter know it ef i'se gwine ter hab dealin's wid you. i ken tell de right sort o' man putty nigh ever' time. i'll go inter dis 'rangement, caze we'll hab er lot o' fun 'long wid our work." "do you like to fish, alf?" "do er yaller dog like er fried chicken?" "well, i rather think he does." "uh, huh. wall den, i likes ter fish." "do you like to hunt?" "do er muley steer like de sweet grass dat grows in de cornder o' de fence up ergin de bottom rail?" "it strikes me that he does." "uh, huh. wall, it strikes me dat i likes ter hunt." "mr. potter," said john, "the sun is er goin' down an' its erbout time we wuz eatin' uv er snack. you an' alf jest keep on er talkin' while i go an' put the vidults on the table." "dat's er monster fine boy," said alf, when john had gone into the house. "he's sorter quiet now caze he ain't much erquainted, but airter while he'll argy er p'int wid you. dar ain't nobody dat's got er better heart den he has, but lemme tell you, dat white boy ain't erfeerd o' ole nick hisse'f." "i have known him but a few hours," potter replied, "but i have become much attached to him. where is your daughter. alf?" "ober yander in er cabin on de hillside. ef you lissun you mout yere her singin', dat is, ef her pains ain't on her. po' chile, she hab paid mighty dear fur de singin' she's done in dis yere life; but her reward gwine ter come airter while, mr. potter. her crown goin' ter be mighty bright--rubbed bright wid de soft rag o' long sufferin', sah. huh, my mouf waters now when i think 'bout dem huntin' sprees we'se gwine ter hab; an' lemme tell you, i knows whar de b'ars is way up de riber in de canebrakes, knows zactly whar da uses. john he's got er rifle mighty nigh long ez he is, an' i'se got one deze yere army guns--her name's nance--dat shoots--wall, when er bullet gits outen dat gun it jes keeps on er goin', it peer like, an' i hab trained her sights down till she shoots right whar i hol's her, too. dar, john say come on." they went into the house. alf did not care for anything to eat. he had eaten just before leaving home, but he found so much satisfaction in seeing his friends eat that he would take a seat near the table and watch the performance. the old negro became more and more interested in potter, and occasionally, after a sort of digestive contemplation of a remark made by the gigantic guest, he would slowly nod his head in thorough approval. suddenly he slapped his leg and exclaimed: "de lawd is already dun hepped us out on dis yere pilgumage by puttin' me in mine o' de very place we wants. up de river 'bout six miles frum yere--john, you know de place--dar's er farm o' some sebenty-five acres, er good 'eal o' it dun cleared. some o' it is in de riber bottom an' is monst'us rich. b'longs ter ole man sevier dat libes 'bout two mile frum yere. think we ken git it fur mighty low rent, fur nobody ain't lived on it fur three ur fo' year. how does dem obserwations strike de 'sembly?" potter and john were delighted with the prospect of so early a ripening of their hopes. the place was in the edge of a wild section of the country. so much the better. it was at least two miles from any other house. better still. "uncle jeff won't object to me goin'," said john, "but aunt liz will, not 'cause she's afeerd i won't do well, but 'cause----" "'cause she's feerd you will," old alf broke in. "oh, i knows dat lady. haw, haw! knows dat lady frum way back yander way up inter de time whut ain't got yere yit, but dat doan make no diffunce. we'll whittle off all de wrinkles on de ho'n o' her ubjections." "you are the most figurative man i ever knew," potter smilingly remarked. "oh, no, sah, dat's whar you's wrong. i ain't figertive hardly none. i ken make er figer one an' ken cut er mighty caper wid er figer two, but i kain't add 'em tergedder 'cept i do it in my mine; but let us git down ter dis yere bizness. i'll go ober ter ole man sevier's dis ebenin' an' tell him ter drap ober yere arly monday mawnin', an' he'll come, lemme tell you, fur he is ez keen ter let us hab dat place ez we is ter git it. b'lebe i'll go dis minit," he added, taking up his hat. "good ebenin', 'panions o' de mighty fine enterprise; good ebenin' ter you." potter and john talked until a late hour and then went to bed up near the clapboard roof. john soon sank to sleep. potter lay gazing at the stars that winked through holes in the roof. a whippoorwill sat on the stack chimney and sang a lonesome song, but a cricket came out from under an old trunk, stopped in a bar of moonlight that fell on the floor, and chirruped merrily. the screech-owl, muffling and fluttering among the damp leaves of the rank greenbrier, cried with annoying cadence, but the tree-toad, with his somnolent croak, smoothed down the pillow with gentle sleepiness. potter was awakend by john, who called him to breakfast. old alf soon came. old man sevier would be pleased to rent his farm. he cared not so much for the money as for the improvements that might be made. the morning hours were spent in a delighted talking over of maturing plans. in the afternoon old jeff and his wife returned. old jeff smiled upon the project, but the old woman wrinkled her long nose, drove to the mole on her chin the wavering lines of dissatisfaction, and declared that people who took up with every rag-tag that came along always starved to death or had to beg among the neighbors. everyone knew that she had done her duty by john, and why he wanted to leave was something she could not understand. "you never seed this man till yistidy," the old woman went on, addressing her nephew, "an' i don't know why in the name uv common sense you wanter foller him off. jest like men folks, anyway. anybody ken come erlong an' lead 'em by the nose. alf!" "yessum." "ain't you got no sense?" "wall'um, i'se got mo' den de man dat tried ter rive clapboards wid er razor an' den tried ter shave hisse'f wid er froe." "i don't b'leve it." "i kaint hep dat. mr. potter, doan pay no 'tention ter de lady, sah." "you good for nuthin' black imp, you neenter be er tellin' nobody what ter do on my ercount." "come, come," said old jeff; "ef you must chop wood be keerful uv yo' chips. ef john wants ter go, w'y he's goin', that's all. he won't be so fur erway but you ken see him ever' once in er while." "oh, i won't be hankerin' airter seein' him. he ain't no blood kin uv mine, the lawd knows." "madam," said potter, "i am very sorry that i have caused----" "oh, shet ye' mouth," she snapped. "you don't know what you ase sorry uv." with the exception of an occasional outburst from the old woman the remainder of the day was passed pleasantly. early the next morning sevier came over. the farm was rented on easy terms. preparations for immediate departure were begun. john and alf each owned a horse. alf had two plows and several hoes. old jeff would lend them his wagon to haul their "plunder" over to their new home. just as they had finished loading the wagon alf's daughter came, walking with a crutch. she was but little more than a child, and though she bore the marks of great suffering yet she was bright and cheerful. when everything was ready, old alf, taking hold of his daughter's arm, said: "jule, me'n you will ride up yere on dis seat, fur i gwine ter drive. mr. potter, you an' john set back dar on dat straw bed." jeff and his wife were standing near the wagon. mrs. lucas, while watching the smallest detail of every movement, kept up a constant wrinkling of her nose. "this is the biggest fool caper i ever seed," she declared. "shew, thar! the fetchtaked chickens air scratchin' up the pepper agin. the biggest fool caper i ever seed." "i knowd o' er bigger one once," alf replied, slily winking at jeff. "i don't know when it wuz." "it wuz the time," alf rejoined, again winking at jeff, "that one o' the scroggins boys clim up a sycamore tree an' tried to blow out de moon." "oh, go on an' keep yo' mouth shet." "i'se gwine on, lady, but i kaint promise you ter keep my mouf shet, fur de man dat keeps his mouf shet is gwine ter starve, caze lessen he opens it he kaint put nuthen ter eat in it--er haw, haw." "oh, shet up. jest ter think you would run erway and leave er half-grown crap." "me an' mr. jeff dun fixed dat, lady." "oh, i'll be bound he'd fix anything that don't take no trouble. stands thar now, grinnin' like er possum. don't peer like he'd kere whuther we raise a crap or not. thar, drive on with you, now. never seed sich a fool caper in my life. bet you all starve to death." it was so early when they drove off that the dew was still dripping from a vine-covered tree. alf and his daughter hummed a tune. john, placing one hand on potter's knee, looked earnestly into his face and said: "this is the happiest day uv my life." "ah, my boy, we may spend many happy days together. i was just thinking how, in my case, a few hours had brought such a change--the change from a tramp to a man who is driving toward his own home." "whoa, whoa," exclaimed alf, pulling on the lines. "john, reach back dar an' han' me ole nance (meaning his gun). come back yere, pete, you triflin' raskil (addressing his dog)." "what's the matter?" potter asked. "matter? is you so blind dat you kaint see dat monst'us rattlesnake crossin' de road right up dar?" "my gracious, what a monster!" potter exclaimed. "yas," replied alf, as he took his gun and cautiously climbed down out of the wagon, "an' he ain't eat no less'n er ha'f er dozen squirrels fur his breakfast. git out, generman, an' watch de 'formance." potter and john got out. alf continued: "wait till he curls an' hol's up his head. doan git up too close, caze he blow at you an' make you sick. greshus, how pizen he is. now hol' on." the snake was holding up its head. alf took deliberate aim and fired. instantly the reptile was a twisting and tumbling mass of yellow and black and green. "he's lookin' round fur his head," alf remarked, "but he ain't gwine ter find it dis mawnin'. wait till i pull off his rattles. wants 'em ter put in my fiddle." he pulled off the rattles while the snake was still writhing, and, as he climbed back into the wagon, remarked: "it's allus a sign o' good luck ter kill er rattlesnake dat's crossin' yo' road. get-ep, boys." they crossed the beautiful river and drove up the stream. "yander is de place," said alf, pointing. yes, it was the place--a place from which john's life was to turn in a new direction--a place of learning, romance, and adventure--a place of laughter and of tears. chapter iii. the house was situated on a hill near the river. from one of its windows the crystal stream could be seen. every surrounding was attractive to a lover of nature. the house was built of logs and contained two rooms. in one of the rooms there was a great fireplace. it did not take the new occupants long to arrange their scanty collection of furniture. the girl, woman-like, regretted that no better show was made, but the men declared that the house contained everything that was strictly necessary. the third day after their arrival potter, upon getting up from the breakfast-table (he and john ate at one large box and alf and his daughter ate at another one of exact pattern), turned to his friends and remarked: "i am going over to sunset to-day (a village about twenty-five miles distant), to get a winchester rifle--saw one in a store as i came through the other day--and the books necessary for the beginning of our educational course. i have a few dollars, not many, it is true, but quite enough. john, you and alf get as much work done as you can. of course, the season is so far advanced that we can not get in much of a crop, but we must try to raise enough corn to run us during the winter." never before had john gone to work with such enjoyment. he sang as he turned over the soil. encouragement had put a song in his mouth. alf was delighted, and jule was so light-hearted and so improved that she sometimes ventured out without her crutch. there was much work to be done, but they all regarded its accomplishment as a pleasure. potter did not return until late at night, but his friends had sat up waiting to receive him. he brought the winchester rifle and a supply of cartridges; he brought the books, some needed dishes, a pair of shoes for john, a sunday hat for alf, and a calico dress for jule. "oh, it's de putties thing i eber seed in my life," the girl exclaimed. "w'y dady, jes' look yere at de flowers." "grasshoppers, aint da?" said alf, slyly winking at potter. "you know da aint. whut you come talk dat way fur, say?" she took hold of his ears with a tender pretense of anger, and shook his head. "i'll l'arn you how ter talk dater way 'bout deze flowers. w'y da's so much like sho nuff flowers dat i ken almos' smell de 'fume. look yere dady, we mus' git mr. potter suthin' ter eat." "aint i dun heatin' de skillet?" alf replied. "cose i is." he went to a box, which, nailed up against the wall, served as a "cubbard," and took out several pieces of white-looking meat. "what sort of meat do you call that?" potter asked. "dis, sah," alf rejoined, as he began to dip the meat into a tin plate containing flour, "is some slices offen de breast o' one o' de fines' turkey gobblers i eber seed. john ken tell you how it got here." "i wuz plowin' 'long jest before dinner," said john, "an' i hearn the gentleman gobblin' out in the woods. i wuz sorter 'stonished, too, fur it's gittin' putty late in the season fur turkeys ter be struttin' erbout. i slipped to the house an' got my rifle an' went into the woods airter him. he wuz so high up in er tree that he didn't pay no 'tention ter me, not b'lievin' i could reach him, i reckon, but i drawed a bead on his head an' down he come." "i am glad you got him," potter replied. "you are an excellent shot, i suppose?" "wall, i mout not hit er pin-head, but i reckon i could hit er steer." "mr. potter," said alf, as he stood over the fire frying the turkey breast, "wush i had axed you ter fetch de ole man some fiddle strings." "well, if i didn't bring you some i hope, as john's aunt would say, 'i may never stir agin.' here they are." "wall, fo' greshus, ef you ain't de thoughtfules' white man i eber seed. thankee, sah, thankee. man mus' almos' be 'spired ter think erbout ever'thing diser way. now, sah, we gwine ter hab some music in dis yere house. bible say er man kaint lib by meat an' bread by itse'f; means dat folks aughter hab er little music. ole mars david uster play on er harp, an' i lay he done it well, too." "the fiddle is your favorite instrument, i suppose?" "you shoutin' now. de ho'n is er mule an' brays; de banger is er chicken dat clucks; de 'cordeon is er dog dat whines; de flute is er sheep dat blates, but de fiddle is er man dat praises de lawd. de fiddle, sah, is de human bein' o' instrumen's. now, set up yere ter de table, fur yo' supper's ready." "is that rain?" potter remarked, as he drew his chair up to the box. "yas, sah, an' we'se needin' it, too. look at john, how he's handlin' dem books. gwine read 'em atter while, ain't you, john?" "yes, an' i hope befo' long, too. ef stickin' to it counts for anything, i know i will. i'd ruther have er good education, than ter have money, an' horses, an' fine clothes." "you shall have it, my dear boy," potter replied. "the truest friends of this life are books. with them every man is a king; without them every man is a slave. the mind is god-given, and every good book bears the stamp of divinity. books are the poor man's riches--the tramp's magnificent coach. i would rather live in a prison where there are books, than in a palace destitute of them." "dat's all mighty well, mr. potter," alf interposed, "but yo' vidults gettin' cold. books ain' gwine keep er man's supper warm. look at john. he b'l'ebes ever' word you say, an' i doan' know but you'se right myse'f, but books ain't all. er good heart is better den er book. look, my little gal is settin' dar fas' ersleep, wid dat caliker coat in her arms. i mus' put her ter bed. ah, little angel," he added, as he took her up in his arms, "you is de only book dat yo' po' daddy reads. ter him you is de book o' dis life. all yo' leaves is got love an' tenderness writ on 'em. god bless you." he went into the other room, and closed the door. a heavy rain fell during the remainder of the night, and at morning, as the soil was too wet to be worked, potter suggested the advisability of a fishing expedition. "jule, you ain't erfeerd ter stay by yo'se'f, air you?" john asked, when all the arrangements had been made. "cose i ain't; an' 'sides dat, de lawd ain't gwine let nobody hurt er po' crippled up chile ez i is." "your simple faith is beautiful," said potter. "dar ain't no true faith, sah, dat ain't simple," alf rejoined. "you are right," potter responded, "for when faith ceases to be simple, it becomes a showy pretense. well, is everything ready?" "yes, sah. we'll go erbout er mile up de riber, whar dar is er good hole, an' den feesh up de stream." the clouds had rolled away, and the day was as bright as a christian's smile. the mocking-bird, influenced to sportive capers, flew high in the air, poured out an impulsive rhapsody, and then pretended to fall. down the gullies, spider webs, catching the glare of the sun, shone like mirrors. they soon reached the "hole" of which alf had spoken, but the fish would not bite. "i'll tell you de reason," said the old negro. "dis water is still risin'. you kaint 'suade er feesh ter bite while de water's risin', but soon ez it 'gins ter fall, w'y da'll grab deze hooks like er chicken pickin' up co'n. hol' him, john, hol' him. fo' greshus, dat boy dun hung er whale. play him roun' diser way. doan pull him too hard, you'll break yo' line. swing co'ners wid him; dat's right. wait; lemme git hold de line. yere he is. monst'ous channel cat. uh, whut er beauty. weigh ten pounds ef he'll weigh er ounce." "good for you, john," said potter. "good fur us all," replied alf, "fur i gwine ter put dat feesh on ter cook ez soon ez i ken make er fire an' git him ready." "it is a pity we forgot to bring a frying pan," potter remarked. "doan need one, sah." "how are you going to cook him, then?" "you jest wait," said alf, as he begun preparations for building a fire. when he had made the fire, he killed the fish and dressed it. "are you not going to skin it?" potter asked. "you jest wait erwhile, now. neber seeb sech eatin' in yo' life ez we'se gwine ter hab." he dug some clay from a bank, poured water upon it, and begun to knead it. then he took a piece of paper, wrapped the fish in it, and then put on a thick coating of clay. "see; now i gwine ter put him right yere in de fire, an' let him cook erbout two hours, an' den we'll crack his shell." they threw out their lines again, but the fish would not bite. "it ain't no use tryin," alf declared. "da ain't gwine ter bite till de water ginter fall." "why did one of them bite?" potter asked. "caze he didn' hab ernuff sense ter know dat de water want fallin', sah. you mer jest put it down fur er fack dat when er feesh bites when de water's risin', he ain't got no sense." "we don't kere whuther they've got any sense or not, so long as they bite," john remarked. "you're right dar; plum right. i'd ruther know dat er feesh no longer den my han' would bite, den ter know dat one ez big ez me wuz smart ernuff ter preach. wall, ef dat boy ain't dun fotch dat book wid him." "a good idea, john," said potter. "we'll sit up there under that rock, and while the fish is cooking we will study our lesson." so intent was the boy in this, his initiative step in the pursuit of knowledge, that time seemed to take the wings of the sparrow-hawk and swiftly sail away. alf called them to dinner. "see," said the negro, "all i had ter do wuz ter crack his shell. you axed me ef i want gwine ter skin him. see, de skin peels right off wid de paper. openin' yo' eyes in 'stonishment, is you? jest wait till you taste him. set down on de rock, an' lemme he'p you ter er monst'ous piece. sprinkle er little salt on him, dis way. now, how do he go?" "best fish i ever tasted, i must say." "cose he is. all de flaber kep' in by dat clay." "if we had brought our guns along, we might have had some squirrels." "not lessen we'd fotch de dog ter tree 'em." "well, we might have brought the dog." "no, fur it's bad luck ter take er dog wid you er feeshin'. dat's de reason i driv ole pete back. tuck er dog feeshin' wid me wunst an' it want mo' den er week airter dat till i tuck de dew pizen in one o' my feet." "not because you took the dog, alf, but because you went in the dew." "dar mout be suthin in dat fack, sah, but i know dat airterwards i went feeshin' widout takin' de dog an' soon got well o' de pizen. tell you whut we better do airter we git done eatin'. better go 'bout er mile up de riber ter er place whar de bass will bite like er settin' hen. de water will be fallin' by dat time. dar's er bend in the riber right up yander, an' we ken cut off er good many steps by goin' through de bottom." they started immediately after dinner, and had gone but a short distance into the "bottom", when old alf stopped, took off his hat, and said: "dar now, dat do settle it, sho." "what is the matter?" potter asked. "doan you yere dem wolves? my greshus, whut er pack it is, too. lissen." "i hear them now," said potter. "do you hear them, john?" "yes, sir. i have been hearin' em fur some time, but didn't zackly know whut they was. it ain't common that they come inter this neighborhood." "no," alf rejoined; "an' it won't be common dat we'll go anywhar airter dis day lessen we make some mighty fast preparations. 'tain't no use'n us tryin' ter run erway, mr. potter, fur da'd ketch us 'fo' we got ha'f er mile. we'll hatter climb up er tree an' wait till da goes erway. de only trouble is da mout keep us yere till we starve ter death. da's gittin' yere. hop up in er tree." potter and alf climbed one tree; john sought refuge in another one a short distance away. the howling grew louder and louder. alf declared that the wolves must be nearly starved or they would not cut up such "shines" in daylight. a small open space that lay between the two trees was soon alive with the howling, snarling, and snapping "varmints," as alf termed them. occasionally some bold leader would leap high in the air and snap at the men; others busied themselves with gnawing at the trees. "did'n' i tell you it wuz bad luck ter bring er dog er feeshin'?" said alf. "yes," potter replied; "but what new fact has caused you to speak of it again? the dog did not come with us, yet we have the bad luck of being treed by wolves." "yas, sah, yas; but if dat dog wuz yere deze wolves would eat him up, an' dat would be monst'ous bad luck fur him. how i do wush i had my gun. i wouldn' ax fur nuthin' sweeter den ter set up yere an' blow de life outen deze raskils. how you gittin' long ober dar, john?" "fust rate; but i'd be enjoyin' myse'f er good deal better ef i had my rifle. how i'd like ter draw er bead on that whopper; that old shaggy feller." "laws er massy, how i would. he's er ole pollertician, he is, an' i lay he gits ever' vote in de croud. bet he ain't been de sheriff o' de den no less 'en er dozen times. i--whut de matter wid 'em?" suddenly the wolves with one impulse ceased their howling, "tucked" their tails, and ran away. "a very gentlemanly act," potter exclaimed. "now we can get down from these uncomfortable perches." "hol' on," cried alf. "set right whar you is, fur dar's suthen wus den wolves round yere now. look dar! lawd an' de mussyful hebens proteck us!" two enormous panthers bounded into the open space. they cast quick glances in the direction which the wolves had taken, and then, turning about, bent their fiery gaze on potter and the old negro. potter turned pale, and, addressing alf, said: "old man, we are doomed. they will never leave us until their awful mouths are stained with our blood." "oh, lawd," the old negro cried, "look down yere an' see de awful fix yo' po' servant dun got inter. lawd, da gwine ter chaw de life outen yo' po' servant. lawd, de bigges' one got his eyes dead set on yo' po' servant. where'll i be dis time ter mor'. oh, mr. potter, how i wush i wuz at de house drinkin' butter milk. lawd, yo' ole servant wushes you'd strike deze pant'ers wid lightnin'. oh, lawd, i'd ruther die den ter be killed by er pant'er." the panthers stood gazing at them. potter's pallor was gone, and on his face there rested an expression of resignation. "if they intend to do anything," said he, "i wish they would not put it off any longer. this delay is awful." "oh, doan say dat, mr. potter; oh, sweet mr. potter, doan say dat. doan make no sich subjestions ter 'em, fur doan you see da's jes' waitin' fur dar mines ter git made up. my greshus, i ken feel dat monster's eyes. da burns inter my flesh. da ain't payin' no 'tention ter john. look yere, dat boy ain't in de tree!" "that's a fact," potter cried. "what do you suppose has become of him?" "god bless him, he's slipped down an' is gone home airter er gun. oh, lawd, gib de rabbit's mobement ter his legs. let him leap ober rocks an' gullies like er fox. dar ain't much hope fur us, though, mr. potter, fur by de time he gits back dem may-apple stalks down dar will be stained wid our blood. da won't wait no longer den sundown, nohow, an' see, de sun ain't high. ef john--mussyful hebens!" one of the panthers had run forward, but he only sniffed the air at the root of the tree and then returned to his companion. "dat's right, good lawd, hold de monster back, an' please doan let him stick his nose ergin dis tree no mo'. look at 'em watchin' de sun. da's sorter skittish o' de bright blaze, but when de blaze goes out an' de red glow comes, den suthen' redder will be poured on de groun'. it will be our blood. oh, lawd, dat raskil is lookin' harder an' harder at yo' po' servant. wush i had er went ter er camp meetin' summers 'stead o' cumin' yere ter day, but, lawd, it's allus de way wid er po' weak man. he's allus treadin' de path dat leads ter 'struckshun. wush i wuz plowin' right now, eben ef de groun' is too wet. i'd ruther be anywhar--anything. wush i wuz er 'oman er takin' in washin' fur er livin'. wush i wuz er gal er patchin' geans britches." "i hope john will bring my winchester rifle," said potter. "he'll do dat, sah; he'll do dat." "but do you suppose he knows how to use it?" "yes, sah; he's seed 'em befo'. oh, lawd, doan furgit whut er awful fix yo' po' servant is in. dat sun goin' down mighty fas'. look how da watchin' it." it did seem as if the panthers stole an occasional and anxious glance at the sun. "de fust pant'ers i'se seed in dis yere 'munity fur er mighty long time," old alf went on, in his prayerful way, "an' i wushes, lawd, dat i neber had seed deze. wush i wuz er boy in er swimin' under some shady tree. oh, lawd, de raskil dun looked at de sun ergin." he kept up a ceaseless flow of supplication. the sun seemed to sink rapidly. the shadows of the may-apple stalks were getting longer and longer. the panthers became restless. the old negro's prayer increased in earnestness. one of the panthers, the male, ran back a short distance, then coming forward with mighty bounds, sprang high in the air and caught the body of the tree. _bang!_ the panther fell to the ground. the other one ran forward, touched, with her bristly lips, her dead companion's blood, and then springing up, caught the body of the tree. _bang!_ "thank de lawd; thank de lawd!" cried alf, as he began to scramble down; "thank de lawd." he seized john in his arms. "oh, de lawd ain't gwine ter let his chillun suffer long. yas, mr. potter, take holter dis young pussun. dat's right, hug him, but look out, for you'se monst'ous strong. bless us, de chile come back on er hoss. sheddin' tears, too. huh, i comin' back yere termor' an' skin deze genermen. frien's, jes' wait er minit till i git down on my knees an' pray." john and potter removed their hats. the old negro sank down upon his knees, raised his clasped hands, and delivered in these words his simple prayer: "lawd, whuteber happens un'er yo' count'nance is right, but we do thank thee fur dis ack o' hebenly mussy. amen." chapter iv. the glare of summer was softened into the glow of autumn. in the field the dry corn-blades, gently stirring, hoarsely whispered; and the grasshopper, stiffened by the chilling dew, sat on the pumpkin where the sunlight fell. the mornings were rosy, the noontide shone with a deeper red, but the evenings came, serenely stealing, it seemed, out of the heavily-wooded land, spreading over the fields and creeping along the hill-sides where the bell-cow rang her melancholy curfew. john was a devoted student, and potter, almost as much interested, was never too tired to assist him. "don't sit up too late, john," the giant would sometimes say. "to-morrow night, remember, will soon be here." alf, delighted to know that his violin did not disturb the cause of education, mainly spent his evenings with that instrument. one night, with sudden enthusiasm, he exclaimed: "look yere, mr. potter, i wants er little o' dat edycation merse'f. gimme holt o' dat book er minit. now show me er j." "there is one," potter replied, pointing out the letter. "is you sho dat's er j?" "yes," said potter, smiling at john. "no chance whuteber fur er mistake in dis yere matter?" "none at all." "uh, huh. so dis yere is de j dat i'se hearn so much erbout. an' yere's er nuder one. i tell you dis yere book couldn' git er long widout de j. whut's dis yere one?" "that is an s," potter replied. "is you sho it is er s?" "yes." "wall, wall; so yere's de s dat's been er dodgen me fur sich er long time; but i got him now." "here is an l," said potter. "i doan kere nothin' 'bout dat," alf said, closing the book. "i wouldn' git outen de way ef i wuz ter meet er l in de road. de j an' de s wuz whut i was airter." "do you not want to know the other letters?" "no, sah; i dun got ernuff. airter wile, ef de j an s wars out, i mout call fur some more, but i'se fixed ez long ez da lasts. jule, wouldn' you like ter know er bout de j?" "i knows 'em all," the girl replied. "take ere; take ere. i neber did see so much edycation; man kaint step round yere widout trampin' on it." "these cool days, when we have no important work to perform," said potter, "can be well spent." "mine shall be," john responded. "how long will it be, you reckon, before i ken stop this sort uv splashin' with these books, an' jump right in an' swim." "not a great while. you must lay the worm rail, you know, before you can build the fence. in truth, you learn more rapidly than anyone else i ever knew; and sometimes, while watching your progress, i can not help but look back with pity upon the snail-like movements of my early efforts." "oh, dar ain't no question 'bout dat boy l'arnin'," alf exclaimed. "er boy dat l'arned ter break er colt ez easy ez he did one time, ain't gwine ter hab much trouble wid dis s an' j bizness. whut, er boy dat ken slip down outen er tree widout er quick-eyed pant'er seein' him, ain't got sly mubement ernuff ter ketch deze yere books er nappin'? doan know dat chile yit; doan know him." one afternoon while potter and john were at their books, and while alf was playing on his fiddle a sort of accompaniment to a doleful tune hummed by his daughter, there came a tapping on the facing of the open door. "come in," potter called. a woman and a girl stepped into the room. john and potter sprang up with the quick impulse of courtesy's sudden demand, and offered them seats. alf put down his fiddle, and bowing, gave the visitors a grinning welcome. "where are your women folks?" the elder visitor inquired. "we have none, madam," potter replied, "except this girl, the daughter of this old----" "servant o' the lawd," alf interjected. "this servant of the lord," potter smilingly repeated, "who assists us in tending our crop, and who is----" "erbout de bes' cook in dis yere neighborhood," alf again broke in. "my daughter eva and i were passing," said the woman, "and having noticed for some time that this old house was again inhabited, decided to stop and investigate. we live about five miles from here, on the sunset road. i am mrs. lucy forest, widow of henry forest, who died several years ago. you have heard of him, of course." "i am a comparative stranger in this neighborhood," potter replied. "i ricolleck seein' him," john remarked. "uster have something to do with the sunday-school at mt. pleasant. alf knowed him, too, i reckon." "lawd bless me, yas," alf exclaimed. "i dug de man's grave." "i remember you now," mrs. forest rejoined, "and i remember you, too," addressing john. "your name," turning to potter, "is----" "excuse me for not introducing myself. my name is potter." "well, i was going to say that your name was bradshaw, and that i had seen you before." "excuse me a moment," said potter, "i see your horse is loose. let me go and hitch him for you." "i'm younger than you, let me go," john insisted. when john had gone, mrs. forest, looking after him, remarked: "that young man has a splendid face. don't you think so, eva?" "yes; strong and expressive of true refinement," the girl replied. potter looked in admiration upon her. she was apparently but little more than fifteen years of age, but in form was well advanced toward graceful womanhood. her eyes were large, dark, and beautiful. her hair was as threads of fine and blackest silk, and in its graceful clustering, romance, it seemed, had found a lurking place. there was not a ruddy glow upon her cheeks, but with a creamy shading they tended toward paleness. an expression of quiet thought lay about the corners of her shapely mouth, but on her forehead, low and broad, fancy traced a brightening picture. the girl's mother, noticing potter's look, which had now almost deepened into a gaze, remarked: "i don't think my daughter is looking very well. for some time she has been at school over at sunset, where there is an excellent teacher, but she studied so hard that i had to take her away." "mother, please don't make me out an invalid, for you know that i can walk long distances and climb steep hills without fatigue." "oh, i don't mean that you are an invalid, daughter; but you know yourself, mr. brad--mr. potter, that it is not well for one so young to be so devoted to books. it was her father's only trouble--i came near saying fault." "it was his greatest pleasure," the girl suggested. "yes; but if it hadn't been for books he might have been a successful business man, and we might not have been compelled to leave our home in tennessee, where i was so contented, and settle in this out-of-the-way place, and, of necessity, take up ignorance for our neighbors." "his neighbors, the few books which he saved, are not ignorant," the girl replied. "he loved them, found them true, and left them friends to me." "yes, child, yes; i know all that; but it was a hardship on me, and since his death the cultivation of the farm has given me no end of trouble. oh, i like books well enough, but unless we can write them they don't make us a living." "but," said potter, "they reduce a dreary and barren hour into a minute of ripe delight." the girl clapped her hands. "i thank you for so bright a defense," she exclaimed. "oh, when you come ter talk erbout books," said alf, "mr. potter he plum dar. got er big luther-kivered book yere dat he read mighty nigh all de time." "the bible i hope," mrs. forest remarked. "the bible often, mrs. forest, but the book to which he refers is the bible's wise, though sometimes sportive, child--shakespeare." john re-entered the room. "there's comin' up a shower," said he, "an' i took the horse to the stable." "it is fortunate that we stopped, even though there are no women folks," mrs. forest replied. eva turned to john. "this room has somewhat the appearance of a school," she said. "it is a school to me," john answered. "you are anxious to learn, i suppose." "yes, so anxious that the time, it 'pears like, flies away befo' i l'arn anything." "time will seem kinder after awhile, for then you will be more able to employ it. when you want books that are full of interest, come over to our house." rain began to pour down. a frightened quail fluttered past the door. a baffled hawk screamed in anger. a rabbit ran into the yard and squatted under an old and tangled rose-bush. the rain ceased. the rabbit shook himself and ran away. the hawk screamed in anger. "it is time we were going, daughter," said mrs. forest when a stream of sunlight came through the window. "will you please get our horse?" she added, addressing john. john bowed, rather awkwardly, perhaps, yet with not a bad show of courtesy, and hurried away to execute the commission. "mrs. forest," said potter, "we do not live so far apart but that we might be more neighborly in the future." "why, surely not," mrs. forest replied. "you will find everyone neighborly in this part of the country. many of the people have nothing, you might say, except a neighborly disposition." when the visitors were gone, and when john had again taken up his book, potter remarked: "excellent people, i warrant you. what do you think of that young lady, john?" "i don't know, sir. she's so fur away frum me, it 'pears like that i can't think about her at all. mr. potter, do you think i'm learnin' how to talk any better than i did?" "yes, and very rapidly, too; but the book which you are of necessity studying now, can only serve you in a preliminary way--i mean that what you are studying now, will prepare you for grammar, and grammar will lead you into the excellencies of speech." "look yere," said alf, "its erbout time i wuz er slicin' off our names, an' er puttin' 'em in de pot. i keep er tellin' you, dat edycation gittin' powerful thick round yere, but huh, when er man's hungry, he'd ruther yere suthin' er singin' in er skillet den ter fool wid er book, i doan' kere how many picters it got in it. i'll take deze yere squirl's dat we picked offen dem hickory trees dis mawnin', an' putty soon you'll yere er song in dat fryin' pan dat'll make you genermen drap dem books. i'se dun blowed my ho'n." early the next morning, before potter and john had got out of bed, alf came bustling into the room, bringing the appearance of great excitement. "genermen," he exclaimed, "dis ain't no time ter lie yere!" "what's the matter?" potter demanded. "what has happened; can't you speak?" "cose i ken speak. ef i couldn' speak, i couldn' tell you dat dis ain't no time ter lay yere. whut's happened? b'ar tracks, sah; dat's whut's happened. i wus down in the fiel' jes' now ter see ef i could find any dem raskil coons t'arin' down de co'n, an' all at once i come ter er place so tangled wid stalks dat, fo' greshus, i dun thought er whirlwin' hit de co'n, but den it wuz all splained, fur dar wuz b'ar tracks mighty nigh ez big ez er ham. huh, i dun thought somebody dun been goin' long dar er hittin' de groun' wid er maul. let's git er bite ter eat ez soon ez we ken, an' foller de ole scounul." immediately after breakfast they set out to look for the bear. the tracks in the field proclaimed him to be of monstrous size. pete, alf's dog, well understood the importance of the pursuit. they followed the trail a long distance up the river, and then into a dense cane-brake. "mr. potter, did you ever kill a bear?" john asked. "no; the truth is i have never seen a wild one. you have killed a number of them, i suppose?" "no, sir; but i shot one last winter, but he got away. my gun don't carry a ball large enough, i reckon, unless i mout hit him in the eye." "yere's de ole lady dat totes de ball," said alf, affectionately tapping the barrel of his army gun. "doan kere whar i hit one o' em, he gwine squeal, lemme tell you. jes' look at ole pete, how he prance. he uster be er mighty fine b'ar dog, but he ain't seed one in so long, dat i'se almos' afeerd dat he dun furgot how ter keep outen de way. b'ar git er holt o' er dog an' dat dog's gone, i tell you. le's stop right yere, an' let him go on out in yander." the dog ran forward, becoming more and more excited. the trail was evidently warm. the dog barked some distance away. "hol' on," said the old negro. "lissun er minut'." another bark; followed by a distressing howl. alf sprang forward. potter and john followed as rapidly as they could through the tangled cane. after a tiresome struggle, they came to a small open space. there lay the dog, dead. the old negro dropped his gun, got down on his knees, and lifted the animal's bleeding head. it was some time before the old negro spoke. his companions, respecting a grief which they saw was deep and stirring, remained silent. at length old alf said: "po' ole frien'. too ole an' stiff in de j'ints ter git outen de way. we's all gittin' dat way, ole frien'. we'se gittin' so ole an' stiff dat we kaint git outen de way o' trouble w'en we sees it comin' down de road. genermen, i lubed dis yere po' dog. he didn' know nuthin' but ter lub me. he neber seed nuthin' wrong wid de ole man. no matter whut i done, it wuz all right ter him. but he gone now--i doan know whar--but he's gone. lemme tell you, though (arising and taking up his gun), suthin' gwine suffer fur dis. mr. potter, you an' john go roun' dat way, an' i go dis. ef you hear my gun, come ter me. ef i hear yo'n, i'll come." they separated. "i feel sorry for the old fellow," potter remarked. "he's a man of very deep affections, with all his african peculiarities. indeed, he has feelings finer than many a man would ascribe to one of his color." "i know he is one of the best men i ever seed--saw," john replied. "i have hearn folks try to make out that the nigger ain't got as big a soul as the white man, but nobody's got any bigger soul than alf has. there's his gun!" again they struggled through the cane, and again they came upon a small, open space. there they found alf, sitting on a bear, smoking his pipe and fanning himself with his straw hat. "you have him sure enough!" potter exclaimed. "sah?" alf replied, with pretended unconcern. "i say you have killed the bear!" "whut b'ar?" "why, the one you are sitting on." john was leaning against a tree, shaking with laughter. he understood the old man. "oh, dis yere b'ar." "yes; that bear." "oh, yas, sah; i got him. tell you whut it is" (getting up, and putting on his hat), "it won't do fur er b'ar ter come killin' one o' my ole frien's. dangerous, sah, dangerous. wall, we'll go home now, get de hosses, an' drag dis generman ter de house." "an enormous animal," said potter. "cose he is. oh, i ain't trampin' roun' de neighborhood er shootin' kittens, i tell you." chapter v. when the bear had been dragged home, skinned and cut up, the work of dividing with the nearest neighbors was begun. john took a choice roast over to mrs. forest, whose overflowing expressions of thanks quite embarrassed him, but eva came forward with such frankness of manner that his confusion was put to instant flight. "come into the other room," said the girl, "and let me show you some of my books." he followed her into a room situated at the end of a gallery that ran the full length of the old log house. the collection numbered but a few volumes, but john opened his eyes in great astonishment. "you haven't read all these here, have you?" he asked. "oh, yes, some of them many times. it doesn't take long to read them all. after awhile i will lend them to you." "i will take good care of them." "oh, i know that. anyone who would not take care of a book is not worthy of the slightest trust." mrs. forest came to the door. "eva," she said, "yonder comes that good-for-nothing bob juckels. i wish he would stay at home. look; he threw a stone at the calf. i could wring his good-for-nothing neck." eva and john went out onto the gallery. bob juckels climbed over the fence, though the gate was near, and, in a skulking and "scuffing" manner, approached. he was just old enough to be "gawky," and was not intelligent enough to understand even the demands of the uncouth politeness of the neighborhood. his face was covered with red freckles, his teeth protruded, and his dingy hair looked as though it might, at some time, have been chewed by a calf. "hi, folks," he said, as he stepped upon the gallery. "'lowed i'd drap in an' see you erwhile. pap wanted me ter chop sprouts outen the corners uv the fence ter-day, but i don't feel like it. ain't this here john lucas?" "yes," john replied. "that's whut i 'lowed. i was over at ole lucas' house one time; drapped in ter git a drink uv water, an' hanged ef that wife uv hizen didn't skeer me putty nigh ter death. i ain't been thar sense, fur it's sorter outen my range, anyhow. eva, have you got any fresh water handy?" "some there in the bucket, i think," the girl replied. "sho it's fresh?" "if it isn't, you know where the well is," said mrs. forest. "yas, ought ter. john, is that yo' hoss hitched out thar?" "yes." "'lowed so. sorter looks like you--haw! haw! say, ef you'll go my way i'll ride behind you?" "i'm not goin' your way; but you shouldn't ride behind me if you was goin' mine." "reckon we'd see erbout that." "well, i must go," said john, addressing mrs. forest and eva. "don't be snatched," juckles replied. john gave the fellow a contemptuous look; and then, after shaking hands with the ladies, and especially after listening with gratitude to their sincere declarations that he would ever be a welcome visitor at their house, mounted his horse and rode away. he had not gone far when his saddle-girth broke. he dismounted, and while he was mending it with a string, bob juckles climbed over a fence, and approached him. "'lowed i'd cut across the field an' beat you," said bob. "that ain't much uv a nag you've got, nohow. don't look like he could pull er settin' hen offen her nest." "he's putty strong," john replied, "but there air some things he can't pull. he couldn't pull the truth out of you, for instance." "oh, you air gettin' mighty high up sense you been 'sociatin' with that ole nigger an' that big red-headed feller. i've hearn all erbout you." "i expect you have hearn more about us than anybody cares to hear about you." "keep on that er way," bob replied, "an' you'll be sharp ernuff ter drive in the ground airter while." "juckels, go on erway now and leave me alone. i don't like you, and i don't want to have anything to do with you." "how do you know whuther you like me ur not, when you don't know much erbout me?" "i know enough about you. i've seen you a number of times. alf knows you, too." "alf's er ole fool." "go on away, now." "say," said juckels, "what made you go over thar ter the wider's?" "none of your business." "fine-lookin' gal they've got over thar, ain't she? ken make er putty fair article uv pie, too, i tell you. say, i bet i ken outrassle you fur that coat you've got on." "i told you to go away." "wall, then, i ken outbox you fur that ar hat." john had mended the girth and was trimming a switch that he had cut from a hickory sapling. "did you hear whut i said?" juckels remarked. john, without replying, was preparing to mount his horse, when juckels took hold of his arm. john wheeled about, and with the switch gave the intruder so sharp a cut across the face that he roared with pain. "never mind," he yelled as john rode away, "this ain't the last day in the world. you'll hear frum me one uv these days in a way that'll make you squeal." john, upon arriving home, found his uncle and aunt. old jeff was wheezy with a cold which he had caught some time before, while tying fodder at night in the dew. he and his wife had met alf, who was on his way to take them a piece of bear meat, had faced him about and compelled him to go back with them, declaring that they could take the meat home themselves. "i never was mo' s'prized in my life than when i found you folks had suthin' ter eat over here," said mrs. lucas. "my consceounce alive, i wush i may never stir agin, ef i didn't 'spect ter find you all starved ter death." potter looked up with a broad smile, and attempted to make some sort of a pleasant reply, but had no sooner said "madam" than the old woman, using an illustration afterward employed by alf, "fairly fluttered." "oh don't call me er madam," she exclaimed. "gracious knows i didn't come all the way over here ter be madamed. when a man calls a woman madam, he thinks he's done the biggest sorter day's work. now thar's jeff grinnin' jest like er 'possum. do b'le've in my soul he would grin ef the woods was afire." "i mout ef i had ter go through 'em" old jeff replied. "yes, i'll be bound you would," she answered, giving, as a recognition of his reply, a sort of savage nod. "wall, we kaint be settin' 'round here allus, jeff. let's be gittin' on home, fur it'll be night 'fo' we git thar, nohow." winter came. snowbirds fluttered on the smoking ground where the hogs were fed. the dry and cupped leaf of the hornbeam tree floated down the shivering rivulet, carrying as a cargo the lifeless body of a cricket. as the weather grew colder, alf's daughter seemed to grow weaker. she spoke not of the pain she must have suffered, but all day, when the wind howled, she sat in a corner near the fire, with her wasted hands clasped and with musing gaze fixed upon the glowing coals. in the night, when the sharp sleet rattled against the window--when some homeless and abused dog howled dismally on the hill-side--old alf would take her in his arms and walk the floor with her, whispering the while soft words of love's encouragement. the winter would soon be gone; the dry and stiffened twig would soon again be "velveted" with buds. he told her to think of the garden that he was going to clear for her in the edge of the woods. "doan talk erbout gittin' weaker ever' day, little angel," he would say. "w'y bless me, chile, you's gittin' heavier all time. huh, airter while it will take er man ez strong ez mr. potter ter lif' you roun'." but when he would put her down and turn away from her, tears would start from his eyes. one night, after a physician had gravely shaken his head and gone away, alf called potter and john. "come in yere er minit, genermen," he said. they followed him. a large stove had been placed in alf's room. two holes in the stove glared like two red eyes. "can we do anything for her?" potter asked. "i'se erfeered not; but i kaint think, sah, dat she's so much wus ter day. yeres de genermen, jule. you wanted me to call 'em." she smiled in reply. alf knelt beside the bed. "you doan feel so much wus, does you, honey?" "no, sah; i feels much better." "thank de lawd fur dat. set down, genermen. oh, i tole you dat doctor didn' know whut he talkin' 'bout. is you sufferin' much pain, little gal?" "no, sah; none er tall. whut time is it?" "bout o'clock." "i thought it wuz day. ain't dat de sun shinin' dar ergin de wall?" "no; dat's de light frum dem holes in de stove." "i thought de fire wuz out," she replied. "it's so col' in yere." "oh, no; we got er monst'us good fire. i put in some hickory chunks jes' now." "i wush i could see de sun." "you ken termor' mornin', honey. it's been cloudy, you know, fur two or three days, but it's cl'ar now, fur when i looked out jes' now, er thousan' stars wuz er winkin' at each uder, thinkin' dat da got er good joke on de weather." "de moon ain't shinin', is it?" she asked. "no. it sorter 'pears like she's got tangled up in de underbresh way over yander on de uder side de hill, but termor' mornin' de sun gwine git up early, an' fling er bushel o' gold right inter dis yere room." "daddy?" "yas, honey." "you won't feel too bad ef i tell you suthin', will you?" "no, darlin'." "daddy?" "yes." "i'se dyin'." "oh, doan say dat." he took her hands. "my god, genermen," he exclaimed, "she is cold. oh, fur god's sake, kain't you he'p me? john, kain't--oh, hebenly father----" "daddy?" "yas, angel." "didn' you tell me erbout de good man dat died? daddy, i--oh, i'se so happy--i----" "my god, she's gone!" exclaimed the old negro; "gone, gone. oh, god, have mercy on my po' ole heart. genermen, leave me yere er little while." potter and john went out into the night. the thousand stars were still winking at each other. without speaking the two friends turned down toward the river. "what noise is that?" potter asked suddenly stopping. it was the wild wailing of alf's fiddle. the old man was pouring out his grief. chapter vi. three years passed. no change had come over the old house where potter, john, and alf lived, but the farm was no longer a place half covered with bushes and briers. it was a long time after jule's death before old alf regained his wonted cheerfulness; and one night when she had, for more than two years, been in her grave, old alf got out of bed, and began to walk up and down the room. potter, who heard him, asked if he was ill. "oh, no, sah," he replied. "i am jes' walkin' wid de speret o' my chile." to john there had come a great change. he had studied with unwavering determination, and had during two winters attended school at sunset. from a charge, he had become a companion to potter, who, during more than one conversation with mrs. forest and eva, had said: "that boy has a wonderfully strong and original mind. his teacher declares that he never saw his equal. the mark he is going to make will be deeper than any furrow he has ever plowed." potter and john had spent many pleasant hours at the forest house. john had read all of eva's books. he had not stopped at this; he had bought a number of books which he found in a store at sunset--old books, which were thought by the storekeeper to be hopelessly out of date. he had laughed when john marched proudly away with a sack full of treasures. "that feller will never make a livin'," said the storekeeper. "why, he give me $ for a lot of old rubbish that i've been tumblin' about the store for years." john also laughed, but with quiet joy, for in the sack there were "burns' poems," the "vicar of wakefield," "paul and virginia," "plutarch's lives," and "macaulay's essays." one afternoon, john and eva were strolling along a flower-fringed road near mrs. forest's house, when the girl remarked: "it is not strange to me that you are so different intellectually now from your former self. when i first saw you i knew that this time would come." "it is so strange to me," john replied, "that i can scarcely realize it. oh, of course, i am by no means learned, and doubtless never shall be, but every day i see the light of perseverance thrown upon mysteries which were once dark and stubborn. eva, there is no life so wretched as that of the yearning backwoods boy. his hands are tied; the dust from the field of ignorance blinds his eyes. but there is hope for every boy. i believe that as a case of hopelessness mine was at one time without a parallel." "yes," she replied, "but you have sat between two remarkable teachers. on one side, a man of books, not a great philosopher, but a man of engaging fancy and bright illustration. on the other side, a child of nature--a man who can feel the pulse of a leaf, who can hear the beating of the heart of a tree." "yes, but those teachers came to me," john rejoined, "just as opportunities must at some time come to all boys. if i could preach to every farmer boy, or for that matter to every boy, the first word uttered should be 'books.' yonder comes that fellow juckels. let us go back toward the house." they turned back, but had not gone far when juckels overtook them. "out sorter sunin' yo'selves, i see," he said. john gave him a short "yes;" eva said nothing. "tell me, they do, that you air sorter gittin' up in the picters, john." "i am not studying pictures. i have no intention of becoming an artist." "oh, you know what i mean? say, one time er good while ergo, i told you that you would hear from me in a way that would make you squeal. ricolleck?" "yes, i remember." "wall, the reason you ain't is becaze i went off down ter my uncle's in the white oak neighborhood, an' ever' time i came back you was off at school or somewhar else. now, don't you think it is erbout time we was havin' er settlement?" "i don't owe you anything," john replied. "no; but i owe you suthin'." "all right, then, pay it." john felt the girl's trembling touch upon his arm. he looked at her, and saw that her face had grown paler. she gave him a look of earnest meaning, and then slowly shook her head. not another word was spoken until they were within a few steps of eva's home. then john, bidding her good evening, said that he must hurry on and assist potter and alf in feeding the cattle. "i wish to see you a moment," said the girl, drawing him aside. "don't have anything to do with that man." she added, in an undertone, "he is utterly without principle." "i will keep an eye on him," john replied. "the coward ever seems to fear the light of an open eye quite as much as he does the gleaming of a weapon. good-evening." john walked rapidly, but juckels, moving with a sort of dog trot, soon overtook him. "looks like we mout have rain, john; the sun's goin' ter bed sorter bloody, ez the feller says." "yes," john replied. "hickory switches grow putty plentiful long here, don't they?" "yes." "never wuz cut in the face with one, i reckon?" "no." "they say it hurts putty bad." "you ought to know." "sho nuff; mebbe, then, i do." "i should think so, if you have a good memory." "you bet i've got er good one. now here, i want you ter 'polyjise ter me." "what for?" "you know, an' you've got ter do it ur suthin' is goin' ter happen." "something is always happening. if something didn't happen, time would be very dull to some people." "yas; an' when suthin' do happen, time mout stop ter some people. you've hearn uv fellers what b'l'eves that er pistol sometimes snaps, but er knife don't, hain't you?" "yes." "wall, i'm one uv them fellers." "there are fellows, too, that i suppose you have heard of." "whut sort?" "the kind that would not hesitate a moment to knock you down and kick you across the road. i see your knife, you coward." they had stopped in the road, and were facing each other. "yas, an' you'll feel----" john knocked him down with a blow, lightning-like in its quickness, and, without waiting for him to get up, resumed his brisk walk. juckels did not follow, but in a sort of hoarse roar exclaimed: "you'll hear from me in a way that'll make you squeal! see if you don't." when john reached home, he found that the cattle had been fed, and that supper was waiting for him. "suthin' gwine ter snatch you up one deze nights an' run erway wid you," said alf, slyly winking at potter. "keep on prowlin' 'round de woods at night, an' you'll see bimeby. set up dar now an' eat some o' dem fish me an' mr. potter dun cotch. b'l'ebes da bites in dis airly fall weder better den da do in de spring. yo' aunt liz wuz ober yere terday, an' wuz powerful 'stonished ter see dat we ain't dun starved ter death yit. when she seed deze new cheers an' table it made de ole lady open her eyes, i tell you. seed dat pizen feller juckels pokin' roun' down by de river 'bout dinner time. dat feller ain't gwine ter come ter no good. i lay er rattlesnake gwine ter bite him some day. huh, an' i lay it'll kill de snake, too." john then related his adventure with juckels. "why, you ought to have stamped the life out of the scoundrel," potter exclaimed. "don't you know that he might hide behind a tree and shoot you. i will go over to-morrow, see his father, and tell him that unless something is done his son is likely to be badly hurt. why, it is an outrage." "doan reckon it is much use ter see his daddy," alf replied. "w'y, dat feller is older den john, an' i doan reckon his daddy ken do much wid him." "that may be, but something must be done. by the way, this morning while strolling up the river i met two well-dressed men, horseback, who asked me if i knew who was cutting that cedar timber away up beyond rocky bend." alf opened his eyes and straightened up. "you didn' know o' co'se," he said, with the thickness of a half-strangled whisper. "why, yes; i told them that four or five brothers named dun were doing it." "den de lawd hab mussy on us!" the old negro exclaimed. "what difference did it make? i don't understand you." "oh, i 'tended ter tell you 'bout dat, but it's too late now, for we'se gone. lawd, da's got you po' ole servant on de hip ergin!" "alf, are you crazy?" "no, sah; an' i'se erfeerd i won't be nuthin' putty soon. mr. potter, dat cedar timber up dar is on guberment lan', an' dem men dat axed you erbout it wuz guberment men. w'y, nobody in dis yere neighborhood would er tole on dem duns, fur da's de wust men you eber seed. da'll dodge dem guberment men an' come right yere airter us. doan ax me how da'll fine out who tole on 'em, fur i lay da knows dis minit. did anybody yere you tole 'em?" "there was a man fishing close by." "dat settles it. lawd, da dun built er nudder fire un'er yo' po' ole servant." "i didn't think to caution mr. potter," said john. "too late ter talk erbout it now," alf went on. "dem duns comin' right yere dis night, set dis house erfire an' shoot us ez we runs out." "the situation is serious," potter admitted. "serious!" alf exclaimed. "does you call it serious fur er man ter run outen de house ter keep frum bein' burnt up an' den git shot down like er deer? oh, lawd, you better take yo' po' servant home, caze he kain't git erlong down yere." "i didn't mean to harm the dun brothers or in the least meddle with their affairs," said potter, "but if they hold my action to be of such mortal sin and come to this house to seek a bloody revenge i shall deem it my duty to shoot them." "that is the way to talk," john replied. "yes," said alf, "it's de way ter talk, an' it's de way ter ack, too, but de danger is in 'em settin' de house erfire. wall, i'se got er powerful good ole gun yere, an' ef i draw down on one o' dem men he'll wish he had er staid at home, i tell you. we'd better put deze lights out, caze dem raskils ken slip up yere an' shoot us through de cracks." action upon the old negro's advice was immediately taken. the wind began to howl furiously. a rumbling, low and distant, proclaimed with sullen threatening the coming of a storm. nearer, nearer the rumbling came, and glittering spears of blinding light were thrust with angry flashing through the chink holes of the wall. the wind became more violent, the rumbling burst into a deafening clap, and ragged sheets of water lashed the house. the lingering lightning, quivering in fearful dalliance, as though loth to sink back into the dark and surging cloud, wrought upon the river, which could be seen through the window, a thousand terror-breeding shapes--great monsters that lashed the water into fiery foam. "we better put down deze yere guns an' pray erwhile," said alf. "oh, lawd, is you gwine ter let de elements kill yo' po' ole servant? my greshus, yere dem limbs strikin' de house! dar ain't been no sich er storm ez dis--mussyful hebens, is de house down! oh, i thought we gone dat time, sho. deze ole logs wuz put yere ter stay--dat is, i hopes so." "this storm will protect us from the duns until morning, at least," potter rejoined. "this lightning will purify our air against their poisonous vapors." "then," said john, "let us hope that this wind is not ill. mr. potter, you remember the first day i ever saw you, when we were sitting in the yard discussing a plan upon which, to me at least, there has fallen such a promise of ripeness, you said that i might think it strange that you should seek to bury yourself here in the woods." "yes, i remember." "and you said that some time in the future you hoped to tell me the cause." "yes." "well, is not this a most befitting time? if a storm drove you to this place let a storm drive out to me your confidence. i have often seen you put your book aside and give yourself to moments of so deep a brooding that, though i would not seek to be obtrusive, i have tried to study out your mystery. this storm, i think, is growing worse. to-morrow--well, to-morrow we may not be here. tell me now." a lingering, quivering light fell on potter's face, and under the glare john could see the darkened lines of trouble. "no, my dear boy, i can not tell you now. that i have confidence in you, you well know; that i have an affection for you, you must feel. i have watched the soft color of sadness which i once saw under the sunburn on your face grow brighter with an eager glow. i have seen your mind unfold, and each day have found something new in you to admire, but i can not tell you what you crave to know. there, the lightning is growing dimmer. from a roar the wind is shrinking to a wail." "yas," said alf, "an' i thank de lawd fur it, too; i tell you dat. it won't do ter fool wid one deze yere storms dat puts on er black nightcap an' w'ars red ribbons at its throat. i think we mout ez well lay down yere now an' sleep erwhile. dem men ain't gwine ter come yere ter-night; but i do b'l'ebe da'll be yere in de mawnin'; an' ef da block us up in yere de neighbors will jes' let us stay yere an' starve, caze, i tell yo, da so monst'us feerd o' dem fellers." they had not long to wait when morning came until they saw that alf's prediction had not been an idle one; for when potter opened the door to look out, there came a short report from an opposite hillside, and a bullet sent splinters flying from the door facing. "shet de do'," alf cried. "grab yo' guns an' lay down on de flo'. when de sun comes up da gwine shoot through deze yere cracks. oh, lawd, da's still atter yo' po' ole servant. lissun how da shoot. biz! yere dem balls!" "if i can get a sight at one of them," said potter, peering through a hole in the wall, "i think that i can relieve him from duty. boys, shoot, anyway." a brisk firing was now begun on each side. a small mirror flew into fragments and fell on the floor. a dish pan with a ringing "tang" fell from the wall. "oh, de scounule," said alf. "it's er powerful good thing for us dat dar ain't no cracks closer ter de flo'. helloa! what's de matter? thank de lawd, w'y look yander; de guberment men is airter 'em." indeed, a deputy united states marshal and his men had arrived, and the duns, five in number, were captured, not however until two of them had been severely wounded. the prisoners were brought to the house, where one man, a sort of physician, attended to the wounded. "i am very sorry that we got you into trouble," said the deputy marshal, addressing potter, "but you have greatly aided us in breaking up this gang." "what will you do with them?" potter asked. "they will be sent to the united states prison at detroit. they have stolen a great deal of valuable timber, for which the government has use, and their terms are not likely to be short. i don't think you need to fear any more trouble, as the entire gang is now broken up. well, boys, go and get the wagon and we will haul our violent woodchoppers to little rock." that night old alf, taking down his fiddle, remarked: "got ter hab some music, now. oh, i tell yer dat when er man praises de lawd wid er little music now an' den, it takes er mighty powerful evil speret ter lay his claw on him." chapter vii. one evening old alf, having put away the supper dishes, took down his fiddle and began to twang its strings, but failing to feel his wonted interest in the instrument, put it down and then sought diversion in the humming of an old "corn-shucking" song; but again meeting with failure, he got up, sadly shook his head, and began to walk up and down the room. potter and john, who were reading, paid no attention. suddenly he exclaimed: "uh, huh, now i got it, got it sho." "what have you got?" potter asked. "w'y, sah, got de reason dat i'se troubled in my mine dis ebenin'." "are you troubled?" "is i troubled? now, dat's er fine question ter ax er man dat has been carryin' on like i has. ain't my fiddle 'fused ter talk ter me, an' ain't er old song dun failed ter fetch de co'n-bread crumbs o' comfort? tibby sho. now, whut's de matter? suthin' dat i needs. whut is dat suthin'? w'y, i needs ter go er possum huntin', sah, dat's whut i needs. i dreamed last night dat i seed er piece o' fat meat an' er sweet pertater er raslin'. i knowed it meant suthin', but i didn' know whut till jes' now. it means dat we got ter go er possum huntin' dis yere very night, sah. how do it hit you?" "i'm willing. what do you say, john?" "suits me exactly," john replied. "then, let us get ready and go at once," said potter. "there is no retrospective hand that reaches so kindly out of the past and touches me with a thrill of so endearing a memory as the hand that comes out from under the hazy curtain of an indian-summer night and gently draws me back into a hallowed past, when, with eager footsteps, i followed the negroes on my father's farm to the place where the dogs had treed." "yas, i reckon so," alf replied; "i do reckon dat; yas, sah, i do. i doan know nuthin' 'bout no arm comin' out, but i knows dat de ricollection o' some frosty nights in ole north kliny makes me wush dat i wuz dar, er boy ergin. but let us go on ef we gwine, caze it's been some time sense de oven has shined wid de sweet grease o' de possum. deze new dogs we got, i doan know so much erbout 'em. wush ole pete--neber mine, dat's all right. lawd, yo' ole servant 'bout ter grumble ergin." they went out into the beautiful night. nature was so hushed that the rythmic flow of the river could be heard. the stars seemed to shine through a gauzy sheen. in the air there was a faltering promise of the coming of winter. on a log, where the moonbeams fell, there lay a substance of greenish white. it was a dead tree-toad. "let's cross dis fiel'," said alf, "an' skirt 'long de edge o' de woods whar de 'simmon trees grows. whoop--ee! [calling to the dogs]. git 'em down, ole boys. whoop--ee, git 'em down!" the old negro was joyous. he hummed old tunes. "i doan know whut make dem varmints so skace ter-night," said he. "knowing that you were coming after them, they have doubtless all left the country," john replied. "i reckon you's hit it, sah; i reckon you has, caze when i starts out, suthin' mighty nigh sho ter happen. whoop--shove 'em ole boys! whoop, push 'em!" "hold on a minute," said potter, stopping. "what is the cause of that bright light over yonder?" "bresh heep er burnin' whar somebody cl'arin' up new groun', i reckon," alf replied. "not that," john remarked. "a brush heap would hardly send its light so high." "dat's er fack," the old man admitted. "that is someone's house on fire," said potter. "who lives over that way?" "miz forest's house is ober dat way ef i ain't turned 'roun'." "it is her house!" john exclaimed, bounding forward. "come on!" they ran with the speed of utmost exertion. john gained on his companions. he jumped over a rail fence without touching it. "come on," he cried. they could now plainly see the house. the roof was in flames. no one could be seen near the burning building. "is it possible that they are burning up?" john thought. he reached the yard fence, cleared it at a bound, ran across the yard, sprang upon the gallery, and threw himself with all his weight against the door. it did not yield. "eva," he cried, beating on the door. "eva!" no answer came. he leaped from the gallery, seized the door-step, a ponderous log, staggered upon the gallery and threw the log against the door. an oak latch snapped and the door flew open. he did not rush into the room. his sense of modesty, even at such a time, forbade it, but with a loud voice he exclaimed: "for god's sake come out; your house is on fire." the next moment mrs. forest and eva, almost frantic with excitement, but wrapped in the clothes which they had gathered from the bed, rushed from the room. by this time potter and alf had arrived. they dashed into the house to save what furniture they could. "don't be excited," said potter. "fire is dropping down, but it will take quite a while for those oak rafters to burn in two. carry out the trunks; we can save all the clothes. here, alf, you are too much excited. where is john?" john had thought of eva's books, and although that end of the house was almost entirely wrapped in flames, was exerting himself in the dangerous work of saving the cherished volumes, and before the roof fell in, he had carried out the last book. a number of the neighbors soon arrived, for the cry of "fire!" "fire!" had echoed through the woods. mrs. forest and eva, having dressed themselves in the barn, stood looking at the destruction of their home. "i don't know how it could have happened," said mrs. forest. "it must have caught from the upper part of the chimney. i don't know how to thank you all. the fact that this is the first time i have ever been placed under such serious obligations, makes me awkward in acknowledging them. eva, can't you say something?" the girl stood trembling. john stood near her. "no," she replied, "i--i--don't know----" she burst into tears. "come, daughter, we are going home with mrs. patterson and stay until we can have another house built." the next day john went over to patterson's. mrs. forest and eva, with that strong recuperative force found among people who live in the woods, had recovered from the effect of the excitement of the previous night. "let us walk over and look at the ruins," said john, addressing eva. "there is but little to look at," she replied, "but we will go." they spoke but few words as they crossed the fields, but each one felt that the other was not unhappy. the leaves on the running brier were red, and the velvety top of the sassafras sprout was cool to the touch. there was nothing left of the old house but a few smoldering chunks. john and eva sat down on a log that had served as a horse-block. "it would have been a great disappointment to me, eva, if your books had not been saved." "yes," she replied, "but they were not worth so great a risk." "oh, the risk was nothing. all that was required was a little activity." they were silent for some time, and then john remarked: "how strange everything has been. i used to fear that there never would be a time when i could talk to you without embarrassment. this fear did not come from any word or action of yours, but from a true estimate of myself." "how a true estimate?" "why, an almost overpowering knowledge of my own ignorance." she gave him an imploring look. he continued: "you have ever been kind to me. you have helped me, inspired me. i know nothing of the world, but i know gratitude. when i am reading a book, and hold so much within my grasp, the world seems very small; but when i look away at the clouds floating far beyond the hills, i then feel that the world is very large. but, eva, may it be large or small, there is to me but one source of true happiness. you are that source, my angel. i love you--love you. when i am near you nature is more beautiful. there is religion in the soft light of your eyes. there is the thrill of deep poetry in every sound of your voice. i do not come to you with pleading, for i feel that you love me--not because i have done you a service, but because our souls, waving in a perfumed atmosphere, touch each other." "john." "yes, angel." "you are the only human being who has ever understood me; you are the only human being whom i have ever understood. yes, i do love you--loved you when i saw you with a child's primer in your hand--loved you when i saw you a grasping student of rhetoric. that we should love each other, seems to me as natural as that the sun should shine. it could be the only result of our association." he put his arm about her and drew her closer to him. "eva, as you say, love could be the only result of our association; and now do you not know that there can be but one true result of our love?" "yes," she replied, "only one." the neighbors soon decided to build mrs. forest another house. the building of a log house in the country is looked upon as a sort of holiday frolic, and there is no man in the immediate neighborhood too busy with his own affairs to lend a helping hand. the new house was built upon the same site, and after the same pattern as the old one. eva had, one day, just finished arranging her books, when bob juckels stepped upon the gallery. "hi," said he, as he reached into an adjoining room, drew out a chair and sat down. "mr. juckels, i want you to go away from here," the girl replied. she stood in the library door. he looked up at her, with an attempt at a smile, but with the result of an ugly grin. "pretty good house you got here. woulder come over ter the raisin', but i didn't wanter meet lucas, fur when i meet him, we're goin' ter mix. i'm me, let me tell you that." he took out a bottle of whisky, shook it, held it up, squinted at it and then took a drink. the girl was afraid of him. her mother had gone over to a neighbor's house. "putty good house you've got here. made outen green logs an' it won't burn ez easy ez the old one did. say, did you tell lucas that i had axed you ter marry me?" "no; i dislike you so much that i do not mention your name to anyone." "good idee. wall, i've come ter ax you agin." "and i tell you that i wouldn't marry you to save my life. i despise you." "that don't make no diffunce ter me, fur airter we was married erwhile you would git over that. when i axed you befo' an' you 'lowed you wouldn't, i said you would hear from me." "yes." he shook the bottle again, and took another drink. "an' you did hear frum me," he said, after a few moments' silence. "i don't know that i have." he laughed with a low and malicious chuckle, looked about him, looked up at the rafters, looked down at the floor, chuckled again, and said: "ever'thing new." "i don't understand you," eva replied. "reckon not. wimin kain't grab er p'int ez quick ez men ken. i mean that i sot yo' house afire. hol' on, now; hol' on. go ter cuttin' up an' it won't be good fur you, an' mo'n that, ef you ever breathe er word uv whut i've said it'll be good-by ter you an' that feller lucas, too. green logs mout not burn, but thar's suthin' else that will. powder'll burn, er--haw, haw! yes, it'll burn like er flash." "oh, you wretch!" "yas; that's whut the grasshopper 'lowed, but the wild turkey picked him up all the same. wall, i must be shovin' erlong; sorter knockin' 'round fur my health. i'll come over agin ter-morrer an' see whut you've got ter say. but, my lady, ef you say er word ter yo' mother, ur anybody else, it'll be good-by ter the whole kit an' bilin' uv you." a few hours later, while potter, john, and alf were strolling along the river bank, they came upon juckels. he stood with one hand resting upon a rock that protruded from a rugged cliff. an empty whisky bottle lay on the ground. as the men approached, juckels looked up with a frown, and, with thick utterance, said: "i want you fellers ter go on erway frum here now. never mind, lucas, i am goin' ter settle with you." "any time will suit me," john replied. "my time will suit _me_," juckels rejoined. "it don't make no diffunce whuther it suits you or not. but i want you fellers ter go on erway frum here now, fur i got here fust an' this is mine." "whut is yo'n?" alf asked. "this possum." "whar's any possum?" "under this here rock; that's whar." "what's er possum doin' under dat rock when dar's plenty trees fur him ter climb!" alf asked. "that's none uv yo' lookout," said juckels. "he's under this rock, an' i'm goin' ter crawl up under thar arter him." alf looked at the ground, examined a number of tracks, and then remarked: "co'se you ken do what you please 'bout dis yere matter, but ef you wuz er frien' o' mine i'd t'ar yo' coat mightily er holdin' ter you fo' i'd let you go up under dar." "yas, i reckon you would t'ar er feller's coat, an' take it erway frum him too, ef you could." "oh, go on up under de rock ef you wants to," alf exclaimed; "but i tell you now dat ef you wuz er frien' o' mine i'd beg you might'ly not ter go under dar." "you air er old thief, an' want me ter leave this possum so you ken git him." "come," said potter, "there is no occasion for such language." "this ain't none uv yo' er'fair, nuther," juckels responded. "i'm goin' under thar, an' that's all thar is erbout it." he threw his hat aside, kicked the whisky bottle into the river, got down on his hands and knees, and crawled under the rock. the men had turned to go away, when there issued from under the rock the most frightful noises--the yells of juckels and the fierce shrieking of furious animals. juckels rolled out from under the cliff. he was literally covered with wildcats. the men ran to his assistance. the animals ran back into their den. juckels was unable to speak. he was bleeding from many wounds, and when he breathed, blood bubbled from a hole in his throat. some time elapsed before a word was spoken. "we must take him home," potter said. "cut down some saplings and we will make a stretcher." they started on their burdensome and solemn march, and must have gone two miles, when alf said: "we mout ez well put him down now an' rest erwhile." "no," replied potter; "let us hurry on so that a physician may be summoned." "dar ain't no use'n er doctor," said alf. "de man is dun dead." so he was. they put down the stretcher. the sounds of hoofs attracted their attention. "yonder comes mrs. forest," said john. "yes," replied potter, "and i will meet her and guide her away from this awful sight." "you are the very man i want to see," cried mrs. forest when potter approached within hailing distance. "i am on my way to your house to consult you," she added, reining up the horse when they met in the road. "i want to ask your advice about something. that good-for-nothing bob juckels has told eva that he set fire to our house, and has declared that he will kill us all if we--i hardly know what all he didn't say, but i want to ask you if you think it best to have him arrested!" "he is beyond the power of the law, mrs. forest. yonder he lies dead." chapter viii. two more years, years without especial incident to the people who lived up terrapin river, passed away. everyone knew of john and eva's betrothal, and as no one had any objections to offer, there came not a jar, not a harsh sound to disturb the smoothly flowing current of their affection. one evening, as potter and john sat in the old house awaiting the return of alf, who had gone to sunset to make some small purchases, the young man, after many minutes of deep meditation, looked up and remarked: "i have worked harder of late in the hope that i might make money enough to place my approaching marriage upon a sensible footing, but it seems----" "there, my boy," potter broke in, "there now, don't worry. of course every man should look to the future, but not to brood in dark foreboding. we are getting along very well, and i think you may safely--there's alf." the old man came in bringing several bundles. "fetchtaked fellers ober yander," said he, "put er brick under my saddle when i had my hoss hitched, an' when i got on ter come home w'y de old critter flung me in de road. huh, when i hit de groun' i thought de whole face o' de yeth dun struck loose. suthin' gwine obertake dem boys one deze days. da's dun forgot erbout dem she bears dat grabbed up dem mean white chillun when da made fun o' er old servant. suthin' gwine ter obertake 'em, i tell you. oh, you neenter laugh, genermen, fur suthin' gwine ter slip up behin' 'em an' grab 'em, sho." they had eaten supper, and potter, in his favorite position, was leaning back against the wall, when a newspaper in which one of the bundles had been wrapped, attracted his attention. "alf, hand me that paper," said he. "i would subscribe for some paper if we lived nearer a post office. ah! a country sheet from kentucky. let me see if uncle billie jackson was in town yesterday, or if aunt nancy phelps has the thanks of the editor for a choice lot of radishes. i see that uncle bob redmond has sold a fine colt to anthony boyle, and here is also the startling information that abe stallcup has purchased the old adams place. i suppose----" he started. the paper shook. he sprang from the chair, pressed his hands to his head, sank upon his knees, clasped his hands and exclaimed: "thank god! thank god! oh, merciful heaven, it has come at last!" he bowed his head and wept. john and alf stood looking on in speechless amazement. "thank god, it has come at last. oh, my friends--you--you----" "what is the matter?" john cried. "wait. i--i will tell you. here," he added, "read this. read it out for i have only seen its aim." john took the paper and read the following: "a number of years ago, our readers will remember, hon. sam bradwell, who lived near lexington, this state, was convicted of the murder of colonel joe moore, and was sentenced to be hanged, but made his escape the night before the execution was to take place. now comes a sequel. about two weeks ago a man named zack fry, supposing that he was on his death-bed, confessed that he was the murderer of moore. but instead of dying, he soon recovered. he was then brought to trial, and, instead of attempting to make a defense, reiterated his confession. he was sentenced to be hanged, and his execution took place last friday. the governor has issued a proclamation declaring bradwell innocent, and offers a reward for intelligence of his whereabouts. bradwell was one of the most prominent men in the state. he was a bachelor and owns one of the largest and finest farms in the famous blue grass region. he had served three terms in the legislature, and but for the moore trouble would doubtless have been sent to congress. he and moore were not on friendly terms--in fact, they were opposed to each other in the house of representatives, of which body moore was also a member. nothing has been heard of bradwell since his escape from jail. he has no very near relatives, and his farm, we understand, is looked after by a number of his friends. there is great rejoicing, we hear, over the proof of his innocence, for he was exceedingly popular with all classes, and especially so with the more refined element. nearly every paper throughout the country has either published or referred to the governor's proclamation, and we sincerely trust that the wanderer may soon return home." potter, or bradwell, stood complacently smiling upon john as he neared the end of the article. his excitement had passed away, leaving not the slightest trace of its sudden bursting forth. john sat in a sort of dazed silence, gazing at his friends, and alf, whose half-open mouth bespoke a mystified state of mind, stood leaning against the wall. "now, my friends," said bradwell, "you know why sam potter lived in this out-of-the-way place. let us all be perfectly easy now. alf, sit down. you look as though you were about to be hanged. i will walk up and down the room, as it would be almost impossible for me to keep still, and will tell you the story of my trouble in kentucky. as the newspaper article states, moore and i were members of the legislature. one day he introduced a bill, the passage of which i did not think would be of benefit to the state. in fact, it was full of what we called buncombe, and was, i thought, intended to play upon an unthoughtful constituency and insure the re-election of its author. i opposed the measure, and was somewhat instrumental in its defeat. this inflamed moore's anger. he denounced me in most violent terms, and swore that he would hold me to an account which might prove painful to one of us. the legislature adjourned the next day, and, as i did not make it my business to look for moore, i left the capital without seeing him. he lived near lexington, to the east; i lived west. one day, several weeks later, while riding horseback to town, i saw, sitting on a fence, a hawk that had just caught a quail. i drew my pistol and fired at the hawk, but missed it. i went on into town, and, as i was going to remain but a very short time, did not put up my horse at a livery stable, but tied him to a rack in a lot in the rear of several stores. i had transacted my business, and was going through an alley leading to the lot, when i heard the report of a pistol. i hurried onward, and, upon turning into the lot, came upon the dead body of moore. a bullet had passed through his head. before i had recovered from the shock of so ghastly a discovery, several men ran to the place, and it was not long until a large crowd had gathered in the lot. i did not think of my position, and surely had no idea that i should be suspected. you may therefore well imagine my surprise when the sheriff arrested me. i was searched. one chamber of my revolver was empty, and, still worse, the bullet which had passed through moore's head, and which was extracted from a cedar post, corresponded in size with the bore of my pistol. i was taken to jail. the next day bail was refused. this was annoying, but aside from being suspected of so grave a charge, i did not regard the affair as serious. i had not counted upon the men whom i had to fight. i had not thought of moore's enraged relatives. the trial came on. there was great excitement. i had many friends, but it seemed that they were afraid of the moores. the jury was cowed. a verdict of guilty was brought in. a motion for a new trial was overruled. my lawyers, prominent and able men, appealed to the supreme court. the decision of the court below was sustained. the date of execution was fixed. i could not realize it. one day i saw through my grated window that men were putting up a scaffold in the jail yard. my blood ran cold. far into the night they carried their labors. lanterns, like the red eyes of vultures, shed a lurid--i thought bloody--light upon the scene. i heard the hammers and saws. a nail glanced under the blow of a hammer and struck my window. it fell inside the cell. the hammers and saws hushed their awful noises. 'all done, dave?' i heard someone ask. 'yes,' came the reply; 'everything's ready.' the workmen went away. the red eyes disappeared, and all was dark. i got down from the window and found the nail. it was a large one. the window through which i had been looking was some distance from the floor. the sheriff's officer in the yard rarely glanced at it. i heard the 'death watch' whistling in the corridor. i climbed up to the window. the ends of the bars, where they fitted into the stones on each side of the window, were made more secure with lead that had been melted and poured about them. with the nail i soon gouged away the lead from one of the bars, but the bar could not be moved. i attempted to gouge out more lead. i dropped the nail. it fell outside. in despair i seized the bar and fell backward. it broke. a thrill shot through me. had anyone heard me? no. the 'death watch' continued to whistle. the broken bar was a powerful lever. another bar and another one was forced out, until not one remained. i looked out. no sounds--all darkness. i went through the window, feet foremost, and dropped to the ground. heavens, i could not scale the outer wall! i thought of the scaffold. it was near the wall. i mounted it. a rope dangled from a beam overhead. i seized the rope, swung out, turned loose and caught the top of the wall. in a moment more i was on the ground--free. i sank upon my knees and thanked god. i was afraid to go home, so, without a cent of money, i set out on my journey. i will not speak of my privations, of the weary miles i walked--of how i worked on a new railroad, and how i managed to get a few books. but i will say this, my dear boy, your face was the first to beam upon the outcast a true and generous welcome. there, there now. i am sorry that my simple recital has moved you to tears. alf, what are you blubbering about?" "sorter got suthin' in dis eye jes' now, an' got suthin' in my throat, too, i b'l'ebe. neber seed de like. man kaint stan' erbout yere widout gittin' all used up, things flyin' roun' so." john caught bradwell's hand and pressed it to his breast. "my dear boy," said the giant, "your approaching marriage is now placed upon a sensible footing. you and your wife shall go with me to kentucky. the farm is not mine, but yours and mine. the house is large, is built of stone, and in it there are many rare books. i have all the time trusted that the light of truth would fall upon that crime, and now--but we will not talk about it. john, we will go over to-morrow and tell mrs. forest and eva. alf, you shall go to kentucky with us." john went to bed in a whirl of happiness. he could not sleep long at a time. joy, as well as sorrow, puts sleep to flight. would morning never come? what can come with such slowness as a wished-for day-break? another doze. sunlight streamed in upon the bed. when bradwell had shown mrs. forest the newspaper article, he told his story. the ladies were much affected, and mrs. forest, as she wiped her eyes, said: "well, i called you bradshaw, you remember. i just knew it was brad something, for i do think that i saw you in kentucky years ago." eva and john walked along the road whose edges were fringed with flowers. "there is nothing in our way now, precious." "no," she replied, "nothing has been in the way, nothing, dear, but your groundless concern. our life, i know, will almost be an ideal one." "it shall be if love and faithfulness can make it so," he replied. they sat down on a log and talked until the horn summoned them to dinner. that afternoon, as bradwell and john were walking toward home, the young man remarked: "eva has only one trouble now." "what is that?" "leaving her mother." "is she going to leave her?" "of course. are we not going to kentucky?" "yes; but mrs. forest, or rather mrs. bradwell, is going with us. oh, you young fellows don't know everything." they shook hands and walked on in happy silence. * * * * * the day was beautiful. it was autumn, and streaks of gray could be seen in the crab-grass. age and infirmity had given to the "chatter jack's" song a harsher sound, and the toad, avoiding the grass where the dew was chilly, stretched himself in the dusty road. the neighbors for miles around had gathered at mrs. forest's house. the bashful boy in brown homespun cast a wistful eye at the dining-table, and the half-grown girl in her linsey frock longed to see the marriage ceremonies performed. "where is alf?" bradwell asked. no one knew. old jeff lucas "'lowed" that he must be prowling around looking for something to eat, and "aunt liz," with a violent wrinkling of her nose, declared that if he wanted anything to eat he should get it at once, for she knew he would starve to death away off there in kentucky. "mandy," said mrs. forest, addressing a colored woman who had come to assist in waiting on the guests, "do you know where alf is?" "how i know whar he is?" the woman replied. "ef he got bizness ober yere i reckon he be yere airter while." the ceremonies were performed, and while congratulations were still being extended alf stepped up on the gallery. "yere," he cried, waving a piece of paper, "somebody else got tet git married yere. come on, mandy." he and mandy were married. "oh!" the old negro exclaimed, with a pretense of great surprise, "i neber did see de like o' marryin' dat's gwine on dese days. man kaint walk roun' yere widout bumpin' ergin somebody dat's dun married." bradwell and mrs. bradwell, john and eva, were to go to the railway station, thirty miles away, in a wagon. alf and his wife would ride a mule. after many farewells had been exchanged, and after john had affectionately kissed his aunt, old jeff's wife remarked: "i jest know you air all goin' to starve ter death, but don't think i want ter keep you here, fur goodness knows i don't." she watched the wagon until it had turned a bend in the road, and then, clasping her hands over old jeff's shoulder, bowed her head and sobbed. the bridal party stood on the railway platform. "eva," said john, "are you happy?" "yes, my soul is filled with a quiet joy." the train came within sight. "it is the vehicle," said john, gazing up the road, "that is to convey us to a new and happy life." "yes." bradwell lifted his hand to point out something. john seized it and pressed it to his breast. behind a bugler. the conversation had turned upon the war and the old soldiers' fondness for reminiscence had been freely indulged, when someone, addressing alf billingsly, asked if he had served during the war. "no," billingsly replied. "i was not in the army, but i was in one engagement. i was a boy and was living in gallatin, tenn., when john morgan dashed in and captured colonel boon. some time had elapsed since the confederate forces were driven away, and the villagers, especially the boys, were almost wild with joy at the sight of gray uniform. a season of feasting followed, and then there came the report that colonel johnson, a dashing federal officer, was, with a thousand picked cavalrymen, advancing upon the town. my mother gathered her children about her and took refuge in a cellar, but, feeling that my pride had been trampled upon, i escaped and mingled with the soldiers that were preparing for battle. old wine, and whisky of less venerable age, had flowed during the feast, and many of the men and officers were drunk. some were singing songs of more implied patriotism than of actual tune; others, with the rising fervor of tipsyness, declared that they would not go home till morning. ah, before the next morning came many of them had gone home. i importuned a bugler to let me get on his horse behind him and ride out to the battle. he said that if i would take his canteen over to the house of a well-known old negro and bring it back full of peach brandy, i might go home with him. i did so, having left with the negro my hat and jacket as pawned evidences of good faith, and took my place behind the bugler. an officer ordered me to get down, but i begged so hard that his reckless good humor overcame his soberer sense of discipline. with shouts and songs of discordant loudness we marched out to battle. the morning was beautiful. the ironweed was in bloom, and sitting on its purple top the dryfly sang the song of midsummer. mockingbirds flitted in the apple trees, and the bee-martin flew round and round, waiting for a sight of the honey-laden laborer that had just gone over into a field of clover. the troops dashed out upon a blue-grass plane, jeweled here and there with the rich setting of a long-cared-for and magnificent tree. over the brow of a green slope--the phrenological bump of perception on the face of the landscape--the enemy was seen advancing. it was to be a cavalry fight. it was to be a shock of horse and a clash of sabre. i looked to the right and saw that our men were stretched out in a long line, and looking ahead, i saw that the enemy was in similar form. my friend blew his bugle. every horse dashed forward. a line of blue dashed to meet us. i felt a keen sense of delight. my friend blew his bugle. clash! the two lines had met with drawn sabres. it was a beautiful sight. not a shot had been fired. there was no dust. clash! far to the right, as the sabres flashed, there were two long lines of brightness, broken into whirling glints of sun-ray-catching silver. i may not have had the spirit of a poet, but the beauty and not the horror impressed me. i lost not an adjunct--i failed not to catch a single shading. i saw a bee-martin catch a bee; i saw an ironweed bend its purple head beneath the touch of a lark; i saw a man, with his skull split open fall to the ground. my friend blew his bugle. the horses leaped forward. the line of blue began to grow ragged. wild shouts arose. gunshots with, it seemed to me, intruding noise like the yap, yap, yap of a stray dog, rang out here and there. the enemy was retreating. my friend, standing in his stirrups, waved his bugle high in the air and then blew upon it a triumphant blast. the enemy made a stand, and again the sabres flashed, but the old wine and new whisky made the confederates impetuous. my friend blew his bugle. the opposing line broke, and then there came gunshots with, it seemed to me, a sort of revengful bark. my friend lifted his bugle, but did not blow it. i thought that he had taken pity upon the vanquished line. we bounded forward. my friend began to lean back against me. he was laughing, i could plainly see. he leaned back farther. 'don't lean back so far,' i said. 'stop; don't you see you are about to shove me off?' he leaned back farther. i moved to one side--reached around and took hold of the horn of the saddle. blood spurted from the bugler's breast. i looked up and saw that death had thrown its film into his eyes. i reached down with my foot and kicked the stirrup away. the bugler leaned over and fell to the ground. i got into the saddle, rode up to a fence, threw the bridle rein over a stake, climbed down off the horse and ran away. i went back over the grassy slope. i saw a martin catch a bee; i saw the purple head of the ironweed bend beneath the touch of the lark." in the cumberland mountains. a physician told tom blake that he not only needed a change of scene, but that to regain his health he required absolute freedom from business cares. "i would advise you," said the doctor, "to get on a horse and ride away, no matter whither. go to the mountains--shun the merest suggestions of civilization; in short, sleep out like a bear." blake attempted to act upon this advice. he stuffed a few shirts into a pair of saddlebags, mounted a jolting horse, and rode up into the grandeur of rugged mountain gorges. but to him the scenery imparted no thrill of admiration. his heart beat low, and his pulse quivered with a weakening flutter. the fox that in sudden alarm sprang across the pathway, the raccoon that, with awkward scramble, climbed a leaning tree, called not for a momentary quickening of his blood. he was passing through one of the most distressing of human trials. he had no disease; every muscle was sound. what, then, was the trouble? you shall know. he lay at night in a bank of leaves. now everything startled him. he trembled violently when the sun went down. once he sprang, with a cry of alarm, from his bed of leaves. then he lay down again, ashamed. the horse had snorted. farther and farther he went into the wildness of the mountains. one evening he came upon a narrow road, and, following it for some distance, saw a house. it was an old inn, with a suggestion of the brigand about it. he tied his horse to a fence made of poles and went into the house. there he found a man with a parchment face and small, evil eyes, and a woman who, on the stage, could have appropriately taken the _rôle_ of hag. "why, come in, sir, come in," said the man, getting up and placing a chair for blake. "wife and i have been so lonesome for the last day or so that we have been wishing somebody would come. haven't we, moll?" the woman removed a cob pipe from her mouth, drew the back of a skinny hand across her blue-looking lips, made a noise like the guttural croak of an old hen with the roup, and said, "yes." "you'll of course stay all night with us," the man remarked. "we can't possibly allow you to go on, especially as we are going to have falling weather. oh, when it comes to hospitality, why, you'll find it right here. i'll go out and put up your horse." blake entered no objections. his deplorable condition would have forced him into a compliance with almost any sort of proposition. the man went out, put up the horse, and soon returned with a log of wood. "the more fire we have the more cheerful it will be," he explained. "out prospecting?" he asked. "no," blake answered. "don't live nowhere near here, i reckon?" "no." "how long do you expect to remain in this part of the country?" "i don't know." the old woman mumbled and then, with a grating croak, said: "he don't 'pear willin' ter tell much about hisse'f. some folks is mighty curi's thater way." "never mind, moll," the host quickly responded. "it ain't quite time for you to put in, except in the way of getting us a bite to eat." she arose, without replying, and began preparations for supper. "it is a dull time of the year with us," said the host. "it has been about two weeks since our last boarder left. but i reckon business will pearten up a little when the fishing season opens." blake paid no attention, except when some sharp and unexpected note in the old man's voice produced a tingling of the nerves. shortly after supper, blake declared his readiness to go to bed. he was shown into a sort of shed room, separated by a thin partition from the room which he had just quitted. the old man placed a spluttering candle on the hearth, and, expressing the hope that his guest would pass a quiet and peaceful night, withdrew. blake lay unable to sleep. once the spluttering candle caused him to spring up in bed. suddenly his ears, extremely sensitive with his nervousness, caught the sounds of a whispered conversation. "it won't do to shed blood," said the old man. "it won't do, for we made a mighty narrow escape the last time. it's impossible to get blood stains out of the house. "i b'l'eve them saddlebags air full uv money," the hag replied. "i don't doubt that, and we've got to have it." "how air you goin' ter git it?" "poison him. i wasn't a sort of doctor all these years for nothing." "you never was no doctor ter hurt." "but i'll be a doctor to-night to hurt." "how air you goin' ter pizen him? thar ain't a speck uv pizen on the place." "where is that morphine?" "up thar in the bottle, but will that fix him?" "yes, and in such a way that nobody will suspect anything." "how air you goin' ter do? hold it under his nose?" "hold it under his foot!" the man contemptuously replied. "i am going to make him take it." "how?" "i'll fix it." then there occurred a whispering of which blake caught the following: "think that's ernuff?" the woman asked. "it's nearly half a teaspoonful. enough to make five men sleep throughout eternity." a moment later the host entered blake's room. his manner was free from embarrassment. in one hand he held a glass containing water. "stranger, i don't want to disturb you, but it occurred to me just now that you looked as if you might be going to have a spell of sickness, so i thought i would bring you some medicine. i am willing to help a man, but i don't want him to be sick on my hands. i am a doctor, but i don't propose to keep a hospital." "suppose i refuse to take the medicine?" "then you'll put me to the trouble of pouring it down you, that's all. i am a mighty gentle sort of a fellow as long as everything goes on all right, but if a hitch occurs, why i am as rough as a swamp oak." "are you sure the medicine will not hurt me?" "hurt you! why, it will do you good. here, swallow it down." blake drank the contents of the glass. the host smiled, bowed, and withdrew. then there followed another whispered conversation. "tuck it all right, did he?" "like a lamb. he'll be all right in a half-hour from now." during fifteen or twenty minutes blake lay quietly in bed. then he got up, dressed himself noiselessly, arranged the bed covers to resemble the form of a man, took his saddlebags, stepped out at a back door, went to the stable, saddled his horse, mounted and rode up to a window and looked into the room which he had occupied. cattle were tramping about the yard, and the noise made by the horse attracted no attention. he took a position so that he could, unobserved, see all that passed within the room. the "doctor" and the old woman soon entered. they made no attempt to speak in low tones. "whar is his saddlebags?" the woman asked. "under his head, i reckon. snatch off the covers. he won't wake up." the old woman pulled off the covers and uttered a cry of surprise. blake tapped on the window glass. "say, doc," he called, "bring me the rest of that morphine. you see, i have been a morphine eater for a number of years, but am trying to quit. your dose came in pretty handy, for i was in a bad fix. i am all right now, and am much obliged to you. good-night." less than a week from that time the "doctor" and his wife were in jail, charged with the murder of a traveler. they were hanged at greenville last september. a commercial rip-snorter. several years ago i was the editor and proprietor of the new ebeneezer _plow point_. it was a weekly publication, and, with its name as well as with its class of matter, appealed to the farmers, and danced a pandering jig to the shrill whistle of their prejudices. one day e. sim nolan, a prominent man in the community, came into my office and said: "i have been thinking of you for the past day or two, and i think that with my keen business instincts i have unearthed the stone with which you may pave your way to fortune. writing is a very fine accomplishment and plays its little part in journalism, but it is not the main thing. now, the main thing in the newspaper business is to achieve success. 'how can this be done?' you naturally ask. not by advising the county to repair the bridge over cypress bayou; not the editorial advising the party to organize, but by getting business. one line in a thoroughly thrifty paper is worth more and has more weight than a thousand lines in a dragging publication that has to apologize every other week for its inability to get out on time. you want a partner, not to help you write, but a commercial rip-snorter, who can run business into a corner, choke it into submission, and then drag it into the office. that's the kind of a man you need. 'where can i find him?' you are about to ask. you have found him, or rather he has found you. i am that man. i am that commercial rip-snorter. i can go out and in two days load the _plow point_ so full of advertisements that you'll have to put up side-boards. what do you think of it?" "i have no doubt of your ability," i replied, "but i can not afford to pay you." "you don't have to pay me. the work will pay for itself. now here; say that you are making seventy-five dollars per month. very well. the commercial rip-snorter comes in. you get one hundred and fifty dollars per month and the commercial rip-snorter gets one fifty. w'y, it's as plain and simple and guileless as the soft laughter of a child. it shall not be for one month but for all time. in short, take me in as a partner. what is the greatest business stimulant? salary? no, sir. proprietary interest. give me a half interest in your paper, and it will fly higher than the kite of franklin. it will roar louder than a cyclone, and scatter dollars where we can easily gather them up. as a rule, i am not an enthusiast. ordinarily i am a quiet man. the soldier is quiet until his grand occasion comes." i told him that i would think about it and give him an answer on the following day. that afternoon i consulted with several friends. the county judge declared that when nolan put his shoulder to the wheel the wagon moved. the county attorney said that i could well afford to pay nolan to take a half interest. that night i went to bed in a highly agreeable state of mind. the clouds were breaking away, and i could see the sun shining. the business cares of the office would be lifted off my mind, and i could devote myself to writing and to study. with nothing to do but to digest my subjects, i could write editorials that would establish me as a party leader. i dreamed of web perfecting presses, and of being consulted by great politicians. i hummed a tune before breakfast. the trade was soon consummated; and, delivering the books to nolan, i seated myself in my inner sanctum, warmed by a stove pipe which came through from an adjoining shed occupied by a shoemaker, and gave myself up to deep thought. at last my time had come. at last the people must acknowledge my leader-writing ability. the next day nolan brought in a few advertisements. ah, the ripened fruit had already begun to fall. "by the way," said nolan, as he seated himself on a corner of my table, "i have got a great scheme on hand." "glad of it," i rapturously replied. "what is it?" "a number of our most prominent men have boned me to run for sheriff." "but will it not take up too much of your time?" "why, no. you see, i can be elected as easily as falling off a log, and then, as sheriff, i can flood our paper with legal advertisements." "nolan, you are a remarkable man." "you just wait." i wrote editorials in his behalf, and even left my sanctum and made speeches for him. he was elected. he turned over his newspaper books to his son, and took charge of the sheriff's office. the boy sat in the office, and, during the forenoon, whistled a circus tune. in the afternoon he got drunk. a few days after nolan was installed, i went over to get an armful of legal advertisements. there were none on hand just at that time, nolan told me. "in fact," said he "it has been decided not to print the delinquent-tax list this year." i was disappointed. the boy whistled his circus tune and then went out and got drunk. the next day, when i wanted to draw five dollars, the boy gave me thirty-five cents. bills began to come in, and my deep thought was much disturbed by them. one morning nolan came in, and, after whistling in imitation of his son, said: "it's pretty tough." "what is?" "why, as sheriff, i've got to take charge of this office. paper bill." i was staggered. "can't we pay our bill?" i exclaimed. "haven't any money at present, i am sorry to say. i regret now that i ran for sheriff, for it's devilish uncomfortable to close out a partner." i did not exactly understand it, but when he served an execution on me i went out. as sheriff, he took charge of the office, discharged his son, and took charge of the business and editorial departments. i consulted several lawyers. they said that i was out. i knew that. they didn't know how i could get in again. the law was very peculiar. i knew that, too. i found out afterward that nolan had called on all the lawyers, and had told them that if they interfered with his affairs, he would bear down on their clients, and as most of their clients were in jail, they did not interfere. nolan, as sheriff--and he is now serving his fourth term--is still editor and proprietor of the new ebeneezer _plow point_. his friend flanders. when the hum in the court-room had settled into an occasional whisper, the judge asked the prisoner if he would like to make a statement. the prisoner, a slender man, with hair holding a slight intention to curl, and with eyes large and willful, arose and made this statement: john flanders and i were the best of friends, though we were not drawn toward each other by any common ties of vocation. in the early part of my life i turned to literature, not that i expected to realize a fortune in such a pursuit, but because i could do nothing else. flanders was a sort of general speculator. it seemed to me that every time he stepped out in the street he saw a dollar, chased it, overtook it, and put it in his pocket. my work was difficult and uncertain; and the pigeon-holes of my desk were often stuffed with rejected manuscripts. gradually i discovered that i could not write if i knew that flanders was in the same building in which i had a room. at first i regarded this feeling as a nervous freak, and tried to put it aside, but then, finding that every literary thought had flown away from me, i would discover that flanders was in the building. one day when i heard his footsteps in the hall i called him into my room. "flanders," said i, "you know that i have to make my living by literary work?" "yes," he replied. "well, but do you know that you contribute largely to my failure?" "no," he replied; "how can that be?" "it is in this way, flanders: i can not write while you are in this building. just so soon as you step into the elevator downstairs, my ideas droop and my pen splutters." "i am sorry," he rejoined. "i know you are," said i, "for there is not in the world a more sympathetic man than you are." "if i am so sympathetic, then why should i disturb you so?" "i don't know, flanders, but you do disturb me. now, i have a favor to ask of you." "it shall be granted." "it is this: please do not come into this building again." "i will stay away," he said. he did not come into the building again, and for a time i wrote with ease; but one day my ideas flew away and my pen cut through the paper. i knew that flanders was not in the building, but i knew that he was in town. i strove to write, but this fact weighed upon me. i went out to look for flanders. i found him in the open board of trade, busily engaged in driving a bargain. i drew him to one side. "flanders," said i, "you have again put my ideas to flight." "how so?" he asked. "i have not been in your building since you requested me to keep away." "i know that; but you are in chicago, and i have discovered that i can not write if we are in the same town. now, it really makes no difference to you where you are." "no," he replied. "you can make a living anywhere." "yes." "well, then, leave this city." "i will do so," said he. "i will go to new york." i bade him an affectionate good-by, and he left on the next eastern-bound train. i returned to my work with a feeling of refreshment. my pen tripped over the paper with graceful airiness, and my thoughts, arrayed in gay apparel, sported joyously. thus several weeks went by, but one day my pen stopped. i urged it, as a farmer urges a balky horse, but it refused to move forward. it was because flanders was in this country. i wrote to him: "flanders," said i, "you must leave new york--must leave the united states. i can not write if we are both under the same flag. i have a great piece of work to perform and i know that you will not seek to deprive me of the fame which its accomplishment will bring. please leave this country." a few days later i received the following reply: "i leave to-day for london." again i went to work with a thrill of pleasure. the rosebuds of thought opened with each passing breeze of inspiration. a month passed. one day my pen fell. instantly my thoughts flew to flanders, and i sadly shook my head. i could not write if flanders and i lived in english-speaking countries. i wrote to him. he was still generous, for in his reply he said: "i appreciate your feelings. to-morrow i shall sail for asia." again i experienced the usual relief, and the rosebuds which had so long been covered with dust, opened with blooming freshness. flanders wrote to me from pekin. then my pen fell again. i could not write if he and i were in the same world. i replied to his letter: "flanders," said i, "come home at once." i waited two weary months. one night, just as i had lighted my lamp and sat down to dream with de quincy, flanders shoved open the door and entered the room. i threw my arms about him and pressed him to me for i loved him. "are you glad to see me, flanders?" i asked, shoving him into an easy seat. "delighted," he replied. "what is it you would have me do?" "nothing but sit where you are." he looked at me with affection. his eyes were soft and glowing. i reached into my desk and took out a sharp paper-cutter, and, as flanders was beaming upon me, i stabbed him. he sprang to his feet and threw his arms about me, but i stabbed him again and again. he sank to the floor and i sat down to my work. oh, how my thoughts flew. with wings that were feathered with silvery down and tipped with gold, they soared higher and higher. i---- "hold on," said the judge. "i would not have permitted this statement had i not from the first been interested in its very curiousness. you are not charged with the murder of anyone named flanders. you found a little boy playing among the flowers in a park and slew him." the prisoner pressed his hands to his head. "oh," he cried, "if flanders be not dead i can not write. he would not deprive me of the fame----" an officer led him away. hendricks knew it. jasper hendricks, old man blue, abe stallcup, and several other men, farmers in the neighborhood, sat, one rainy day, about the fireplace in a tennessee crossroads store. autumn had just begun to enforce its principles--that is, a lingering mildness of atmosphere had just turned cool enough to shiver a little when the sun had sunk behind the distant timber line. the "evangelist" had made his annual fall visit to the neighborhood, and, assisted by local talent, was holding a revival in round pound meeting-house. the party of men in the store had been discussing the main features of the meeting, and in their crude way had been speculating upon religion in general, when old man blue, a deacon and an ultra-religionist, remarked: "wall, gentle_men_, it's all right ter talk, but when the ho'n blows, callin' us ter a final settle_ment_, w'y we jest nachully cave; that's all. the bravest man in the world would a leetle ruther stay here, ef he's in his right mind, than ter take the chances in a neighborhood (as a feller named _hamestring_ or _hamlet_, i dunno which, once said) frum which thar ain't nobody returned ter tell us the condition uv the craps an' sich. now i've a putty strong hope that my after-life will be smooth an' easy, but i'll jest tell you whut's er fack, i'd ruther stay here er leetle longer, even ef i hafter plow with er jumpin' coulter an' break a yoke of calves urcasion'ly, than ter go thar." "you air right!" stallcup responded. "at times when we air sorter shoutin' round the mourner's bench we feel like we wouldn't kere ef we wuz called erway at wunst, but airter we git out an' see the sun shine the next day, an' see the birds erhoppin' erround the straw-stack, an' lissen ter the ole jaybird that's dun picked a quarrel with the yallerhammer, w'y we feel sorter like stayin' here a while longer." then jasper hendricks spoke. every one turned to pay him particular attention. he was the one man in the neighborhood whom no one understood. he was strikingly handsome--tall, with soft black hair that seemed to worm itself into graceful curls. he was not saintly in his deportment. often at night, while a furious storm was raging, and while the lightning painted in frightful colors a momentary picture on the cliffs, hendricks, half drunk and chanting a stirring tune, had been seen to gallop at desperate speed through the crash and roar of the weather's awful outbreak. "gentlemen," said hendricks, "you air but pore proofs uv yo' faith. ef you really believe whut you say you do--believe that thar is er crown that airter while will press with gentle soothin' on your troubled brows, you would long fur the time when you mout leave this world. the shinin' uv the sun an' the quarrel uv the jaybird an' yallerhammer wouldn't have no influence ter hold you back frum er everlastin' joy." "hendricks," said old man blue, "you air er sort uv er poet an' kain't understan' the feelin's uv er common man." "i'm not er poet only in feelin'," hendricks replied, "but ef i was i'd know mo' erbout you than i do, fur the poet, erbove all others, understan's the feelin's uv the common man. it is his perfeck understan'in' uv the heart uv the common man that makes him er poet." "have you got any hope in the next world, hendricks?" old man blue asked. "have you?" "yas." "why?" "becaze, i've got er promise." "who made it?" "w'y, the lord, i think." "promised you that you would be perfectly happy in the next world?" "yas," the old man replied. "air you perfeckly happy in this here world?" "no, i ain't." "do you believe that the lord always keeps his promises?" "yas, i do." "then why don't you want ter go ter the next world at once? why don't you pray fur death?" "i don't know, hendricks." "i do." "why, then?" "because you don't believe the lord has made you any promise." "oh, yas, i do." "oh, no, you don't." "wall, i tell you whut it is, hendricks, no sensible man hankers airter dyin'." "he does, if the lord has made him a promise." "yas, but he wants ter wait the lord's own time." "a good excuse," hendricks replied. "you want to wait the lord's own time, an' you hope that the lord's time will be long." "hendricks, you kain't blame er man for wantin' to live." "yes, i can, if he believes that he would be better off in another world." "but he don't know that." "then he ain't got religion, an' don't b'l'eve what god says." "oh, yas, hendricks. you know it would skeer you might'ly ef you knowed you had ter die ter-day." "i'm not religious, but ter know that i had ter die ter-day wouldn't skeer me." "i think it would, hendricks." "but i know it wouldn't; so now, fur the sake uv argyment, let us say that i have got ter die ter-day." "yas," rejoined old blue, "we ken say it fur argyment's sake, an' it won't skeer you, but ef it was sho' 'nuff, it would." "wall, then, say it's sho' 'nuff." "we ken say it, but that won't skeer you, fur you know it ain't true." "but i know it is true." "what, you know that you are goin' ter die ter-day?" "yes, sir." "how do you know it?" "by this fack," hendricks replied. he drew a revolver, placed it against his head, and fired. he fell from the chair, dead. the men looked in horror upon the scene. a breeze through the open doorway stirred hendricks' hair into beautiful curls. wearing out the carpet. among the guests at a small summer hotel were a little boy and his mother. the boy's fullness of life and richness of prankish resource kept the timid, shrinking mother in a constant state of alarm; and the servants, noticing that she was afraid that her son might give offense, took pains to increase her anxiety by telling the child, in those soft but forced tones of kindness which burn worse than harshness, not to make so much noise and not to scatter bread crumbs on the steps. the proprietor's wife, an old woman whom everyone said was motherly, unconsciously took a cue from the servants, and, forgetting that her own sons and daughters were once noisy children, began to oppress the boy. "sh-sh--don't make a fuss," she said, meeting him in the hall. "little boys must be seen and not heard. go and put that ball away. you might break something. never mind that cat. get out of my way. i wonder what your mother can be thinking about." "tommie," his mother called from a neighboring room. "maam." "come here." "i ain't doin' nothin'." "oh, let him alone, i pray you," said the proprietor's wife, inclining her head and smiling at the mother, who had appeared in the doorway. "i was simply afraid that he might break something with his ball, but do let him enjoy himself, i beseech you. children will be children, you know." "i do hope he won't cause you any trouble," the mother replied. "i do the very best i can with him, but--i--i--come here, son." she reached out, took the boy by the hand, and drew him into the room. "what makes you cry, mamma?" "because you are so bad, darling," she replied, taking him into her arms. "i didn't know i was bad." "but you are. you seem to make everybody miserable." "what's miserable?" "unhappy." "what's unhappy?" "go, sit down over there." he climbed up on a trunk, twisted himself around, tore his clothes, got down, killed a fly on the window pane, picked up a feather which he found in a corner, threw it up and blew his breath upon it, turned over a work-basket, climbed upon the bed where his mother had lain down, put his hands on her face, gazed with mischievous tenderness into her eyes, and said: "i love you." she clasped him to her bosom. "you'll be a good boy, won't you?" "yessum, an' when that nigger makes a face at me, i won't say anything." "well, you must not." "an' musn't i grab holt of the calf's tail when he shoves it through the fence?" "no." "why?" "oh, because it will hurt him. let mamma go to sleep now, but don't you go out." "nome." the woman sank to sleep. the boy got off the bed and went to the window. he looked up at a fly that was buzzing at the top, went back to the bed, gently kissed his mother, and stole out into the hall. exuberant with freedom, he began to gallop in imitation of a horse. "sh-sh!" he was confronted by the proprietor's wife. "what are you racing around here like a mule for--say? don't you know you are wearing out the carpet? why don't you go somewhere and sit down and behave like a human being? think i bought this carpet to have it scuffed out this way? stop raking your foot on the floor that way." he held up his hands as if, in begging for forgiveness, he would kiss her. "don't put your greasy hands on me. go on, now, and don't rake your feet on this carpet. i don't know what mothers these days can be thinking about." "tommie," his mother called. "yessum." "come here." "oh, i don't know what to do with you," she said, when she had drawn him into the room. "what makes you so bad?" "i dunno; but it must be the bad man." "yes, and he'll get you, too, if you don't behave yourself." "and will he hurt me?" "yes; he will." "how?" "burn you." "ho! i'd shoot him." "you couldn't." "why couldn't i?" "oh, i don't know." "then how do you know he would burn me?" "oh, i don't know that he would." "then what made you say that he would?" "for gracious sake, give me a little peace." "a little piece of bread?" he asked, while his eyes twinkled with mischief. "hush, sir; hush. not another word out of you. take your dirty hands away from my face." "i want to hug you." "well, hug me, then, and sit down." "you love me, don't you?" "yes, little angel," she said, pressing him to her bosom. "more than all the houses an' railroads an' steamboats put together?" "yes." to the mother the days were dragged over the field of time like the dead body of an animal. in misery lest her son should cause offense, she watched him, and, at table, hushed him. the proprietor's wife scolded him, and at last the little fellow's spirit was cowed. he crept through the hall, and, on tiptoe, to keep from wearing out the carpets, he moved through the house. he would shrink when he saw the proprietor's wife, and in his sleep he muttered apologies and declared that he would be good. one morning he awoke with a burning fever. "i wish you would come in and see my little boy," said the mother, addressing the proprietor's wife. she went in. the little fellow looked at her, and, as a deeply-troubled expression crossed his face, said: "i won't wear out the carpet." "why, no, you won't hurt the carpet. get up and run on it all you want to." "i can't, now." "but you can after awhile." days of suffering; nights of dread. everything had been done and the doctor had gone home. a heart-broken woman buried her face in the bedclothes. the proprietor's wife, with tears streaming down her face, stood looking upon a wasted face which had, only a short time before, beamed with mischief. "little boy," she said, "dear little fellow, you are going to leave us. you are going to heaven." "no," he faintly replied, "i will be in the way, and they won't let me laugh there." a long silence followed, and then the old woman whispered: "he is gone." a man with heavy boots walked on the carpet in the hall. a bridegroom. one hot afternoon a tramp printer entered the office of the franklin (ky.) _patriot_. the regular corps of compositors were sufficient to do all necessary work, but the boys were lazy and wanted to go fishing, so the tramp was given temporary employment. when the boys returned next day they were surprised, and not a little ashamed, to see that the tramp had "set up" the entire paper--work which would have taken the entire force several days to perform. when the proof-sheets were brought in, they were found to be so clean that the editor of the _patriot_ sent for the tramp. "what is your name?" the editor asked. "oscar howell." "where are you from?" mr. howell waived his hand around in a complete circle. "what does that mean?" "means that i am from everywhere." "do you want work?" "that's the reason i came here." "i mean regular work." "yes; but i don't want to throw anybody out of a job." "glad you are so honorable; but those boys out there are my sons and i am thinking of sending them to school." "all right, then, i will take their place." "do you drink?" "i wound up the ball of an extended spree the other day, but i am not going to drink any more." "i hope your resolution may hold out." "i will give it many a half-soling." "well, you may begin regular work to-morrow morning." "all right, sir." within two months from that time mr. howell was one of the best dressed men in the town. people who had commented on his shabby appearance now called him handsome. he joined the good templars' lodge and mingled in the society of the tittering maidens of the village. doctors and lawyers sought his company. he had brought a literary freshness to the town. his jokes were new; his courtesy marked. one year passed away. mr. howell was engaged to marry the handsomest and most intelligent young woman in the town. the girl's father and mother were delighted. howell was envied by all the young men. the day for the wedding drew near. the "popular and enterprising tailor" had made howell's wedding suit. one day another tramp entered the office. howell dropped his "make-up rule" and sprang forward to meet him. "why, shorty, how are you?" "sorter slow," the tramp replied as he placed his elbows on the imposing-stone. "how is it with you?" "oh, i am flying. going to get married to-morrow night." "glad to hear it. when we separated that day with a carefully divided quart, i didn't think your lines would so soon fall in such appreciative places." "neither did i. it is all due, though, shorty, to my sobriety. i tell you there is no hope for the drunkard. i'll never drink any more." "glad. expect to quit pretty soon myself. what sort of wedding-toggery have you got?" "finest you ever saw." "would like to see 'em. where's your room?" "just across the street." "suppose we go over." "all right. you ought to see my girl." they went to howell's room. "by george!" exclaimed shorty. "you will be fixed up in style, won't you?" "i should say so. well, it's time, for i have been a fool long enough." "say, put 'em on. i want to see how you will look as a bridegroom." "i don't want to rumple 'em." "go ahead and put 'em on. you know that in my present plight i can't go to see you step off." "to please you, shorty, i'll put 'em on, but you are the only person that could cause me to yield in this matter." he put on the clothes. "by george, oscar, you look like a french dancing master. well, i'm going to take a little nip." he took a bottle out of his pocket and shook it. "here's some old stuff a fellow gave me at hopkinsville. fifteen years old. remember the time we struck that old negro for a pint of peach brandy? well, here's to you. ah, hah, hah. would you try a little?" "no." "won't hurt you. wouldn't hurt a flea. i tell you that when a fellow feels bilious a little licker is a mighty good thing for him. ever get bilious?" "yes, bilious now. haven't had any appetite for a week." "i was 'way off the other day, but this stuff (again shaking the bottle), has set me all right." "you don't mean to say that you have had that licker for several days?" "yes. tell you what's a fact, a man doesn't want but little of this stuff, and the beauty of it is, it keeps him from drinking bad licker." "let me smell of it." howell held the bottle to his nose. then, with a sudden impulse, his lips closed over the neck. "ah, that is good. what sort of a time have you had since i saw you last?" "tough, i tell you. take another pull and hand it over here. recollect that song old patsy bolivar used to sing--'when this old coat was new?'" "yes," howell replied, "i was thinking about it the other night. let me taste your ware, as simple simon remarked. getting pretty low, too." "yes, too low." "that isn't bad. say, can you sing patsy's song?" "might if i had licker enough." "let's slip down the back stairs into that saloon." "all right, but ain't you going to take off your wedding clothes?" "no; we won't be down there but a few minutes." * * * * * the next day a battered bridegroom and a ragged tramp awoke in a cattle car, seventy-five miles from franklin. "say, oscar!" "well." "give me your vest. you ain't got no use for so much toggery." "all right, here she is." "where shall we strike for?" "reckon we'd better get off at the junction and strike out down the memphis road." dave summers. his own story of a romance and its ending. dar ain't no frolic in whut i'm gwine ter tell. i know dat some folks thinks dat er nigger's life is made up o' laziniss an skylarkin', but dat belief, 'specially in my case, ain't de truf. oh, i had my fun w'en i wuz er youngster. bless you, dar wa'n't er pusson in de neighborhood dat hankered atter mischief mo' den dave summers did, but 'stead o' ole age bringin' dat peace an' rest, which, eben in de libely time o' youth, sensible pussons looks forward ter, dar come trouble o' de blackest sort. w'en i wuz erbout fifty years ole, de notion got inter my head dat i aughter preach. i doan know how it got dar--sholy not becaze i had been thinkin' erbout it--fur de fust thing i know'd erbout it wuz wakin' up one mawnin' wid de idee. i talked wid some o' my frien's an' da said: "dave, dat is er call, an' you better not be projickin' wid it. de speret wants yer ter fling yer voice inter de gospul work an' you better not make er jonah o' yerse'f by tryin' ter run erway." "but how's i gwine ter preach?" i axed. "it's 'bout ez much ez i ken do ter read." "de lawd ain't axed you ter read," one o' my frien's says. "he axes yer ter preach; ef you ken read er little, you ken l'arn how ter read mo'." i went erway, mighty troubled in my mine. my wife had been dead fur sebrel years, an' not habbin' any chillum i libed by myse'f in er cabin on er big plan'ation. i shet myse'f up an' prayed. de naixt mawnin' my load 'peared ter be heavier. dar wa'n't nuthin' left fur me, so i says: "i will preach. i will get somebody ter l'arn me how ter read mo' an' i will preach de gospul de bes' i knows how." den i thought o' my load, but it wuz gone. it wa'n't long till i stood up in de pulpit. dar wuz sebrel smart men in de church, an' it 'peared ter 'muze 'em might'ly ter yere ez ignunt er man ez i wuz talk erbout heaben an' de souls o' men. ah, lawd! ignunce ken fling ez much light on some subjec's ez de greates' 'arthly wisdom ken. i went at my work in earnes', not tryin' ter git up er great 'citement, but 'deavorin' ter show de folks de right way to live in dis worl' so da would be better prepared for de life to come; an' ef dar eber wuz er man dat wuz hones' an' true ter his callin' i b'l'ebes dat i wuz de pusson. 'mong de members o' my flock wuz er mighty likely 'oman named frances. i wuz fust drawed toward her by her singin', an' one time when de sweetness o' her music died away, i looked at her an' 'knowledge ter myse'f dat i loved her. at fust she sung fur my soul an' i worshiped wid her, but atter w'ile she sung ter my heart an' i worshiped her. i tried ter think o' my ole wife lying' in de shade o' de sycamo' trees, an, in my min' i could see de rail pen round her grave an' de trees would be gone an' in dar place would stan' a likely 'oman smilin' at me. i went ter my ole wife's grave an' drapped down on my knees an' prayed. de broad sycamo' leaves waved and specks o' moonlight come siftin' down like de flyin' chaff o' new oats dat ketches de light o' de fresh-born day. er makwin' bird sung in er tree close by, but, way ober on er hill, er night hawk cried. i thought how me an' my ole wife had wucked in the fiel', side by side, an' de bird seemed ter sing sweeter, but den, twixt me an' de grave dar hung er bright smile. i tried ter rub it out wid my han', but dar it hung, an' through its brightness i seed de worm-eat head-boa'd o' de grave. "o, lawd," i prayed, "let dis tem'tation pass erway. let dy sarvent in his ole age hab de strenth ter turn fum de high-strung follies o' de young man." i riz up, wid de damp, dead grass clingin' ter my knees. de lights gunter shine fum de church close by, an' de sad an' swellin' song o' de congregation peared ter lay er tremblin' han' on my heart. why did i on er sudden lean ergin er tree? becaze i heard her voice. i went inter de church an' ez i walked wid bowed head toward de pulpit i heard somebody whisper "he's been in de woods ter pray." i did not look up but i knowed who it wuz dat whispered, for my heart felt de tech o' de tremblin' han'. i preached dat night de best i could, an' it seemed dat i made my hearers feel some o' my own sadness, fur w'en i called fur de stricken in heart ter come up ter de mou'ners' bench, mo' come forward den had eber come befo' under de 'fluence o' my callin'. we stayed late in de church dat night. nearly all de mou'ners, habin' wuck ter do de naixt day, had dun left de house w'en i noticed one po' feller whose heart, it 'peared like, wuz almos' broke. he lay flat on de flo' an' groaned like he suffered great pain. i went ter him, raised him up an' hil' his head on my knee. de congregation thinned out, one by one. i leaned over an' talked ter de po' man. lookin' up i seed dat frances was kneelin' wid us. "lady--sister frances," i said, "it's time dat you wuz goin' home. de can'les is all burned away an' de lamps is goin' out." "i will stay an' he'p you poor de ba'm on dis po' sinner," she replied. i didn' say no mo'; but w'en mo' den er hour afterwards de sinner got up ter go, i says ter her: "sister frances, if you ain't got no 'jections, i'll walk home wid you." she smiled--de same smile dat i had seed twixt me an' de worm-eat head-boa'd o' de grave--an' said dat she would be pleased for me ter 'company her. i doan know what i said ter her ez we walked erlong, but i know dat w'en we got ter de little gate in front o' de cabin w'ar her folks libed, she wuz leanin' on my arm. de moon had gone down, an' de flutterin' in de trees in de yard told me dat de mawnin' birds wuz fixin' ter begin dar twitterin'. "brudder summers," said de lady, ez i wuz erbout ter bid her good-bye, "dar 'pears ter be sunthin' on yo' mine." "not only on my mine, sister frances, but dar is sunthin' on my heart." i was goin' ter turn erway atter dis, but she put her han' on my arm--de same tremblin' han' dat had teched my heart--an' said: "tell me 'bout yo' troubles. tell me whut is lyin' on yo' heart." "er tremblin' han', lady." "does you know dat it is er han'?" "yas, fur i keen see it in de light o' 'er bright smile." "is de han' cold?" "no, lady." "is it ez wa'm ez mine?" she said, ez she put her han' in my own fever-like grasp. de naixt minit my arm wuz around her. de mawnin' birds twittered in de trees, light gunter wink ercross de bottoms, an' dar, ez de gold o' de day wuz chasin' de fleetin' silver o' de dawn, i axed her ter be my wife. chapter ii. we wuz married. i tuck her ter my cabin an' bright light fell on my hearth-stone. she wanted ter he'p me in my work o' 'swadin' folks ter do right. "i know," she said, "dat folks all erround us will be makin' mo' money den we is, but money doan water de flowers o' de heart, nur broaden de 'joyment dat comes ter de soul." i lubbed her deeper atter she said dat, fur i seed dat her natur wa'n't vain nur her heart set upon de flesh-pots o' de world. two years passed erway--two o' de happies' years o' my life. one day dar was some bills stuck up 'nouncin' dat andrew hennifen, er colored politician dat libbed in town, would on de naixt friday make er speech ter de folks. er campaign wuz on han' an' gre't intrus' wuz felt in de outcome. w'en de day come de weather wuz so showery dat da couldn' hol' de meetin' out do's, so some o' de men come ter me an' axed me ef da mout meet in de church. i didn' much think dat it wuz de right sort er meetin' ter be hel' in de house o' de lawd, but seein' dat da wuz all so anxious, i tole em dat da mout. den da axed me ter go ober an' lissen ter de gre't speech wut de generman wuz gwine ter make. i didn' like de idee o' settin' in my own church and lissenin' ter de skussion o' de erfairs o' de worl'. den frances spoke up: "w'y, dave," she said, "if we are gwine ter lib in de worl' we mus' take some intrus' in de erfairs o' de worl'. ef de man had got anything wuth yearin', i doan see w'y we aughtenter go an' lissen ter him. ef we finds dat wut he says ain't fit fer us, w'y den we ken come erway." "wut you says is true, frances," i replied, "an you mus' scuse me ef i is holdin' you back in any way. er ole man loves wid jes' es much wa'mth ez er young man does, an' it is er pity dat he doan lub wid ez much jedgment." "you musn' talk dat way, dave," she said, wid er laugh, "fur in lovin' me yo' jedgment ain't made no mistake." hennifen wuz er tall, yaller man, an' much younger den i 'spected ter fine him. in his speech he used a good deal o' strong talk, an' called er lot o' folks dat wa'n't present, liars an' thieves. i didn' like dis, but er man dat sat naixt ter me tole me dat it wuz all right, an' dat ef de speaker didn' do dater way, de folks would think dat he wuz erfeered ter 'nounce his principles. atter de speakin' wuz over, de speaker come up ter me, hil' out his han' an' said: "mr. summers, i has often hearn o' you, sah, an' i takes dis 'tunity o' shakin' han's wid you." wen i had shuck han's wid him, he said: "is dis yo' daughter wid you?" "my wife, sah," said i. "ah, i's pleased ter meet de lady." we walked on outen de house, an' hennifen wuz so busy talkin' 'bout de gre't principles o' his party dat he didn' seem ter notice dat he wuz walkin' erway fum de crowd wid us. atter w'ile he stopped an' said dat he reckoned he better go back. "won't you walk on home wid us?" my wife said. "i thanks you kindly; i b'l'ebe i will," he answered. "i would like ter see de inside o' my 'stinguished 'quaintance's house," makin' er sideways motion wid his head at me, "an' 'sides dat, i'se got er little bizness ter talk ober wid him." "you will see er lowly household," said i, "fur i ain't been gaged in gederin' de shinin' goods o' de yeth, but at de do' you will see er vine dat is watered wid truf an' dat blooms in contentment." "dar ain't no reason why dar shouldn' be some o' de shinin' goods o' de yeth in yo' house," said he. "de fack dat da is o' de yeth doan meek 'em none de less de lawd's, an' bein' shiny doan meck 'em de property o' satan." i seed my wife look at him wid er quick glance, an' i knowed dat she 'proved o' wut he said. i seed mo' den dat--i seed wut until dat time had 'scaped me--i seed dat de man wuz good lookin'. i felt er pang o' oneasiness, an' i cleared my froat deep, ez ef i would rasp de pang outen my bosom. w'en we got ter de house, he set down in er rockin' cheer an' made hisse'f look freer an' easier den i had eber felt in any house 'cep' my own. frances went inter de little shed kitchin dat j'ined de house an' cooked dinner. it struck me dat she tuk er heep o' pains, specially w'en she fotch out er table clof dat i didn' know she had. atter dinner mr. hennifen said dat he would git down ter bizness. "mr. summers, you is too smart er man ter be wastin' yo' substance," wuz de way he started out. i didn' say nothin'. he went on: "you hab got de 'bility ter make yo'se'f mighty useful ter yo' country. de 'fluence dat you has 'stablished ober yo' fellerman ken be turned ter rich ercount. de bes' people in dis county wants ter 'lect hillson fur sheriff. dis ken only be done by good men puttin' dar shoulders ter de wheel. i is hillson's right han' man, an i's got de 'thority for sayin' dat ef you'll turn in an' make speeches fur him dat he will pay you well." my wife looked at me. "mr. hennifen," said i, "wut you say may be de truf, but i is makin' speeches fur de lawd." "yes, but makin' speeches for de lawd, mr. summers, needn' keep you frum speakin' in fabor o' hillson." "dave," said my wife, "mr. hennifen is sholy right, an', mo'n dat, ef dar's er man in dis neighborhood dat needs money, you is de man. de folks dat lissuns ter you preach neber seems ter know dat we needs things in dis house." "frances," i replied, "mr. hillson ain't er man o' my choice. he has been mixed up in ugly erfairs, an' i kain't make no speeches fur him; so, let de subjeck drap right whar it is." hennifen 'sisted on sayin' mo', but i tole him it wa'n't no use. he didn' stay long atter dis, but sayin' dat he would see me ergin, went erway. "does you allus 'spect ter lib in poverty?" my wife axed. "i doan 'spect ter meck speeches in fabor o' er dishones' man," i answered. hennifen come back inter de neighborhood de naixt week an' called at my house, but i wa'n't at home. when i axed frances wut he had ter say, she said dat he didn' stay but er few minits an' didn' say much o' anythin'. er few days atterwards i hearn dat he wuz in de neighborhood ergin, workin' wid de voters, but he didn' come ter my house, an' i didn' hunt him. nearly er munt must hab passed w'en one day i wuz called on ter preach de funul o' er man ober in ernuder 'munity. i didn' git back till late in de night. de house wuz dark, an' ez i went up ter de do' i tangled my foot in de vine, stumbled an' tore it up by de roots. i went in an' lit de candle. frances wa'n't dar. i called her--stepped to de do' an' called her till de echo o' my voice brought back wid it de cry o' er night bird. i went ober ter er neighbor's house. de women folks 'gun ter cry ez soon ez da seed me. i axed ef da had seen frances. "oh, brudder summers, she's dun gone wid dat yaller raskil. he fotch er buggy an' tuck her erway." i went down ter de sycamo' trees w'ar my ole wife wuz buried, an' got down on my knees. dar wa'n't no bright smile 'twixt me an' de grave. chapter iii. de women folks fotch flowers nearly ever' day an' put 'em in my house, an' de men folks tuck off dar hats w'en da come w'ar i wuz. i kep' on makin' speeches fur de lawd, an' men dat wuz once noisy in church wuz now quiet. de 'leckshun time come on, and i kotch up my old gray hoss an' rid up ter town. i went ter all de votin' places, but didn' see nobody dat i knowed. i heard one man say: "wonder wut dat cuis-lookin' ole man is er pokin' 'roun' yere fur?" den somebody answered: "dar's er yaller man dodgin' 'round yere somewhar dat mout fling some light on dat question." ever' time i hearn o' any p'litical ter-do anywhar, i rid dar, but didn' see nobody dat i knowed. winter time come, de col'est winter dat i eber felt. one sunday dar come er heavy snow, an' dat night it turned so col' dat i couldn' hardly keep wa'm by de fire. de win' blowed hard. suthin flapped ergin de winder. i hil' de candle, an' dar seed de great starin' eyes o' er night bird. i turned erway an' had jes' sot down by de fire w'en i hearn er noise at de do'; i lissened, an' den i hearn er groan. my heart felt de tech o' er col' hand, an' i knowed dat frances had come back. i opened de do'; she lay on de groun' wid her face turned up. i tuck her in my arms an' laid her on de bed. "dave--dave, won't you forgib me?" i stood lookin' at her. "oh, won't you forgib me? de lawd has pardoned me, an' i has come back ter ax you--you--" "yas," i said, "yas, po' child. go ter sleep in peace." she looked at me an' tried ter smile, but de light wuz gone, an' dar wa'n't no smile 'twixt me and de grave. we laid her under de sycamo' trees, but not w'ar my old wife wuz buried. i kep' on goin' ter p'litical meetin's, an' some folks wondered why er ole man dat neber voted tuck such intrus' in sich erfairs. one day i wuz ridin' 'long er road near w'ar er number o' convicts wuz at work. i seed er man dat i knowed 'cross de road in front o' me. i turned toward him. he flung up er gun and cried out: "stop, er i'll kill you. been er huntin' me long ernuff." i didn' stop, an' he fired at me, an' den, flingin' down de gun, he clim de fence an' 'gunter run ercross er fiel'. er mighty yelpin' noise made de a'r ring, an' lookin' erway ter de right, i seed er lot er bloodhounds dat da kep' fur chasin' de convicts. da wuz atter de man. somebody yelled ter 'em ter stop, but da didn'. i got offen my hoss, an', wid seb'ral men, followed de dogs. we heard de man holler--we seed him tryin' ter fight off de dogs. "mussyful god!" i hearn him cry, an' den his voice wuz swallowed up by de howlin' o' de dogs. w'en we come up ter w'ar de dogs wuz, i seed er man tore all ter pieces, an' i seed er dog, atter lookin' at me, bury his teeth in er yaller face. dat night ez i riz up frum my ole wife's grave, de dead, damp grass clung ter my knees. the captain's romance. capt. rilford is known as one of the bravest and most gallant officers of the united states army. he is one of those old bachelors to whom the passing years bring additional installments of romance. i have seen him go into ecstatic spasms over a spout spring in the mountains, and have known him to lie under a tree and shed tears over the misfortunes of a heroine drawn by some fourth-class romancer; but in action he was so fearless that his brother officers excused what they pleased to term his soft qualities. a short time ago the captain was granted a leave of absence. he had long since grown tired of all the fashionable watering-places, and no longer could find anything in the cities to interest him, so the question of how he should spend that time, which was all his own, began to perplex him. "i am acquainted with both the wild and civilized life of our country," said he, addressing a friend. "i know the wild indian and the boston swell; and, to tell you the truth, i don't know what to do." "yes, you are acquainted with the extremes," the friend rejoined, "but do you know much of the intermediate? you have made a study of the indian in his wild state, but do you know anything of him as a citizen? why not go to the indian territory, the cherokee nation, for instance, and amuse yourself by studying the habits of the indian farmer?" the captain was so impressed with the idea that, the next day, he set out for the indian territory. he found the country to be beautiful, with hills of charming contemplation and valleys of enrapturing romance. streams like moving silver thrilled him, and birds, whom it seemed had just found new songs, made the leaves quiver with echoing music. after several days of delightful roaming, the captain rented a small cabin, and, having provided himself with a few cooking utensils, settled down to housekeeping. with the rifle and the fishing rod he provided ample food, and as he soon became acquainted with several farmers he thought, over and over again, that his romantic craving had never before approached so near to (in his own words) sublime satisfaction. his nearest neighbor, four miles distant, was an indian farmer named tom patterson. his family consisted of a wife and one daughter, a rather handsome girl. she had learned to read and write, and, as she seemed to be romantic, the captain soon became much interested in her. patterson was rather a kind-hearted old fellow, accommodating in everything but answering questions concerning his family, but this was not an eccentricity, for nearly all indians are disposed to say as little as possible with regard to themselves. ansy, the girl, was fond of fishing, and as no restraint was placed upon her actions, she and the captain (his words again) had many a delightful stroll. there was, i had forgotten to mention, another member of the patterson household, a negro named alf. he was as dark as the musings of a dyspeptic, but he was good-natured and obliging. "rather odd that a colored man, so fond of political life, should live out here away from the states, isn't it, alf?" the captain one day asked. "wall, no, sah, kain't say dat it is. dar's er right smart sprinklin' o' us genermen out yare, an' dough we's mighty fur erpart we manages ter keep up good 'sciety, sah. yes, sah, an' ef it wa'n't fur de cullud genermen in dis yare 'munity w'y de territory would dun been gone ter rack an' ruin. caze why? i'll tell yo', sah. de ingin is a mighty han' ter furnish meat, but gittin' o' de bread is a different thing. in udder words, sah, he kin kill er deer but he ain't er good han' to raise co'n. yes, sah, de nigger ken plow all roun' de ingin, an' de ingin knowin' dis, ginally gins de niggah er good chance." "you work with mr. patterson on shares, don't you?" "yes, sah; ha'f o' dis crap 'longs ter me. w'y, fo' i come yare dar wa'n't hardly nuthin' raised on dis place but weeds an' grass. i happened to meet patterson in fort smif one time. he hearn me talk erbout farmin' an' den he made a dead set at me ter come home wid him." "are the people throughout this neighborhood very peaceable?" "yas, sah, lessen da gits 'spicious o' er pusson, an' den look out. da looks cuis at ever' stranger, thinkin' dat he's spyin' 'roun' an' tryin' ter talk de injuns in faber o' openin' up this yare territory. dar's er passul o' fellers ober de creek dat calls darselves de glicks. da is allus 'spicious, an' i tells you whut's er fack, i'd ruther hab er team o' mules run ober me an' den be butted by a muley steer--an' i does think way down in my cibilization dat er muley steer ken thump harder den anything on de face o' de yeth--den ter hab dem glicks git atter me. seed 'em hang er pusson once jes' fur nuthin' in de worl', an' da didn' ax him no questions, nuther." as the days passed the girl seemed to be more and more pleased with the captain. one evening they sat on the bank of a stream, fishing. the sun had sunk beyond a distant hill, but continued to pour over his light, like a golden waterfall. "ansy," said the captain, "this is a beautiful and romantic country; but do you not grow tired of living here all the time?" "if we don't know any other life we do not grow tired of this one," she replied. "you are a little philosopher," the captain exclaimed. "i don't know what that is, captain, but if you want me to be one i will try to be." the captain smiled and regarded her with a look of affection. "the great cities would delight you for a time, ansy, and then you could come back here with a heightened appreciation of the sublime surroundings of your own home." "the sun has blown out his candle," she said, pointing. "it is time for us to go." chapter ii. the captain could not sleep. he had extinguished his lamp, but on the wall there was a bright light. it grew brighter, and then he saw that it was the face of ansy. a rap came at the door. "who's there?" "captain, for god's sake run away. the glicks are coming after you." it was the voice of ansy. the captain dressed himself and opened the door. the girl was gone. the moon was shining. the officer was not the man to run away. he closed the door, took up a repeating rifle and opened a small window. he waited. a few moments passed and he saw several men enter the clearing in front of the cabin. "what do you want here?" the captain shouted. "we want you." "what do you want with me?" "ask you some questions." "you may ask questions, but don't come a step nearer." "what did you come here for?" "none of your business." this reply created a commotion. the captain could hear the marauders swearing. "we'll break down the door," one of them said as he stepped forward. the next moment he had fallen to the ground. when the smoke cleared away the captain saw that the rascals were gone, but there soon came from the woods a shower of blazing arrows. it was time to get away. the captain made a hole in the roof, crawled out, sprang to the ground and hurried into the woods. early the next morning he went to patterson's house. the family had heard of the fight. "you neenter be 'larmed now, dough, sah," said alf, the negro, "caze da foun' out dat you wuz er newnited states ossifer, an' it skeered 'em putty nigh ter def. you gin it ter one o' 'em putty hard, i ken tell you. shot him squar through, an' da doan think he gwine ter lib, da doan, but dat ain't no matter, fur he wuz de wust one in de bunch. ef he dies, folks 'roun' yare will hol' er pra'r-meetin' thankin' de lawd." patterson and his wife left the room, but the negro sat in the doorway. "ansy," said the captain, "i owe my life to you." "dat you does, sah," alf replied. the captain gave him a significant glance and again turned to the girl. "yes, you have saved my life, but that is not the cause of my deep--deep (he glanced at the negro)--deep regard for you." the girl made no reply. the captain could have killed the negro. "i will ignore his black presence," the captain mused. he leaned over and took the girl's hand. "ansy," said the negro, "w'en dis yare generman gits through wid yo' han' i wants you ter sew er few buttons on dat ar hickory shirt o' mine." "you scoundrel," exclaimed the captain, springing to his feet, "how dare you speak in such a manner to this young lady?" "why, boss," the negro replied, "what's de use'n makin' sich er great 'miration. dat 'oman has been my wife fur putty nigh two years." the captain's romance was ended. old tildy. in nearly every neighborhood of the south, there comes, in the fall of the year, a sort of religious wave. men, who, during the summer swore at their horses and stopped but little short of blasphemy, in imprecatory remarks addressed to obdurate steers, turn reverently, after fodder-pulling time, to mt. zion, ebeneezer, new hope and round pond, to hear the enthusiastic pleadings of the circuit rider and the begging injunctions of the strolling evangelist. robert's cove, in east tennessee, is a neighborhood typical of this peculiar religious condition. last autumn, when the katydid shivered on the damp oak leaf and the raccoon cracked the shell of the pinching "crawfish," there suddenly appeared at ebeneezer meeting-house a young man of most remarkable presence. he was handsome, tall, graceful, and with hair as bright and waving as the locks of the vision that come to _clarence_ in his awful dream. he said that his name was john mayberry. he had come to preach the gospel in a simple, child-like way, and hoped that his hearers, for the good of their souls, would pay respectful heed to his words. a materialist would have called him a fanatic, but as there were no materialists in that neighborhood, he soon became known as a devout christian and a powerful worker in the harvest-field of faith. he read hallowed books written by men who lived when the ungodly sword and the godly pen were at war against each other, and in his fervor his language bore a power which his rude hearers had never felt before. one night, after a stormy time at the mourners' bench, and while women whose spirits were distressed still stood sobbing about the altar, mayberry approached a well-known member of the church, and said: "who is that peculiar old woman, that wrinkled and strange-eyed dwarf who sits so near the pulpit every night?" "we call her old tildy," brother hendricks replied. "she has been a-livin' in this here neighborhood mighty nigh ever sense i kin ricolleck. she's a mighty strange old woman, but i never hearn no harm uv her." "she may be a good woman," the preacher rejoined, "but she casts a chill over me every time i look at her. goodbye, brother hendricks. think of me to-night when you get down on your knees." the preacher sought his temporary home. he lived about a mile from the church, in an old log cabin with one room. many of the people had offered him a home, but, declining, he declared that he wanted to be alone at night, so that, undisturbed, he could pursue his studies or pray for inspiration. the hour was late. the preacher had taken down "fox's book of martyrs" and was looking at its thrilling illustrations, when a knock at the door startled him. "come in," he called. old tildy stepped into the room, and, quickly closing the door, stood with her back against it. she nodded her head and smiled--a snaggle-tooth grin--and said: "how air yer, brother mayberry?" "i am very well, i thank you." "powerful glad ter know that folks air well." "thank you; but what business can you have with me at this time of night?" "mighty 'portant bizness, brother mayberry, mighty 'portant." "does it concern your soul?" "not ez much ez it do yourn, brother mayberry; not nigh so much ez it do yourn." "i don't understand you!" the evangelist exclaimed. "but i'll see that you do, brother mayberry. i reckon you've noticed me at church, hai'nt you?" "yes." "well, whut you reckon i went thar fur?" "to hear the gospel, i suppose." "not much, brother mayberry; not much. i went thar to see you." "to see me! why on earth, madam, do you care to see me?" "would ruther see you on earth, brother mayberry, than anywhar else. i went to see you, brother mayberry, because i love you." "merciful heavens!" exclaimed the evangelist, throwing up his hands in a gesture of horror. "yes, brother mayberry, i love you, and i want you to be my husband." "oh, god forbid!" the disgusted preacher groaned. "yes, brother mayberry, but the lawd hain't forbid. let me tell you one thing: when old tildy sets her head, w'y suthin' is goin' ter happen. does folks cross old tildy? yes, sometimes. did old patterson cross tildy? yes, patterson crossed po', old, harmless tildy. whut did tildy do? she grabbed patterson's boy an' hil him under the water till he was drounded. did martin cross old tildy? yes, martin crossed old tildy. what did old tildy do? she met old martin in the woods an' killed him, an' folks thought he killed hisse'f. now, air you, in the bloom o' yo' youth and beauty, goin' to cross po', old, harmless tildy?" the cold dew of horror gathered in beads on the preacher's brow. "madam," said he, "i cannot marry you. your request is preposterous; your presence is appalling. go away." "not until i lead my husband with me, brother mayberry." "go, i tell you, or i will throw you out of the house." "throw po', old, harmless tildy out of the house? ha, ha! brother mayberry!" she took a horse-pistol from under her apron. "buckshot in this, brother mayberry; ha, buckshot." the preacher sank down on a chair. he did not care to die. in life there was such a bright promise of the good he could accomplish. he could not marry the hag, but there she stood with her awful weapon. could he not rush upon her? "no, you can't, brother mayberry," she said, lifting the pistol. she was reading his thoughts. could he not pretend that he would marry her, and afterward make his escape? "no, you can't, brother mayberry," she said. "the jestice uv the peace is waitin' outside with the license. oh, no, brother mayberry, i'll not give you a chance ter run away. wouldn't it be awful fur the people ter come here ter-morrer an' find brother mayberry with a hole through his beautiful head? must i call the jestice uv the peace, ur shoot you?" "merciful heavens, what is to become of me? i cannot die this way." "yes you can, brother mayberry." "oh, i cannot marry this hag." "not this hag, but yo' own true love, brother mayberry. come, whut do you say?" the preacher dropped upon his knees. the woman advanced a few steps. the preacher heard some one at the door. was it the justice of the peace whom the woman had under her control? a man stepped into the room. "what does this mean?" he asked "this horrible creature is going to kill me if i don't marry her," the preacher replied. "are you the justice of the peace?" the man laughed. "no, i'm no 'squire. goin' ter kill you, eh? but what with?" "that awful horse-pistol." "that's no pistol. it's simply a stick. w'y this is one of her favorite games. kill you! why she never hurt a thing in her life." "how about patterson's boy?" the preacher asked. "he's all right. i seed him this mawnin'." "yes, but she killed old martin." "did she? i saw him not more than three hours ago. come, tildy, go on away." she put the crooked stick under her apron, and, without saying a word, glided out into the darkness. the preacher lifted his hands and uttered a fervent prayer. note.--riders of monarch bicycles say they are the very "poetry of motion" and a never-ending delight. * * * * * the song of the "no. ." my dress is of fine polished oak, as rich as the finest fur cloak, and for handsome design you just should see mine-- no. , no. . i'm beloved by the poor and the rich, for both i impartially stitch; in the cabin i shine, in the mansion i'm fine-- no. , no. . i never get surly nor tired, with zeal i always am fired; to hard work i incline, for rest i ne'er pine-- no. , no. . i am easily purchased by all, with installments that monthly do fall, and when i am thine, then life is benign-- no. , no. . to the paris exposition i went, upon getting the grand prize intent; i left all behind, the grand prize was mine-- no. , no. . at the universal exposition of , at paris, france, the best sewing machines of the world, including those of america, were in competition. they were passed upon by a jury composed of the best foreign mechanical experts, two of whom were the leading sewing machine manufacturers of france. this jury, after exhaustive examination and tests, adjudged that the wheeler & wilson machines were the best of all, and awarded that company the highest prize offered--the grand prize--giving other companies only gold, silver, and bronze medals. the french government, as a further recognition of superiority, decorated mr. nathaniel wheeler, president of the company, with the cross of the legion of honor--the most prized honor of france. the no. , for family use, and the no. , for manufacturing uses, are the best in the world to-day. and now, when you want a sewing machine, if you do not get the best it will be your own fault. ask your sewing machine dealer for the no. wheeler & wilson machine. if he doesn't keep them, write to us for descriptive catalogue and terms. agents wanted in all unoccupied territory. wheeler & wilson mfg. co., chicago, ill. * * * * * _scotch rolled oats_ are good oats [illustration] packed in two-pound packages only. all grocers handle them. * * * * * the latest acknowledged standard manual for presidents, secretaries, directors, chairmen, presiding officers, and everyone in anyway connected with public life or corporate bodies is reed's rules by the hon. thomas b. reed, speaker of the house of representatives. "i commend the book most highly." william mckinley, _president of the united states_. "reasonable, right, and rigid." j. sterling morton, _ex-secretary of agriculture_. cloth, cents, leather, $ . . rand, mcnally & co., publishers, chicago. * * * * * built like a watch round the world the sterling wins its way sterling cycle works chicago send for catalogue _agencies in all chief cities._ * * * * * ride a monarch and keep in front monarch cycle mfg co chicago·new york·london· * * * * * _take the_ monon route louisville, new albany & chicago ry. co. _between_ chicago, indianapolis, cincinnati, lafayette, louisville, and all points south. through sleeping cars daily to washington and baltimore pullman sleeping cars. parlor and dining cars. only line to french lick and west baden springs, "the carlsbad of america." w. h. mcdoel, chas. h. rockwell, frank j. reed, vice-pres. and gen'l mgr. traffic mgr. gen'l pass'r agt. * * * * * chew "kis-me" gum [illustration: imported key ring] send us cents and "kis-me" gum wrappers, or cents in stamps or coin, and we will mail you an elegant imported steel key ring as shown by above cut. throw your old ring away and get a fine one. kis-me gum co., louisville, ky. * * * * * read sons and fathers by harry stillwell edwards. the story that won the _$ , prize_ in the chicago record's competition. bound in english linen with gold back and side stamps. price $ . . rand, mcnally & co., publishers, chicago and new york. copyright, , by opie p. read. * * * * * marah ellis ryan's works. a flower of france. a story of old louisiana. the story is well told.--_herald, new york._ a real romance--just the kind of romance one delights in.--_times, boston._ full of stirring incident and picturesque description.--_press, philadelphia._ the interest holds the reader until the closing page.--_inter ocean, chicago._ told with great fascination and brightness. * * * the general impression delightful. * * * many thrilling scenes.--_herald, chicago._ a thrilling story of passion and action.--_commercial, memphis._ a pagan of the alleghanies. a genuine art work.--_chicago tribune._ a remarkable book, original and dramatic in conception, and pure and noble in tone.--_boston literary world._ rev. david swing said:--the books of marah ellis ryan give great pleasure to all the best class of readers. "a pagan of the alleghanies" is one of her best works; but all she writes is high and pure. her words are all true to nature, and, with her, nature is a great theme. robert g. ingersoll says:--your description of scenery and seasons--of the capture of the mountains by spring--of tree and fern, of laurel, cloud and mist, and the woods of the forest, are true, poetic, and beautiful. to say the least, the pagan saw and appreciated many of the difficulties and contradictions that grow out of and belong to creeds. he saw how hard it is to harmonize what we see and know with the idea that over all is infinite power and goodness * * * the divine spark called genius is in your brain. squaw Ã�louise. vigorous, natural, entertaining.--_boston times._ a notable performance.--_chicago tribune._ a very strong story, indeed.--_chicago times._ told in the hills. a book that is more than clever. it is healthy, brave, and inspiring.--_st. louis post-dispatch._ the character of stuart is one of the finest which has been drawn by an american woman in many a day, and it is depicted with an appreciation hardly to be expected even from a man.--_boston herald._ in love's domains. there are imagination and poetical expressions in the stories, and readers will find them interesting.--_new york sun._ the longest story. "galeed," is a strong, nervous story, covering a wide range, and dealing in a masterly way with some intricate questions of what might be termed amatory psychology.--_san francisco chronicle._ merze; the story of an actress. we can not doubt that the author is one of the best living orators of her sex. the book will possess a strong attraction for women.--_chicago herald._ this is the story of the life of an actress, told in the graphic style of mrs. ryan. it is very interesting.--_new orleans picayune._ for sale by all booksellers. rand, mcnally & co., publishers, chicago and new york. * * * * * transcriber's note: the inconsistencies in this book are as in the original. the advertisement pages were moved to the end of the book. the fatal cord and the falcon rover by captain mayne reid published by charles h. clarke, paternoster row, london. this edition dated . the fatal cord, by mayne reid. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ the fatal cord, by mayne reid. story one, chapter one. a bivouac of boy hunters. a hunters' bivouac under the shadows of a mississippian forest, in a spot where the trees stand unthinned by the axe of the woodman. it is upon the arkansas side of the great river, not far from the town of helena, and in the direction of little rock, the capital of that state. the scene is a small glade, surrounded by tall cottonwood trees, one of which on each side, conspicuously "blazed," indicates a "trace" of travel. it is that leading from helena to a settlement on the forks of the white river and cache. the time is a quarter of a century ago, when this district of country contained a heterogeneous population, comprising some of the wildest and wickedest spirits to be found in all the length and breadth of the backwoods border. it was then the chosen home for men of fallen fortunes, lawyers and land speculators, slave-traders and swindlers, hunters, who lived by the pursuit of game, and sportsmen, whose game was cards, and whose quarry consisted of such dissolute cotton planters as, forsaking their homes in mississippi and tennessee, had re-established themselves on the fertile bottoms of the saint francis, the white and the arkansas. a glance at the individuals comprising the bivouac in question forbids the supposition that they belong to any of the above. there are six of them; all are boys, the oldest not over twenty, while the youngest may be under sixteen. and though at the same glance you are satisfied that they are but amateur hunters, the game they have succeeded in bringing down shows them gifted not only with skill but courage in the chase. the carcase of a large bear lies beside them on the sward, his skin hanging from a tree, while several steaks cut from his fat rump, and impaled upon sapling spits, sing pleasantly over the camp fire, sending a savoury odour far into the forest around. about a dozen huge bear-hounds, several showing scars of recent conflict, lie panting upon the grass, while just half this number of saddled horses stand "hitched" to the trees. the young hunters are in high glee. they have made a creditable day's work of it, and as most of them have to go a good way before reaching home, they have halted in the glade to refresh themselves, their hounds, and their horses. the chase has provided them with meat of which all are fond; most of them carry a "pine" of corn bread in their saddle-bags, and not a few a flask of corn-whiskey. they would not be the youth of arkansas if found unprovided with tobacco. thus furnished with all the requisites of a backwoods bivouac they are sucking it in gleesome style. scanning these young fellows from a social point of view you can see they are not all of equal rank. a difference in dress and equipments bespeaks a distinct standing, even in backwoods society, and this inequality is evident among the six individuals seated around the camp fire. he whom we have taken for the oldest, and whose name is brandon, is the son of a cotton planter of some position in the neighbourhood. and there is wealth too, as indicated by the coat of fine white linen, the white panama hat, and the diamond pin sparkling among the ruffles in his shirt-bosom. it is not this, however, that gives him a tone of authority among his hunting companions, but rather an assumption of superior age, combined with perhaps superior strength, and certainly a dash of _bullyism_ that exhibits itself, and somewhat offensively, in both word and action. most of the dogs are his, as also the fine sorrel horse that stands proudly pawing the ground not far from the fire. next to master brandon in degree of social standing is a youth, who is also two years his junior, by name randall. he is the son of a certain lawyer, lately promoted to be judge of the district--an office that cannot be called a sinecure, supposing its duties to be faithfully performed. after randall may be ranked young spence, the hopeful scion of an episcopal clergyman, whose cure lies in one of the river-side towns, several miles from the scene of the bivouac. of lower grade is ned slaughter, son of the helena hotel-keeper, and jeff grubbs, the heir apparent to jeff grubbs, senior, the principal dry goods merchant of the same respectable city. at the bottom of the scale may be placed bill buck, whose father, half horse trader, half corn planter, squats on a tract of poor land near the cache, of which no one cares to dispute his proprietorship. notwithstanding these social distinctions, there is none apparent around the camp fire. in a hunter's bivouac--especially in the south-western states, still more notably within the limits of arkansas--superiority does not belong either to fine clothes or far stretching lineage. the scion of the "poor white hack" is as proud of his position as the descendant of the aristocratic cotton planter; and over the camp fire in question bill buck talked as loudly, ate as choice steaks, and drank as much corn whisky as alf brandon, the owner of the hounds and the splendid sorrel horse. in their smoking there might be noted a difference, bill indulging in a council pipe, while the son of the planter puffs his principe that has come through the custom-house from havanna. luncheon over, it still seems too early to separate for return home, and too late to set the dogs on a fresh bear trail. the corn juice inspires to rouse a kind of diversion, suggesting trials of death or skill. among these sons of arkansas cards would have come in; but to their chagrin no one is provided with a pack. bill buck regrets this, and also alf brandon, and so, too, the son of the episcopal preacher. they are too far from any settlement to send for such things. pitch and toss is not sufficiently scientific; "hokey in the hole" is too childish, and it ends in a trial of strength and activity. there is wrestling, jumping over a string, and the leap horizontal. in all of these alf brandon proves superior, though closely tackled by the son of the squatter. their superiority is actually owing to age, for these two are the oldest of the party. the ordinary sports exhausted, something else is sought for. a new kind of gymnastics suggest itself or is suggested, by the stout branch of a cottonwood, stretching horizontally into the glade. it is nearly nine feet from the ground. who can spring up, seize hold of it, and hang on longest? alf brandon pulls out his gold repeater, formed with a moment hand, and the trial is attempted. all six succeeded in reaching the limb, and clutching it. all can hang for a time; but in this bill buck beats his companions, brandon showing chagrin. who can hang longest with one hand? the trial is made, and the planter's son is triumphant. "bah!" cries the defeated buck. "who can hang longest by the neck? dare any of you try that?" a yell of laughter responds to this _jeu d'esprit_ of the young jean-clad squatter. story one, chapter two. two travellers. the silence succeeding is so profound that the slightest sound may be heard to a considerable distance. though not professional hunters, these young nimrods of the backwoods are accustomed to keep open ears. it is a rustling among the reeds that now hinders them from resuming conversation--the canes that hang over the trace of travel. there are footsteps upon it, coming from the direction of helena. they are soft as the fall of moccasined or female foot. for all this, they are heard distinctly in the glade--hunters, horses, and hounds having pricked up their ears to listen. who comes from helena? the question has scarce shaped itself when the answer also assumes shape. there are two upon the trace--the foremost, a youth of about eighteen, the other, a girl, at least two years younger. they are not like enough to be brother and sister. they may be of the same mother, but not father. if their father be the same, they must have come from two mothers. both are of interesting personal appearance, strikingly so. the youth is tall, tersely and elegantly formed, with features cast in a mould that reminds one of the romagna; the same facial outline, the prominent nose and chin, the eagle eye, that in childhood has glanced across the teverino, or the tiber, and a complexion equally suggestive of italian origin, a tinge of olive in the skin, slightly damasked upon the cheeks, with, above all, a thick _chevelure_, black as the plumage of a buzzard. while different in mien, this youth is dressed altogether unlike any of the young hunters who regard him from the glade. he is in true hunter costume, slightly partaking of the garb more especially affected by the indian. his feet are in mocassins, his limbs encased in leggings of green-baize cloth, a calico hunting shirt covers his shoulders; while, instead of cap or hat, he wears the "toque," or turban, long since adopted by the semi-civilised tribes of the frontier. he is equipped with powder-horn and bullet-pouch, slung crossways under his arm, armed with a long pea-rifle resting negligently over his left shoulder. his companion has been spoken off as a girl. the designation stands good; but to describe her will require less minuteness of detail. sixteen in countenance; older to judge by the budding promise of her beauty; clad in a gown of common homespun, copperas-dyed, ill stitched, and loosely adjusted; a skin soft as velvet, and ruddy as rude health can make it; hair to all appearance unacquainted with combs; yet spreading as the sun through a southern window; eyes like stars clipped from the blue canopy of the sky. such was she who followed, or rather accompanied, the youth in the calico hunting shirt. a sudden fire flashes into the eyes of alf brandon. it is the expression of a spirit not friendly to one of the new comers, which may be easily guessed, for the girl is too young and too fair to have excited hostility in the breast of any one. it is her companion against whom the son of the planter feels some secret resentment. he shows it more conspicuously on a remark made by bill buck. "that skunk is always sneaking about with old rook's gal. wonder her dad don't show more sense than let her keep company wi' a nigger. she ain't a goslin any more--_she_ ain't." buck's observation displays an animus ill concealed. he, too, has not failed to note the hidden beauty of this forest maiden, who is the daughter of an old hunter of rude habits, living in a cabin close by. but the sentiments of the horse-dealer's son, less refined, are also less keenly felt. his remarks add fuel to the fire already kindled in the breast of brandon. "the nigger thinks entirely too much of himself. i propose, boys, we take the shine out of him," said brandon, who makes the malicious challenge. "do the nigger good," chimes in slaughter. "but is he a nigger?" asks spence, to whom the strange youth has been hitherto unknown. "i should have taken him for a white." "three-quarters white--the rest indian. his mother was a half-bred choctaw. i've often seen the lot at our store." it is grubbs who gives this information. "injun or nigger, what's the difference?" proceeded the brutal buck. "he's got starch enough for either; and, as you say, alf brandon, let's take it out of him. all agreed, boys?" "all! all!" "what do you say, judge randall! you've not spoken yet, and as you're a judge we wait for your decision." "oh, if there's fun to be had, _i'm_ with you. what do you propose doing with him?" "leave that to me," says brandon, turning to the quarter-bred, who at this moment has arrived opposite the camp fire. "hilloa choc! what's the hurry? we've been having a trial of strength here--who can hang longest by one arm to this branch? suppose you put in too, and see what you can do?" "i don't desire it; besides, i have no time to spare for sport." the young hunter, halted for only a moment, is about to move on. the companionship thus offered is evidently uncongenial. he suspects that some mischief is meant. he can read it in the eyes of all six; in their faces flushed with corn-whiskey. their tone, too, is insulting. "you're afraid you'll get beat," sneeringly rejoins brandon. "though you have indian blood in you, there ought to be enough white to keep you from showing coward." "a coward! i'll thank you not to repeat that mr alfred brandon." "well, then, show yourself a man, and make the trial. i've heard that you boast of having strong arms. i'll bet that i can hang longer to that branch than you--that any of us can." "what will you bet you can?" asks the young hunter, stirred, perhaps, by the hope of employing his strength to a profitable purpose. "my rifle against yours. looking at the value of the guns, that is quite two to one." "three to one," says the son of the store-keeper. "i don't admit it," answers the hunter. "i prefer my piece to yours, with all its silvering upon it. but i accept your challenge, and will take the bet as you have proposed it." "enough. now, boys, stand by and see fair play. you, slaughter, you keep time. here's my watch." the girl is going away; brandon evidently wishes she should do so. he has some design--some malice _prepense_, of which he does not desire her to be a witness. whatever it is he has communicated it to his fellows, all of whom show a like willingness for lena rook--such is her name--to take her departure. their free glances and freer speech produce the desired effect. her father's shanty is not far off. she knows the road without any guidance, and moves off along it, not, however, without casting a glance towards her late travelling companion, in which might be detected a slight shadow of apprehension. she has not failed to notice the bearing of the boy hunters, their insulting tone and attitude towards him of indian taint, who, for all that, has been the companion of her girlhood's life--the sharer of her father's roof, rude and humble as it is. most of those left in the glade she knows--all of them by name--buck and brandon with a slight feeling of aversion. but she has confidence in pierre--the only name by which she knows her father's guest--the name given by the man who some six years before entrusted him to her father's keeping; she knows that he is neither child nor simpleton, and against any ordinary danger can well guard himself. by this sweet reflection allaying her fears she flits forward along the forest path like a young fawn, emboldened by the knowledge that the lair of the protecting stag is safe and near. story one, chapter three. hanging by one hand. "how is it to be?" asks slaughter, holding the watch as if he were weighing it. "by one hand or both?" "one hand, of course. that was the challenge." "i propose that the other be tied. that will be the best way, and fair for both parties. there will then be no balancing, and it will be a simple test of strength in the arm used for suspension. the right, of course. let the left be tied down. what say you, boys?" "there can be no objection to that. it's equal for both," remarks randall. "i make no objection," says brandon. "nor i," assents the young hunter; "tie as you please, so long as you tie alike." "good!" ejaculates bill buck, with a sly wink to his companions, unseen by the last speaker. the competitors stand under the branch of the tree ready to be tied. a minute or two sufficed for this. it is done by a piece of string cord looped upon the left wrist, and then carried round the thigh. by this means the left arm is secured against struggling or in anyway lessening the strain upon the right. thus pinioned, both stand ready for the trial. "who goes first?" is the question asked by slaughter. "the challenger, or the challenged?" "the challenged has the choice," answers randall. "do you wish it, choc?" he adds, addressing himself to the quarter-bred indian. "it makes no difference to me whether first or last," is the simple reply. "all right, then; i'll go first," says brandon, springing up, and clutching hold of the limb. slaughter, entrusted with the duty, appears to take note of the time. one--two--three--three minutes and thirty seconds--told off on the dial of his watch, and brandon drops to the ground. he does not appear to have made much of an effort. it is strange he should be so indifferent to the losing of a splendid rifle, to say nothing of the humiliation of defeat. both seem in store for him, as the young hunter, bracing himself to the effort, springs up to the branch. one--two--three--four--five. five minutes are told off, and still does he remain suspended. "how much longer can you stand it, choc?" asks bill buck, with a significant intonation of voice. "most done, ain't ye?" "done!" scornfully exclaimed the suspended hunter. "i could stand it three times as long, if needed. i suppose you're satisfied i've won?" "a hundred dollars against my own rifle you don't hang five minutes more." this comes from brandon. "i'll take the bet," is the rejoinder. "since you're so confident, then, you'll have to win or be hanged." "what do you mean by that? what are you doing behind me?" asked the young hunter. these questions are put under a suspicion that some trick is being played. he hears a whispering behind him, and a rustling of leaves overhead. "only taking the precaution that you don't hurt yourself by the fall," is the answer given to the last. it is followed by a peal of loud laughter, in which all six take part. the young gymnast, still clinging to the branch, wonders what is making them so merry. heir speeches have suggested something sinister, and glancing upward he discovers the trick played upon him. there is a rope around his neck, with a running nose, its other end attached to a branch above. it has been adjusted in such manner that were he to let go his hold the noose would close around his throat, with his feet still dangling in the air. "hang on!" cried slaughter, in a mocking tone. "hang on, i advise you. if you let go you'll find your neck in a noose." "you'll keep the time, slaughter," directs brandon, "five minutes more. if he drops within that time, let him do so. well, then, see how long the nigger can hang _by his neck_." another loud laugh rings through the glade, echoed by all except him who is the subject of it. the young hunter is furious--almost to frenzy. his cheek has turned ashy pale--his lips too. fire flashes in his coal-black eyes. could he but descend safely from the tree, at least one of his torturers would have reason to repent the trick they have put upon him. he dare not let go his hold; he sees the set snare, and knows the danger of falling into it. he can only await till they may please to release him from his perilous position. but if patient, he is not silent. "cowards!" he cries, "cowards every one of you; and i'll make every one of you answer for it: you'll see if i don't." "come, come, nigger," retorts brandon, "don't talk that way, or we'll not let you down at all. as good as you have been hanged in these woods for too much talking. ain't he a nice looking gallows bird just now? say, boys! suppose we call back the girl, and let her have a look at him? perhaps she'd help him out of his fix. ha! ha! ha!" "you'll repent these speeches, alfred brandon," gasps the young man, beginning to feel his strength failing him. "you be hanged--yes, hanged, ha! ha! ha!" simultaneous with the laugh a deer-hound, straying by the edge of the glade, gave out a short, sharp growl, which is instantly taken up by those lying around the camp fire. at the same instant is heard a snort, perfectly intelligible to the ears of the amateur hunters. "a bear! a bear!" is the cry uttered by all, as the animal itself is seen dashing back into the cane-brake, out of which it had come to reconnoitre. in an instant the hounds are after it, some of them already hanging to its hams, while the six hunters suddenly rush to their guns, and flinging themselves into their saddles, oblivious of all else, spur excitedly after. in less than twenty seconds from the first howl of the hound there is not a soul in the glade, save that now in real danger of parting from the body that contains it. the young hunter is left hanging--alone! story one, chapter four. a forced freedom. yes. the young hunter is left hanging alone; hanging by hand and arm; soon to be suspended by the neck. good god! is there no alternative? no hope of his being rescued from his perilous situation? he sees none for himself. he feels that he is powerless; his left hand is fastened to his thigh with a cord that cannot be stretched or broken. he tries wrenching the wrist with all his strength, and in every direction. the effort is idle, and ends only in the laceration of his skin. with the right hand he can do nothing. he dare not remove it from the limb; he dare not even change its hold. to unclasp it would be certain strangulation. can he not throw up his feet, and by them elevate himself upon the branch? the idea at once suggests itself; and he at once attempts its execution. he tries once, twice, thrice, until he proves it impossible. with both arms it would have been easy; or with one at an earlier period. but the strain has been too long continued, and he sees that the effort is only bringing him nearer to his end. he desists, and once more hangs vertically, from the limb. is there no hope from hearing? he listens. there is no lack of sounds. there is the baying of dogs at intervals, culminating in grand chorus, or breaking into short, sharp barks, as the bear gives battle; there is the bellowing of bruin himself, mingled with the crackling of cane, as he makes his way through the thick-set culms; and, above all, the shouts and wild yelling of his human pursuers. "are they human?" asks he whom they have left behind. "can it be that they have abandoned me to this cruel death?" "it can--they have," is the agonised answer, as the sounds of the chase come fainter from the forest. "they have--they have," he repeats, and then, as the tide of vengeance surges up in his heart, he cries, through clenched teeth, "o god; give me escape--if but to avenge myself on those villains who have outraged your own image. o god! look down in mercy! send some one to deliver me!" some one to deliver him! he has no hope that any of his late tormentors will return to do it. he had but little from the first. he knows them all, except spence, the son of the clergyman; and from the late behaviour of this youth, he has seen that he is like the rest. all six are of the same stamp and character, the most dissolute scamps in the country. no hope now; for the bear hunt has borne them far away, and even their yells are no longer heard by him. hitherto he has remained silent. it seemed idle to do otherwise. who was there to hear him, save those who would not have heeded. and his shouts would not have been heard among the howling of hounds, the trampling of horses, and the shrill screeching of six fiends in human form. now that silence is around him--deep, solemn silence--a new hope springs up within his breast. some one _might_ be near, straying through the forest or travelling along the trace. he knows there is a trace. better he had never trodden it! but another might be on it. some one with a human heart. oh, if it were only lena! "hilloa!" he cries, again and again; "help, help! for the love of god, give help!" his words are repeated, every one of them, and with distinctness. but, alas, not in answer, only in echo. the giant trunks are but taunting him. a fiend seems to mock him far off in the forest! he shouts till he is hoarse--till despair causes him to desist. once more he hangs silent. a wonder he has hung so long. there are few boys, and perhaps fewer men, who could for such a time have sustained the terrible strain, under which even the professional gymnast might have sunk. it is explained by his training, and partly by the indian blood coursing through his veins. a true child of the forest--a hunter from earliest boyhood--to scale the tall tree, and hang lightly from its limbs, was part of his education. to such as he the hand has a grasp prehensile as the tail of the american monkey, the arm a tension not known to the sons of civilisation. fortunate for him it is thus, or perhaps the opposite, since it has only added to his misery by delaying the fate that seems certainly in store for him. he makes this reflection as he utters his last cry, and once more suffers himself to droop despairingly. so strongly does it shape itself, that he thinks of letting go his hold, and at once and for ever putting an end to his agony. death is a terrible alternative. there are few who do not fear to look it in the face--few who will hasten to meet it, so long as the slightest spark of hope glimmers in the distance. men have been known to spring into the sea, to be swallowed by the tumultuous waves; but it was only when the ship was on fire, or certainly sinking beneath them. this is but fleeing from death to death, when all hope of life is extinguished. perhaps it is only madness. but pierre robideau--for such is the name of the young hunter--is not mad, and not yet ready to rush to the last terrible alternative. it is not hope that induces him to hold on--it is only the dread horror of death. his arm is stretched almost to dislocation of its joints--the sinews drawn tight as a bow-string, and still his fingers clutch firmly to the branch, lapped like iron round it. his cheeks are colourless; his jaws have dropped till the lips are agape, displaying his white teeth; his eyes protrude as if about to start forth from their sockets. and yet out of these wild eyes one more glance is given to the glade-- one more sweep among the trunks standing around it. what was seen in that last glaring look? was it the form of a fair girl dimly outlined under the shadow of the trees? or was it only that same form conjured up by a fancy flickering on the edge of eternity? no matter now. it is too late. even if lena were there she would not be in time to save him. nature, tortured to the last throe, can hold out no longer. she relaxes the grasp of pierre robideau's hand, and the next moment he is seen hanging under the branch, with the tightened noose around his neck, and his tongue protruding between his lips, livid with the dark mantling of death! story one, chapter five. two old chums. "bound for kaliforny, air ye?" "yes; that's the country for me." "if what you say's true, it oughter be the country for more'n you. air ye sure 'beout it?" "seems believing. look at this." the man who gave utterance to the old saw pulled from his pocket a small packet done up in fawn skin, and untying the string, exhibited some glistening nodules of a yellowish colour. "true; seein' air believin', they do say, an' feelin' air second nater. let's lay my claw on't." the packet was passed into his hands. "hang me eft don't look like gold! an' it feel like it, too; an', durn me, ef't don't taste like it." this after he had put one of the nodules in his mouth, and rolled it over his tongue, as if testing it. "it _is_ gold," was the positive rejoinder. "an' ye tell me, dick tarleton, they find these sort o' nuts in kaliforny lyin' right on the surface o' the groun'?" "almost the same. they dig them out of the bed of a river, and then wash the mud off them. the thing's been just found out by a man named captain sutter while they were clearing out a mill-race. the fellow i got these from's come direct from there with his bullet-pouch chock full of them, besides several pounds weight of dust in a canvas bag. he was in new orleans to get it changed into dollars; an' he did it, too, five thousand in all, picked up, he says, in a spell of three months' washing. he's going right back." "burn me ef i oughten't to go too. huntin' ain't much o' a bizness hyar any longer. bar's gettin' pretty scace, an' deer's most run off altogither from the settlements springin' up too thick. besides, these young planters an' the fellers from the towns air allers 'beout wi' thar blasted horns, scarin' everything out of creashun. thar's a ruck o' them kine clost by hyar 'beout a hour ago, full tare arter a bar. burn 'em! what hev they got to do wi' bar-huntin'--a parcel o' brats o' boys? jess as much as this chile kin do' to keep his ole karkidge from starvin'; and thar's the gurl, too, growin' up, an' nothin' provided for her but this ole shanty, an' the patch o' gurden groun'. i'd pull up sticks and go wi' ye, only for one thing." "what is that, rook?" "wal, wal; i don't mind tellin' you, dick. the gurl's good-lookin', an' thar's a rich young feller 'pears a bit sweet on her. i don't much like him myself; but he _air_ rich, or's boun' to be when the old 'un goes under. he's an only son, an' they've got one o' the slickest cotton plantations in all arkansaw." "ah, well; if you think he means marrying your girl, you had, perhaps, better stay where you are." "marryin' her! burn him, i'll take care o' thet. poor as i am myself, an' as you know, dick tarleton, no better than i mout be, she hain't no knowin' beout that. my little gurl, lena, air as innocent as a young doe. i'll take precious care nobody don't come the humbugging game over her. in coorse you're gwine to take your young 'un along wi' ye?" "of course." "wal, he'll be better out o' hyar, any how. thar a wild lot, the young fellars 'beout these parts; an' i don't think over friendly wi' him. 'tall events, _he_ don't sort wi' _them_. they twit him 'beout his injun blood, and that sort o' thing." "damn them! he's got _my_ blood." "true enuf, true enuf; an' ef they knew thet, it wudn't be like to git much favour for him. you dud well in makin' him grass under the name o' the mother. ef the folks 'beout hyar only knowed he war the son o' dick tarleton--dick tarleton thet--" "hush! shut up, jerry rook! enough that you know it. i hope you never said a word of that to the boy. i trusted you." "an' ye trusted to a true man. wi' all my back-slidin's i've been, true to you, dick. the boy knows nothin' 'beout what you're been, nor me neyther. he air as innocent as my own gurl lena, tho' of a diffrent natur altogither. tho' he be three parts white, he's got the injun in him as much as ef he'd been the colour o' copper. le's see; it air now nigh on six year gone since ye seed him. wal, he's wonderful growed up an' good-lookin'; and thar arn't anythin' 'beout these parts kud tackle on to him fur strenth. he kin back a squirrel wi' the pea-rifle, tho' thet won't count for much now ef ye're gwine to set him gatherin' these hyar donicks an' dusts. arter all, thet may be the best for him. huntin' ain't no account any more. i'd gi'e it up myself ef i ked get some eezier way o' keepin' my wants serplied." the man to whom these remarks were made did not give much attention to the last of them. a proud fire was in his eye as he listened to the eulogy passed upon the youth, who was his son by marie robideau, the half-breed daughter of a famous fur-trader. perhaps, too, he was thinking of the youth's mother, long since dead. "he will soon be here?" he inquired, rousing himself from his reverie. "oughter," was the reply. "only went wi' my gurl to the store to git some fixin's. it air in helena, 'beout three mile by the old trace. oughter be back by this. i war expectin' 'em afore you kim in." "what's that?" asked tarleton, as a huge bear-hound sprang from his recumbent position on the hearth, and ran growling to the door. "them, i reck'n. but it moutn't be; thar's plenty o' other people abeout. make safe, dick, an' go in thar', into the gurl's room, till i rickaneitre." the guest was about to act upon the hint, when a light footstep outside, followed by the friendly whimpering of the hound, and the soft voice of her on whom the dog was fawning, caused him to keep his place. in another second, like a bright sunbeam, a young girl--lena rook-- stepped softly over the threshold. story one, chapter six. a cry of distress. lena rook knew the father of pierre, and curtsied as she came in. it was six years since she had seen him; but she still remembered the man who had stayed some days at her father's house, and left behind him a boy, who had afterwards proved such a pleasant playmate. "whar's pierre?" asked her father. "didn't he kum back from helena along wi' ye?" the guest simultaneously asked a similar question, for both had noticed a slight shadow on the countenance of the girl. "he did," answered she, "as far as the clearing in the cane-brake, just over the creek." "he stopped thar. what for?" "there was a party of hunters--boys." "who mout they be?" "there was alf brandon, and bill buck, and young master randall, the judge's son, and there was jeff grubbs, the son of mr grubbs, that keeps the store, and slaughter's son, and another boy i don't remember ever seeing before." "a preecious pack o' young scamp-graces, every mother's son o' 'em, 'ceptin the one you didn't know, an' he can't be much different, seein' the kumpany he air in. what war they a doin'?" "they had hounds and horses. they had killed a bear." "killed a bar! then that's the lot that went scurryin' up the crik, while ago. durn 'em! they never killed the bar. the houn's dud it for 'em. ye see how it air, dick? who the etarnal ked make his bread out o' huntin' hyar, when sech green goslins as them goes screamin' through the woods wi' a hul pack o' houn's to drive the game hillward! how d'ye know, gurl, thet they killed a bar?" "i saw it lying on the ground, and the skin hanging to a tree." "skinned it, too, did they?" "yes. they had a fire, and they had been roasting and eating some of it. i think they had been drinking too. they looked as if they had, and i could smell whiskey about the place." "but what kept pierre among 'em?" "they were trying who could hang longest to the branch of a tree. as pierre was coming past, alf brandon stopped him, and challenged him to try too; then offered to make a bet--their rifles, i think--and pierre consented, and i came away." "pierre should have kum along wi' ye, an' left them to theirselves. i know alf brandon don't owe the boy any goodwill, nor bill buck neyther, nor any o' that hul lot. i reckon they must a riled him, and rousted his speerit a bit." as the old hunter said this, he stepped over the threshold of the door, and stood outside, as if looking out for the coming of dick tarleton's son. seeing that he was listening, the other two, to avoid making a noise, conversed in a low tone. "i kin hear the houn's," remarked rook, speaking back into the cabin. "thar's a growl! durn me, ef they hain't started suthin'. thar they go, an' the curs yellin' arter 'em as ef hell war let loose. wonder what it kin mean? some varmint must a crawled right inter thar camp. wal, pierre ain't like to a gone along wi' 'em, seein' as he's got no hoss. i reck'n we'll soon see him hyar, an' maybe alf brandon's rifle along wi' him. ef it's bin who kin hang longest to the branch of a tree, i'd back him agin the toughest-tailed possum in all these parts. ef that be the tarms o' the wager, he'll git the gun." the old hunter returned chuckling into the cabin. some conversation passed between him and his daughter, about getting dinner for their guest; and then, thinking that the expected pierre was a long time in showing himself, he went out again, and stood listening as before. he had not been many moments in this attitude, when he was seen to start, and then listen more eagerly with an uneasy look. tarleton, looking from the inside, saw this, and so too the girl. "what is it, jerry?" inquired the former, moving hastily towards the door. "durned if i know. i heerd a shriek as ef some'dy war in trouble. yes, thar 'tis agin! by the etarnal, it's pierre's voice!" "it is father," said lena, who had glided out, and stood listening by his side. "it is his voice; i could tell it anywhere. i fear they have been doing something. i'm sure those boys don't like him, and i know they were drinking." "no, dick! don't you go. some of them young fellurs might know you. i'll go myself, and lena kin kum along wi' me. my gun, gurl! an' you may turn, too, ole sneezer; you'd be more'n a match for the hul pack o' thar curs. i tell ye, you shan't go, dick! git inside the shanty, and stay thar till we kum back. maybe, 'tain't much; some lark o' them young scamp-graces. anyhow, this chile'll soon see it all straight. now, lena! arter yur ole dad." at the termination of this chapter of instructions, the hunter, long rifle in hand, hound and daughter close following upon his heels, strode off at the double-quick in the direction in which he had heard the cries. for some moments their guest stood outside the door, apparently unresolved as to whether he should stay behind or follow his host. but, a shadow passing over his face, showed that some sentiment--perhaps fear--stronger than affection for his son, was holding him in check; and, yielding to this, he turned, and stepped back into the shanty. a remarkable-looking man was this old acquaintance of jerry rook; as unlike the hunter as hyperion to the satyr. he was still under forty years of age, while jerry had outlived the frosts of full sixty winters. but the difference between their ages was nothing compared with that existing in other respects. while jerry, crooked in limb and corrugated in skin, was the beau ideal of an old borderer, with a spice of the pirate in him to boot, richard tarleton stood straight as a lance, and had been handsome as apollo. jerry, clad in his half-indian costume of skin cap and buck-leather, looked like the wild woods around him, while his guest in white linen shirt and shining broadcloth, seemed better suited for the streets of that city from which his conversation showed him to have lately come. what strange chance has brought two such men together? and what stranger episode had kept them bound in a confidence neither seemed desirous of divulging? it must have been a dark deed on the side of dick tarleton--a strong fear that could hinder a father from rushing to the rescue of his son! story one, chapter seven. the body taken down. the glade is silent as a graveyard, with a tableau in it far more terribly solemn than tombs. a fire smoulders unheeded in its centre, and near it the carcass of some huge creature, upon which the black vultures, soaring aloft, have fixed their eager eyes. and they glance too at something upon the trees. there is a broad black skin suspended over a branch; but there is more upon another branch-- there is a _man_! but for the motions lately made by him the birds would ere this have descended to their banquet. they may come down now. he makes no more motions, utters no cry to keep them in the air affrighted. he hangs still, silent, apparently dead. even the scream of a young girl rushing out from the underwood does not stir him, nor yet the shout of an old man sent forth under like excitement. not any more when they are close to the spot with arms almost touching him--arms upraised and voices loud in lamentation. "it is pierre! oh, father, they have hanged him! dead--he is dead!" "hush gurl! maybe not," cries the old man, taking hold of the loose limbs and easing the strain of the rope. "quick! come under here, catch hold as you see me, an' bear up wi' all your strength. i must git my knife out and spring up'ard to git at the durned rope. thet's it. steady, now." the young girl has glided forward, and, as directed, taken hold of the hanging limbs. it is a terrible task--a trying, terrible task even for a backwoods maiden. but she is equal to it; and bending to it with all her strength, she holds up what she believes to be the dead body of her playmate and companion. her young heart is almost bursting with agony as she feels that in the limbs embraced there is no motion--not even a tremor. "hold on hard," urges her father. "thet's a stout gurl. i won't be a minnit." while giving this admonition, he is hurrying to get hold of his knife. it is out, and with a spring upward, as if youth had returned to his sinews, the old hunter succeeds in reaching the rope. it is severed with a "snig!" and the body, bearing the girl along with it, drops to the ground. the noose is instantly slackened and switched off; the old hunter with both hands embraces the throat, pressing the windpipe back into it; then, placing his ear close to the chest, listens. with eyes set in agonised suspense, and ears also; lena listens, too, to hear what her father may say. "oh! father, do you think he is dead? tell me he still lives." "not much sign o' it. heigh! i thort i seed a tremble. you run to the shanty. thar's some corn whisky in the cubberd. it's in the stone bottle. bring it hyar. go, gurl, an' run as fast as your legs kin carry ye!" the girl springs to her feet, and is about starting off. "stay, stay! it won't do to let dick know; this'll drive _him_ mad. durn me, if i know what ter do. arter all he may as well be told on't. he must find it out, sooner or later. that must be, an' dog-gone it 'twon't do to lose time. ye may go. no, stay! no, go--go! an' fetch the bottle; ye needn't tell him what it's for. but he'll know thars suthin' wrong. he'll be sure to know. he'll come back along wi' ye. that's equilly sartin. well, let him. maybe thet's the best. yes, fetch him back wi' ye. thar's no danger o' them chaps--showin' here arter this, i reck'n. hurry him along but don't forget the bottle. now, gurl, quick as lightnin', quick!" if not quite so quick as lightning, yet fast as her feet can carry her, the young girl starts along the trace leading to the shanty. she is not thinking of the sad tidings she bears to him who hides in her father's cabin. her own sorrow is sufficient for the time, and stifles every other thought in her heart. the old hunter does not stand idly watching her. he is busy with the body, doing what he can to restore life. he feels that it is warm. he fancies it is still breathing. "now, how it came abeout?" he asked himself, scanning the corpse for an explanation. "tied one o' his hands an' not the tother! thar's a puzzle. what can it mean? "they must a meant hangin' anyhow, poor young fellar! they've dud it sure. for what? what ked he hev done, to hev engered them? won the rifle for one thing, an' thet they've tuk away. "the hul thing hez been a trick; a durned, infernal, hellniferous trick o' some sort. "maybe they only meant it for a joke. maybe they only intended scarin' him; an' jess then that varmint kim along, an' sot the houn's on to it, an' them arter, an' they sneaked off 'thout thinkin' o' him? wonder ef that was the way. "ef it warn't, what ked a purvoked them to this drefful deed? durn me ef i kin think o' a reezun. "wal, joke or no joke, it hev ended in a tregidy--a krewel tregidy. poor young fellar! "an' dog-gone my cats! ef i don't make 'em pay for it, every mother's chick o' 'em. yes, mr alf brandon, an' you, master randall, an' you, bill buck, an' all an' every one o' ye. "ya! i've got a idea; a durned splendifirous idea! by the etarnal, i kin make a good thing out o' this. well thought o', jeremiah rooke; ye've hed a hard life o't lately; but ye'll be a fool ef ye don't live eezier for the future, a darned greenhorn o' a saphead! oh, oh! ye young bloods an' busters! i'll make ye pay for this job in a way ye ain't thinkin' o', cussed ef i don't. "what's fust to be done? he musn't lie hyar. somebody mout kum along, an' that 'ud spoil all. ef 'twar only meent as a joke they mout kum to see the end o't. i heerd shots. that must a been the finish o' the anymal. 'tain't likely they'll kum back, but they may; an' ef so, they musn't see this. i'll tell them i carried the corp away and berried it. they won't care to inquire too close 'beout it. "an' dick won't object. i won't let him object. what good would it do him? an' t'other 'll do me good, a power o' good. keep me for the balance o' my days. let dick go a gold gatherin' his own way, i'll go mine. "thar ain't any time to lose. i must toat him to the shanty; load enough for my old limbs. but i'll meet them a comin', an' dick an' the gurl kin help me. now, then, my poor pierre, you come along wi' me." this strange soliloquy does not occupy much time. it is spoken _sotto-voce_, while the speaker is still engaged in an effort to resuscitate life; nor is he yet certain that pierre robideau is dead, while raising his body from the ground and bearing it out of the glade. staggering under the load, for the youth is of no light weight, he re-enters the trace conducting to his own domicile. the old bear-hound slinks after with a large piece of flesh between his teeth, torn from the carcase of the butchered bear. the vultures, no longer scared by man's presence, living or dead, drop down upon the earth, and strut boldly up to their banquet. story one, chapter eight. the oath of secrecy. while the black buzzards are quarrelling over the carcase, not far off there is another carcase stretched upon the sward, also of a bear. but the grouping around it is different; six hunters on horseback and double the number of dogs. they are the boy hunters late bivouacking in the glade, and the bear is the same that had strayed unwittingly into their camp. the animal has just succumbed under the trenchant teeth of their dogs, and a bullet or two from their rifles. nor have the hounds come off unscathed. two or three of them, the young and rash, lie dead beside the quarry they assisted in dragging down. the hunters have just ridden up and halted over the black, bleeding mass. the chase, short and hurried, is at an end, and now for the first time since leaving the glade do they seem to have stayed for reflection. that which strikes them is, or should be, fearful. "my god!" cries young randall, "the indian! we've left him hanging." "we have, by the lord!" seconds spence, all six turning pale, and exchanging glances of consternation. "if he have let go his hold--" "if! he must have let go; and long before this. it's full twenty minutes since we left the glade. it isn't possible for him to have hung on so long--not possible." "and if he's let go?" "if he has done that, why, then, he's dead." "but are you sure the noose would close upon his neck? you, bill buck, and alf brandon, it was you two that arranged it." "bah!" rejoins buck; "you seed that same as we. it's bound to tighten when he drops. of course we didn't mean that; and who'd a thought o' a bar runnin' straight into us in that way? darn it, if the nigger has dropped, he's dead by this time, and there's an end of it. there's no help for it now." "what's to be done, boys?" asks grubbs. "there'll be an ugly account to settle, i reckon." there is no answer to this question or remark. in the faces of all there is an expression of strange significance. it is less repentance for the act than fear for the consequences. some of the younger and less reckless of the party show some slight signs of sorrow, but among all fear is the predominant feeling. "what's to be done, boys?" again asks grubbs. "we must do something. it won't do to leave things as they are." "hadn't we better ride back?" suggests spence. "thar's no use goin' now," answers the son of the horse-dealer. "that is, for the savin' of him. if nobody else has been thar since we left, why then the nigger's dead--dead as pale caesar." "do you think any one might have come along in time to save him?" this question is asked with an eagerness in which all are sharers. they would be rejoiced to think it could be answered in the affirmative. "there might," replies randall, catching at the slight straw of hope. "the trace runs through the glade, right past the spot. a good many people go that way. some one might have come along in time. at all events, we should go back and see. it can't make things any worse." "yes; we had better go back," assents the son of the planter; and then to strengthen the purpose, "we'd better go for _another purpose_." "what, alf?" ask several. "that's easily answered. if the indian's hung himself, we can't help it." "you'll make it appear suicide? you forget that we tied his left arm. it would never look like it. he couldn't have done that himself!" "i don't mean that," continues brandon. "what, then?" "if he's hanged, he's hanged and dead before this. we didn't hang him, or didn't intend it. that's clear." "i don't think the law can touch us," suggests the son of the judge. "but it may give us _trouble_, and that must be avoided." "how do you propose to do, alf?" "it's an old story that dead men tell no tales, and buried ones less." "thar's a good grist o' truth in that," interpolates buck. "the suicide wouldn't stand. not likely to. the cord might be cut away from the wrist; but then there's rook's daughter. she saw him stop with us, and to find him swinging by the neck only half-an-hour after would be but poor proof of his having committed self-murder. no, boys, he must be put clean out of sight." "that's right; that's the only safe way," cried all the others. "come on, then. we musn't lose a minute about it. the girl may come back to see what's keeping him, or old rook, himself, may be straying that way, or somebody else travelling along the trace. come on." "stay," exclaimed randall. "there's something yet--something that should be done before any chance separates us." "what is it?" "we're all alike in this ugly business--in the same boat. it don't matter who contrived it, or who fixed the rope. we all agreed to it. is that not so?" "yes, all. i for one acknowledge it." "and i!" "and i!" all six give their assent, showing at least loyalty to one another. "well, then," continues randall, "we must be true to each other. we must swear it, and now, before going further. i propose we all take an oath." "we'll do that. you, randall, you repeat it over, and we'll follow you." "head your horses round, then, face to face." the horses are drawn into a circle, their heads together, with muzzles almost touching. randall proceeds, the rest repeating after him. "we swear, each and every one of us, never to make known by act, word, or deed, the way in which the half-breed indian, called choc, came by his death, and we mutually promise never to divulge the circumstances connected with that affair, even if called upon in a court of law; and, finally, we swear to be true to each other in keeping this promise until death." "now," says brandon, as soon as the six young scoundrels have shaken hands over their abominable compact, "let us on, and put the indian out of sight. i know a pool close by, deep enough to drown him. if he do get discovered, that will look better than hanging." there is no reply to this astute proposal; and though it helps to allay their apprehensions, they advance in solemn silence towards the scene of their deserted bivouac. there is not one of them who does not dread to go back in that glade, so lately gay with their rude roystering; not one who would not give the horse he is riding and the gun he carries in his hand, never to have entered it. but the dark deed has been done, and another must needs be accomplished to conceal it. story one, chapter nine. a compulsory compact. heavy with apprehension, rather than remorse for their crime, the six hunters ride on towards the clearing. they avoid the travelled track, lest they may meet some one upon it, and approach through the thick timber. guiding their horses, so as to make the least noise, and keeping the hounds in check, they advance slowly and with caution. some of the less courageous are reluctant to proceed, fearing the spectacle that is before them. even the loud-talking slaughter would gladly give up the newly-conceived design, but for the manifest danger of leaving it undone. near the edge of the opening, still screened from their view by the interposing trunks and cane-culms, they again halt, and hold council-- this time speaking in whispers. "we should not all go forward," suggests the son of the tavern-keeper. "better only one or two at first, to see how the land lies." "that would be better," chimes in spence. "who'll go, then?" buck and brandon are pointed out by the eyes of the others resting upon them. these two have been leaders throughout the whole affair. without showing poltroon, they cannot hang back now. they volunteer for the duty, but not without show of reluctance. it is anything but agreeable. "let's leave our horses. we'll be better without them. if there's any one on the ground, we can steal back without being seen." it is the young planter's proposition, and buck consents to it. they slip out of their saddles, pass the bridles to two of those who stay behind, and then, like a couple of cougars stealing upon the unsuspicious fawn, silently make their way through the underwood. the clearing is soon under their eyes, with all it contains. there is the carcase of the bear, black with buzzards, and the skin still hanging from the tree. but the object of horror they expected to see hanging upon another tree is not there. that sight is spared them. there is no body on the branch, no corpse underneath it. living or dead, the indian is gone. his absence is far from re-assuring them; the more so as, on scanning the branch, they perceive, still suspended from it, a piece of the rope they had so adroitly set to ensnare him. even across the glade they can see that it has been severed with the clean cut of a knife, instead of, as they could have wished, given way under its weight. who could have cut the rope? himself? impossible! where was the hand to have done it? he had none to spare for such a purpose. happy for them to have thought that he had. they skulk around the glade to get nearer, still going by stealth, and in silence. the buzzards perceive them, and though dull birds, reluctant to leave their foul feast, they fly up with a fright. something in the air of the two stalkers seemed to startle them, as if they too knew them to have been guilty of a crime. "yes, the rope's been cut, that's sartin," says buck, us they stand under it. "a clean wheep o' a knife blade. who the divvel cud a done it?" "i can't think," answers the young planter, reflecting. "as like as not old jerry rook, or it might have been a stray traveller." "whoever it was, i hope the cuss came in time; if not--" "if not, we're in for it. bless'd if i wouldn't liked it better to've found him hanging; there might have been some chance of hiding him out of the way. but now, if he's been dropped upon dead, we're done for. whoever found him will know all about it. lena rook knew we were here, and her sweet lips can't be shut, i suppose. if't had been only rook himself, the old scoundrel, there might have been a chance. money would go a long ways with him; and i'm prepared--so would we all be--to buy his silence." "lucky you riddy for that, mister alfred brandon. that's jest what rook, `the old scoundrel,' wants, and jess the very thing he means to insist upon hevin'. now name your price." if a dead body had dropped down from the branch above them it could not have startled the two culprits more than did the living form of jerry rook, as it came gliding out of the thick cane close by the stem of the tree. "you, jerry rook!" exclaim both together, and in a tone that came trembling through their teeth. "you here?" "i'm hyar, gentlemen; an' jess in time, seeing as ye wanted me. now, name yur price; or, shall i fix it for ye? 'tain't no use 'fectin' innercence o' what i mean; ye both know cleer enuf, an' so do this chile, all 'beout it. ye've hanged young pierre robideau, as lived with me at my shanty." "we did not." "ye did; hanged him by the neck till he war dead, as the judges say. i kim hyar by chance, an' cut him down; but not till 'twar too late." "is that true, rook? are you speaking the truth? did you find him dead?" "dead as a buck arter gittin' a bullet from jerry rook's rifle. if ye don't b'lieve it, maybe you'd step down to my shanty, and see him streeched out." "no, no. but we didn't do it; we didn't intend it, by heaven!" "no swarin', young fellars. i don't care what your intentions war; ye've done the deed. i seed how it war, and all abeout it; ye hung him up for sport--pretty sport that war--an' ye rud off, forgitting all abeout him. yur sport hev been his death." "my god! we are sorry to hear it. we had no thought of such a thing. a bear came along, and set the hounds up." "oh, a bar, war it? i thort so. an' ye tuk arter the bar, and let the poor young fellar swing?" "it is true; we can't deny it. we had no intention of what has happened; we thought only of the bear." "wal, now, ye'll have to think o' something else. what d'ye intend doin'?" "it's a terrible ugly affair. we're very sorry." "no doubt ye air, an' ye'd be a precious sight sorrier of the young fellar had any kinfolk to look arter it, and call ye to account. as it be, there ain't nobody but me--and he warn't no kin o' mine--only a stayin' wi' me, that may make it easier for you." "but, what have you done with--the--the body?" brandon asks the question hesitatingly, and thinking of rook's daughter. "the body? wal, i've carried it to the shanty, an' put it out o' sight. i didn't want the hul country to be on fire till i'd fust seed ye. as yet, thar ain't nobody the wiser." "and--" "an' what?" "your daughter." "oh! my darter don't count. she air a 'bedient gurl, and ain't gwine to blabbin' while i put the stopper on her tongue. don't ye be skeeart 'beout thet." "jerry rook!" says brandon, recovering confidence from the old hunter's hints, "it's no use being basket-faced over this business. we've got into a scrape, and and we know it. you know it, too. we had no intention to commit a crime; it was all a lark; but since it's turned out ugly, we must make the best we can of it. you're the only one who can make it disagreeable for us, and you won't. i know you won't. we're willing to behave handsomely if you act otherwise. you can say this young fellow has gone away--down to orleans, or anywhere else. i've heard you once say he was not to be with you much longer. that will explain to your neighbours why he is missing. to be plain, then, what is the price of such an explanation?" "durn me, alf brandon, ef you oughtn't to be a lawyer, or something o' thet sort. you hit it so adzactly. wal; let's see! i risk someat by keepin' your secret--a good someat. i'll stand a chance o' bein' tuk up for aidin' an' abettin'. wal; let's see! thar war six o' ye. my girl tolt me so, an' i kin see it by the tracks o' your critters. whar's the other four?" "not far off." "wal; ye'd better bring 'em all up hyar. i s'pose they're all's deep in the mud as you in the mire. besides, it air too important a peint to be settled by depity. i'd like all o' yur lot to be on the groun' an' jedge for theerselves." "agreed; they shall come. bring them up, bill." bill does as directed, and the six young hunters are once more assembled in the glade; but with very different feelings from those stirring them when there before. bill has told them all, even to the proposal made by rook; and they sit upon their horses downcast, ready to consent to his terms. "six o' ye," says the hunter, apparently calculating the price of the silence to be imposed on him; "all o' ye sons o' rich men, and all able to pay me a hundred dollars a-year for the term o' my nateral life. six hundred dollars. 'tain't much to talk abeout; jess keep my old carcase from starvin'. huntin's gone to the dogs 'bout hyar, an' you fellars hev hed somethin' to do in sendin' it thar. so on that account o' itself ye oughter be only too happy in purvidin' for one whose business ye've speiled. it air only by way o' a penshun. hundred dollars apiece, and that reg'larly paid _pre-annum_. ye all know what 'tis for. do ye consent?" "i do." "and i." "and i." and so signify the six. "wal, then, ye may go hum; ye'll hear no more 'beout this bizness from me, 'ceptin' any o' ye shed be sech a dod-rotted fool as ter fall behind wi' yur payments. ef ye do, by the eturnal--" "you needn't, jerry rook," interposes brandon, to avoid hearing the threat; "you may depend upon us. i shall myself be responsible for all." "enuf sed. abeout this bar skin hanging on the tree. i 'spose ye don't want to take that wi' ye? i may take' it, may i, by way o' earnest to the bargain?" no one opposes the request. the old hunter is made welcome to the spoils of the chase, both those on the spot and in the forest further off. they who obtained them are but too glad to surrender every souvenir that may remind them of that ill-spent day. slow, and with bitter thoughts, they ride off, each to return to his own home, leaving jerry rook alone to chuckle over the accursed compact. and this does he to his satisfaction. "now!" cries he, sweeping the bear's skin from the branch, and striding off along the trace; "now to make things squar wi' dick tarleton. ef i ken do thet, i'll sot this day down in the kullinder as bein' the luckiest o' my life." the sound of human voices has ceased in the glade. there is heard only the "whish" of wings as the buzzards return to their interrupted repast. story one, chapter ten. vows of vengeance. the sun is down, and there is deep darkness over the firmament; deeper under the shadows of the forest. but for the gleam of the lightning bugs, the forms of two men standing under the trees could scarce be distinguished. by such fickle light it is impossible to read their features, but by their voices may they be recognised, engaged as they are in an earnest conversation. they are jerry rook and dick tarleton. the scene is on the bank of the sluggish stream or _bayou_, that runs past the dwelling of the hunter, and not twenty yards from the shanty itself. out of this they have just stepped apparently for the purpose of carrying on their conversation beyond earshot of any one. the faint light burning within the cabin, that part of it that serves as sitting-room and kitchen, is from the fire. but there is no one there; no living thing save the hound slumbering upon the hearth. a still duller light from a dip candle shows through the slits of a shut door, communicating with an inner apartment. one gazing in might see the silhouette of a young girl seated by the side of a low bedstead, on which lies stretched the form of a youth apparently asleep. at all events, he stirs not, and the girl regards him in silence. there is just enough light to show that her looks are full of anxiety or sadness, but not sufficient to reveal which of the two, or whether both. the two men outside have stopped by the stem of a large cottonwood, and are but continuing a dialogue commenced by the kitchen fire, that had been kindled but for the cooking of the evening meal, now eaten. it is still warm autumn weather, and the bears have not begun to hybernate. "i tell ye, dick," says the old hunter, whose turn it is to speak, "for you to talk o' revenge an' that sort o' thing air the darndest kind o' nonsense. take it afore the coort ideed! what good 'ud thet do ye? they'd be the coort, an' the jedges; that is, thar fathers wud, an' ye'd stan' as much chance o' gettin' jestice out o' 'em as ye wud o' lightin' yur pipe at one o' them thar fire-bugs. they've got the money an' the inflooence, an' thar's no law in these parts, 'ithout one or the t'other." "i know it--i know it," says tarleton, with bitter emphasis. "i reckin ye've reezun to know it, dick, now you haven't the money to spare for sech purposes, an', therefore, on thet score 'ud stan' no chance. besides thar's the old charge agin ye, and ye dasent appear to parsecute. it's the same men ye see, or the sons o' the same--" "curse them! the very same. buck, brandon, randall--every one of them. oh, god! there is destiny in it! 'twas their fathers who ruined me, blighted my whole life, and now the sons to have done this. strange-- fearfully strange!" "wal, it air kewrious, i admit, an' do look as ef the devvil hed a hand in't. but he's playin' agen ye, dick, yet, an' he'd beat ye sure, ef ye try to fout agin him. take the device i've gin ye, an' git out o' his and thar way as fur's ye kin. kaliforny's a good way off. go thar as ye intended. git rich if ye kin, an' ye think ye hev a chance. do that, and then kum back hyar ef ye like. when yur pockets are well filled wi' them thar shinin' pebbles, ye kin command the law as ye like, and hev as much o' it as ye've a mind to." "i shall have it for my own wrongs, or for his." "wal, i reck'n you hev reezun both ways. they used _you_ durn'd ill. thar's no doubt o' that. still, dick, ye must acknowledge that appearances war dreadfully agin' ye." "against me--perdition! from the way you say that, jerry rook, i might fancy that you too believed it. if i thought you did--" "but i didn't, an' don't, ne'er a bit o' it, dick. i know you war innercent o' _thet_. "jerry rook, i have sworn to you, and swear it again, that i am as innocent of that girl's murder as if i had never seen her. i acknowledge that she used to meet me in the woods, and on the spot where she was found with a bullet through her heart, and my own pistol lying empty beside her. the pistol was stolen from my house by him who did the deed. it was one of the two men; which, i could never tell. it was either buck or brandon, the fathers of those fellows who have been figuring to-day. like father, like son! both were mad after the girl, and jealous of me. they knew i had outshined them, and that was no doubt their reason for destroying her. one or other did it, and if i'd known which, i'd have sent him after her long ago. i didn't wish to kill the wrong man, and to say the truth, the girl was nothing to me. but after what's happened to-day, i'll have satisfaction on them and their sons too--ay, every one who has had a hand in this day's work!" "wal, wal; but let it stan' over till ye kum back from kaliforny. i tell, ye, dick, ye kin do nuthin' now, 'ceptin' to git yur neck into a runnin' rope. the old lot are as bitter agin you now as they war that day when they had ye stannin' under a branch, wi' the noose half tightened round your thrapple; and ef ye hadn't got out o' thar clutches, why, then thar'd a been an end o't. ef you war to show here agin, it wud be jest the same thing, an' no chance o' yur escapin' a second time. therefar, go to kaliforny. gather as many o' them donicks, an' as much o' the dust as ye kin lay yur claws on. kum back, an' maybe then i mout do someat ter 'sist ye to the satisfacshin ye speak o'." tarleton stands silent, seeming to reflect. strange that in all he has said, there is no tone of sorrow--only anger. the grief he should feel for his lost son--where is it? has it passed away so soon? or is it only kept under by the keener agony of revenge? with some impatience, his counsellor continues:-- "i've gin you good reezuns for goin', an' if you don't take my device, dick, you'll do a durned foolish thing. cut for kaliforny, an' get gold--gold fust, an' let the revenge kum arter." "no," answers tarleton, with an emphasis telling of fixed determination. "the reverse, jerry rook, the reverse. for me, the revenge first, and then california! i'm determined to have satisfaction; and, if the law won't give it--" "it won't, dick, it won't." "then, this will." there is just light enough from the fire-flies to show jerry rook the white ivory handle of a large knife, of the sort quaintly called arkansas tooth-pick, held up for a moment in tarleton's hand. but there is not enough to show tarleton the dark cloud of disappointment passing over the face of the old hunter, as he perceives by that exhibition that his counsel had been spoken to no purpose. "and now," said the guest, straightening himself up as if about to make his departure, "i've business that takes me to helena. i expect to meet that fellow i've been telling you of who gave me the gold. he's to come there by an up-river boat, and should be there now. as you know, i've to do my travelling between two days. you may expect me back before sunrise. i hope you won't be disturbed by my early coming?" "come an' go when you like, dick. thar ain't much saramony 'beout my shanty. all hours air the same to me." tarleton buttons up his coat, in the breast of which is concealed the before-mentioned tooth-pick, and, without saying another word, strikes off for the road leading towards the river and the town of helena. it is but little better than a bridle trace; and he is soon lost to sight under the shadows of its overhanging trees. jerry rook keeps his place, standing close to the trunk of the cottonwood. when his guest has gone beyond reach of hearing, an exclamation escapes through his half-shut teeth, expressive of bitter chagrin. story one, chapter eleven. dick tarleton. in the conversation recorded dick tarleton has thrown some light on his own history. not much more is needed to elucidate the statement made by him--that he must do his travelling _between two days_. he has admitted almost enough to serve the purposes of our tale which refers only to him, though a few more words, to fill up the sketch, may not be out of place. richard tarleton was, in early life, one of those wild spirits by no means uncommon along the frontier line of civilisation. by birth and breeding a gentleman; idleness, combined with evil inclinations had led him into evil ways, and these, in their turn, had brought him to beggary. too proud to beg, and too lazy to enter upon any industrious calling, he had sought to earn his living by cards and other courses equally disreputable. vicksburg and other towns along the lower mississippi furnished him with many victims, till, at length, he made a final settlement in the state of arkansas, at that time only a territory, and, as such, the safest refuge for all characters of a similar kind. the town of helena became his head-quarters. in this grand emporium of scamps and speculators there was nothing in dick tarleton's profession to make him conspicuous. had he confined himself to card-playing, he might have passed muster among the most respectable citizens of the place or its proximity, many of whom, like himself, were professed "sportsmen." but, dick was not long in helena until he began to be suspected of certain specialities of sport, among others, that of _nigger-running_. long absences unaccounted for, strange company in which he was seen in strange places--both the company and the places already suspected--with, at times, a plentiful supply of money drawn from unknown sources, at length fixed upon dick tarleton a stigma of a still darker kind than that of card-playing or even sharping. it became the belief that he was a _negro-stealer_, a crime unpardonable in all parts of planter-land--arkansas not excepted. along with this belief, every other stigma that might become connected with his name was deemed credible, and no one would have doubted dick tarleton's capability of committing whatever atrocity might be charged to him. bad as he was, he was not so bad as represented and believed. a professed "sportsman," of wild and reckless habits, he knew no limits to dissipation and common indulgence. immoral to an extreme degree, it was never proved that he was guilty of those dark crimes with which he stood charged or suspected; and the suspicions, when probed to the bottom, were generally found to be baseless. there were few, however, who took this trouble, for from the first dick tarleton was far from being a favourite among the fellows who surrounded him. he was of haughty habits, presuming on the superiority of birth and education, and--something still less easily tolerated--a handsome personal appearance. one of the finest looking men to be seen among the settlements, he was, it need hardly be said, popular among the fair sex--such of them as might be expected to turn their eyes upon a _sportsman_. one of this class--a young girl of exceeding attraction, but, alas! with tarnished reputation--was at the time an inhabitant of helena. among her admirers, secret and open, were many young men of the place and of the adjacent plantations. she could count a long list of conquests, numbering names far above her own rank and station in life. among those were planter brandon, the lawyer randall, and, of lesser note, the horse-dealer, buck. none of these, however, appeared to have been successful in obtaining her smiles, which, according to general belief, were showered on the dissolute but handsome dick tarleton. however it might have gratified the gambler's vanity, it did not add to his popularity. on the contrary, it increased the spite felt for him, and caused the dark suspicions to be oftener repeated. such were the circumstances preceding a terrible tragedy that one day startled helena out of its ordinary tranquillity. the young girl in question was found in the woods, at no great distance from the town, in the condition already stated by dick tarleton, murdered, and dick himself was charged with being the murderer. he was at once arrested and arraigned, not before a regular court of justice, but one constituted under a tree, and under the presidency of judge lynch. it was done in all haste, both the arrest and the trial, and equally quick was the condemnation. the case was so clear. his pistol, the very weapon that had sent the fatal bullet, in the hurry and confusion of escape, was let fall upon the ground close by the side of the victim. his relation with the unfortunate girl--some speech he had been heard boastingly to utter--a suspected disagreement arising from it--all pointed to dick tarleton as the assassin; and by a unanimous verdict of his excited judges, prompted by extreme vindictiveness, he was sentenced to hanging upon a tree. in five minutes more he would have been consigned to this improvised gallows, but for the negligence of his executioners. in their blind fury they had but slightly fastened his hands, while they had forgotten to strip him of his coat. in the pocket of this there chanced to be another pistol--the fellow of that found. its owner remembered it, and, in the hour of his despair, determined upon an attempt to escape. wresting his wrists free from their fastening, he drew the pistol, discharged it in the face of the man who stood most in his way, and then clearing a track, sprang off into the woods! the sudden surprise, the dismay caused by the death of the man shot at-- for he fell dead in his track--held the others for some time as if spell-bound. when the pursuit commenced dick tarleton was out of sight, and neither judge lynch nor his jury ever set eyes upon him again. the woods were scoured all round, and the roads travelled for days by parties sent in search of him. but all returned without reporting dick tarleton, or any traces of him. it was thought that some one must have assisted him in his escape, and suspicion was directed upon a hunter named rook, who squatted near white river--the jerry rook of our tale. but no proof could be obtained of this, and the hunter was left unmolested, though with some additional stain on a character before not reputed very clean. such is a brief sketch of the life of richard tarleton--that portion of it spent on the north-eastern corner of arkansas. no wonder, with such a record, he felt constrained to do his travelling by night. since that fearful episode, now a long time ago, he had not appeared at helena or the settlements around--at least not to the eyes of those who would care to betray him. gone to texas was the general belief--texas or some other lawless land, where such crimes are easily condoned. so spoke the "puritans" of arkansas, blind to their own especial blemish. even jerry rook knew not the whereabouts of his old acquaintance, until some six years before, when he had come to his cabin under the shadows of the night, bringing with him a boy whom he hinted at as being his son, the youth who had that day afforded such fatal sport for his atrocious tormentors. the link between the two men could not have been strong, for the hunter, in taking charge of the boy had stipulated for his "keep," and once or twice, during the long absence of his father, had shown a disposition to turn him out of doors. still more so of late; and doubly more when lena showed signs of interference in his favour. ever, while regarding his daughter, he seemed to dread the presence of pierre robideau, as if the youth stood between him and some favourite scheme he had formed for her future. there need be nothing to fear now--surely not; if dick tarleton would but discharge the debt. ah! to suppose this would be to make the grandest of mistakes. the brain of jerry rook was at that moment busy revolving more schemes than one. but there was one, grand as it was, dire and deadly. let our next chapter reveal it. story one, chapter twelve. a traitor's epistle. as already chronicled, dick tarleton has started along the forest path, leaving jerry rook under the cottonwood tree. for some time he remains there, motionless as the trunk beside him. the exclamation of chagrin that escaped him, as the other passed beyond earshot, is followed by words of a more definite shape and meaning. it was dick tarleton who drew from him the former. it is to him the latter are addressed, though without the intention of their being heard. "ye durned fool! ye'd speil my plan, wud ye? an' i 'spose all the same if i war to tell ye o't? but i ain't gwine to do that, nor to hev it speiled neyther by sich a obs'nate eedyut as you. six hundred dollars pre annul air too much o' a good pull to be let go agin slack as that. an' doggoned if i do let it go, cost what it may to keep holt o't. yes, _cost what it may_!" the phrase repeated with increased emphasis, along with a sudden change in the attitude of the speaker, shows some sinister determination. "dick," he continued, forsaking the apostrophic form, "air a fool in this bizness; a dod-rotted, pursumptuous saphead. _he_ git satisfakshun out o' that lot, eyther by the law or otherways! they'd swing him up as soon as seed; an' he'd be seed afore he ked harm 'ere a one o' them. then tha don't go 'beout 'ithout toatin' thar knives and pistols 'long wi' them, any more'n he. an' they'll be jest as riddy to use 'em. ef't kim to thet, what then? in coorse the hole thing 'ud leak out, an' whar'd this chile be 'beout his six hundred dollars?" durn dick tarleton! jest for the sake o' a silly revenge he'd be a speiln' all, leavin' me as i've been all my life, poor as he's turkey gobbler. "it must be preevented, it must! "how air the thing to be done? le's see. "thar's one way i knows o', that appear to be eezy enuf. "dick has goed to the town, an's boun' to kum back agin _from_ the town. that's no reeson why he shed kum back hyar. thar's nobody to miss him! the gurl won't know he ain't gone for good. he's boun' to kum back afore mornin', an' afore thar's sunlight showin' among the trees. he'll be sartin' to kum along the trace, knowing thar's not much danger o' meetin' anybody, or bein' reco'nised in the dark. why shedn't i meet him?" with this interrogatory, a fiendish expression, though unseen by human eye, passes over the face of the old hunter. a fiendish thought has sprung up in his heart. "why shedn't i?" he pursues, reiterating the reflection. "what air dick tarleton to me? i haint no particklar spite agin him, thet is ef he'll do what i've devised him to do. but ef he won't, ef he won't-- "an' he won't. he's sed so, he's swore it. "what, then! am i to lose six hundred dollars pre-annum, jess for the satisfakshun o' his spite? durned ef i do, cost what it may. "the thing'd be as eezy es tumbling off o' a log. a half-an-hour's squatting among the bushes beside that ere gleed, the pull in' o' a trigger, an' it air done. that mout be a leetle bit o' haulin' an' hidin', but i kin eezy do the fust, and the crik 'll do the last. i know a pool close by, thet's just the very place for sech a kinceelmint. "who'd iver sispect? thar's nobody to know; neery soul but myself, an' i reck'n that ere secret 'ud be safe enuf in this coon's keepin'." for some time the old hunter stands silent, as if further reflecting on the dark scheme, and calculating the chances of success or discovery. all at once an exclamation escapes him that betokens a change of mind. not that he has repented of his hellish design, only that some other plan promises better for its execution. "jerry rook, jerry rook!" he mutters in apostrophe to himself, "what the stewpid hae ye been thinking o'. ye've never yit spilt hewmin blood, an' mustn't begin thet game now. it mout lie like a log upon yur soul, and besides, it's jest possible that somebody mout get to hear o't. the crack o' a rifle air a sespishous soun' at any time, but more espeeshully i' the dead o' night, if thar should chance to be the howl of a wounded man comin' arter it. sposin he, that air dick, warn't shot dead at fust go. durned ef i'd like to foller it up; neery bit o't. as things stan' thar need be no sech chances, eyther o' fearin' or failin'. a word to planter brandon 'll be as good as six shots out o' the surest rifle. it's only to let him know dick tarleton's hyar, an' a direckshun beouts whar he kin be foun'. he'll soon summons the other to 'sist him in thet same bizness they left unfinished, now, god knows how miny yeer ago. they'll make short work wi' him. no danger ov thar givin' him time to palaver beout _thet_ or anythin' else, i reckin; an' no danger to _me_. a hint'll be enuf, 'ithout my appearin' among 'em. the very plan, by the etarnal!" "how's best for the hint ter be konvayed to 'em? ha! i kin rite. fort'nit i got skoolin' enuf for thet. i'll write to planter brandon. the gurl kin take it over to the plantation. she needn't be know'd eyther. she kin rop up in hur cloke, and gi'e it ter sum o' the niggers, as'll sure ter be 'beout the place outside. thar's no need for a answer. i know what brandon'll do arter gittin' it. "thar's no time to be squandered away. by this, dick hes got ter the town. thar's no tellin' how long he may stay thar, an' they must intrap him on his way back. they kin be a waitin' an' riddy, in that bit o' clearin'. the very place for the purpis, considerin' it's been tried arready. "no, thar arn't a minnit to be lost. i must inter the shanty, an' scrape off the letter." bent upon his devilish design, he hastens inside the house; as he enters, calling upon his daughter to come into the kitchen. "hyar gurl. ye've got some paper ye rite yur lessons upon. fetch me a sheet o't, along wi' a pen an' ink. be quick 'bout it." the young girl wonders what he can want with things so rarely used by him, but she is not accustomed to question him, and without saying a word, complies with the requisition. the pen, inkstand, and paper, are placed on the rude slab table, and jerry rook sits down before it, taking the pen between his fingers. after a few moments spent in silent cogitation, reflecting on the form of his epistle, it is produced. badly spelt, and rudely scrawled, but short and simple, it runs thus:-- "to planter brandin, esquare. "sir,--i guess as how ye recollex a man, by name, dick tarleton; an' maybe ye mout be desireous o' seein' him. ef ye be, ye kin gratify yur desire. he air now, at this present moment, in the town o' helena, tho' what part o' it i don't know. but i know whar he will be afore mornin'. that air upon the road leadin' from the town t'ward the settlements on white river. he arn't a gwine fur out, as he's travellin' afoot, and he's sartin to keep the trace through the bit o' clearin' not fur from caney crik. ef you or anybody else wants ter see him, that wud be as good a place as thar is on the road. "y'urs at command, "a strenger but a fren'." jerry rook has no fear of his handwriting beings recognised. so long since he has seen it, he would scarce know it himself. folding up the sheet, and sealing it with some drops of resin, melted in the dull flame of the dip, he directs it as inside--"to planter brandin, esquare." then handing it to his daughter, and instructing the young girl how to deliver it _incog_, he despatches her upon her errand. lena, with her cloak folded closely around her fairy form, and hooded over her head, proceeds along the path leading to the brandon plantation. poor, simple child, herself innocent as the forest fawn, she knows not that she is carrying in her hand the death-warrant of one,--who, although but little known, should yet be dear to her--dick tarleton, the father of pierre robideau. she succeeds in delivering the letter, though failing to preserve her incognito. the hooded head proved but a poor disguise. the domestic who takes the epistle out of her hand recognises, by the white out-stretched arm and slender symmetrical fingers, the daughter of "old rook, de hunter dat live 'pon caney crik." so reports he to his master, when questioned about the messenger who brought the anonymous epistle. known or unknown, the name is of slight significance; the withholding of it does not affect the action intended by the writer, nor frustrate the cruel scheme. as the morning sun strikes into the "bit o' clearing" described in jerry rook's letter, it throws light upon a terrible tableau--the body of a man suspended from the branch of a tree. it is upon the same branch where late hung the young hunter robideau. _it is the body of his father_. there is no one near--no sign of life, save the buzzards still lingering around the bones of the bear, and the quaint, grey wolf that has shared with them their repast. but there are footmarks of many men--long scores across the turf, that tell of violent struggling, and a patch of grass more smoothly trampled down beneath the gallows tree. there stood judge lynch, surrounded by his jury and staff of executioners, while above him swung the victim of their vengeance. once more had the travestie of a trial been enacted; once more condemnation pronounced; and that tragedy, long postponed, was now played to the closing scene, the _denouement_ of death! story one, chapter thirteen. six years after. six years have elapsed since the lynching of dick tarleton. six years, by the statute of limitations, will wipe cut a pecuniary debt, and make dim many a reminiscence. but there are remembrances not so easily effaced; and one of these was the tragedy enacted in the clearing, near the caney creek. and yet it was but little remembered. in a land, where every-day life chronicles some lawless deed, the mere murder of a man is but a slight circumstance, scarce extending to the proverbial "nine days' wonder." richard tarleton was but a "sportsman," a gambler, if not more; and, as to the mode of his execution, several others of the same fraternity were treated in like fashion not long after, having been hanged in the streets of vicksburg, the most respectable citizens of the place acting as their executioners! amidst these, and other like reminiscences, the circumstance of dick tarleton's death soon ceased to be talked about, or even thought of, except, perhaps, by certain individuals who had played a part in the illegal execution. but some of these were dead, some gone away from the neighbourhood; while the influx of colonising strangers, creating a thicker population in the place, had caused those changes that tend to destroy the souvenirs of earlier times, and obliterate the memories of many a local legend. there was one memory that remained fresh--one souvenir that never slept in the minds of certain individuals who still lived in helena or its neighbourhood. it was of another tragic occurrence that had taken place in the clearing near caney creek, on the day before that on which the condemned gambler had been dispatched into eternity. the knowledge of this second tragedy had been confided only to a few; and beyond this few it had not extended. the disappearance of young robideau, sudden as it had been, excited scarce any curiosity--less on account of the other and better known event that for the time occupied the attention of all. the boy, as if feeling the taint of his indian blood, and conscious of a distinction that in some way humiliated him, had never mixed much with the youth of the surrounding settlement, and for this reason his absence scarce elicited remark. those who chanced to make the inquiry were told that jerry rook had sent him back to his mother's people, who were half-breed choctaw indians, located beyond the western border of arkansas territory, on lands lately assigned to them by a decree of the congress. the explanation was of course satisfactory; and to most people in helena and its neighbourhood the boy robideau was as if he had never been. there were some, however, who had better reason to remember him, as also to disbelieve this suspicious tale of jerry rook, though careful never to contradict it. these were the six youths, now grown to be men, the heroes of that wild, wicked frolic already recorded. in their minds the remembrance of that fatal frolic was as vivid as ever, having been periodically refreshed by an annual disbursement of a hundred dollars each. with the exacting spirit of a shylock, jerry rook had continued to hold them to their contract; and if at any time remonstrance was made, it was soon silenced, by his pointing to an oblong mound of earth, rudely resembling a grave, under that tree where he had held his last conversation with _his friend_, dick tarleton. the inference was that the remains of pierre robideau were deposited beneath that sod, and could at any time be disinterred to give damning evidence of his death. remonstrance was rarely made. most of the contributors to jerry rook's income had become masters of their own substance. still, the compulsory payment of a hundred dollars each was like the annual drawing of a tooth; all the more painful from the reflection of what it was for, and the knowledge as long as their creditor lived there was no chance of escaping it. painful as it was, however, they continued to pay it more punctually than they would have done had it been a debt recoverable by court, or an obligation of honour. they were not all equally patient under the screw thus periodically put upon them. there were two more especially inclined to kick out of the terrible traces that chafed them. these were bill buck, the son of the horse-dealer, and slaughter, who kept the "helena tavern," his father being defunct. neither had greatly prospered in the world, and to both the sum of a hundred dollars a-year was a tax worth considering. in their conversations with one another, they had discussed this question, and more than once had been heard to hint at some dark design by which the impost might be removed. these hints were only made in presence of their partners in the secret compact, and never within earshot of jerry rook. it is true they were discouraged by the others less harassed by the tax, and, therefore, jess tempted to take any sinister step towards removing it. they had enough to torment them already. both buck and slaughter were capable of committing crimes even deeper than that already on their conscience. six years had not changed them for the better. on the contrary, they had become worse, both being distinguished as among the most dissolute members of the community. a similar account might be given of the other four; though these, figuring in positions of greater respectability, kept their characters a little better disguised. two of their fathers were also dead--randall, the judge, and spence, the episcopalian clergyman, while their sons, less respected than they, were not likely to succeed to their places. brandon's father still lived, though drink was fast carrying him to the grave, and his son was congratulating himself on the proximity of an event that would make him sole master of himself as also of a cotton plantation. the store-keeper, grubbs, had gone, no one knew whither--not even the sheriff, loth to let him depart--leaving his son to build up a new fortune extracted out of the pockets of the mississippi boatmen. the horse-dealer still stuck to his old courses--coping, swopping, swearing--likely to outlive them all. among the many changes observable in the settlements around helena there was none more remarkable than that which had taken place in the fortunes of jerry rook. it was a complete transformation, alike mysterious, for no one could tell how it came, or whence the power that had produced it. it appeared not only in the person of jerry himself, but in everything that appertained to him--his house, his grounds, his dogs, and his daughter; in short, all his belongings. an old hunter no longer, clad in dirty buckskin, and dwelling in a hovel, but a respectable-looking citizen of the semi-planter type, habited in decent broadcloth, wearing clean linen, living in a neat farm-house, surrounded by fenced fields, and kept by black domestics. the old scarred dog was no longer to be seen; but, in his place, some three or four hounds, lounging lazily about, and looking as if they had plenty to eat and nothing to do. but, in the _personnel_ of the establishment, there was, perhaps, no transformation more striking than that which had taken place in jerry rook's daughter. there was no change in her beauty; that was still the same, only more womanly--more developed. but the sun-tanned, barefoot girl, in loose homespun frock, with unkempt hair sweeping over her shoulders, was now, six years after, scarce recognisable in the young lady in white muslin dress, fine thread stockings, and tresses plaited, perfumed, and kept from straying by the teeth of a tortoiseshell comb. and this was lena rook, lovely as ever, and more than ever the theme of man's admiration. despite all this, despite her father's prosperity, and the comfort, almost luxury, surrounding her, few failed to remark an expression of melancholy constantly pervading her countenance, though none could tell its cause. some dread souvenir must have become fixed in the mind of that young girl--some dark cloud had descended over her heart, perhaps, to shadow it for ever! story one, chapter fourteen. stealing upon a shanty. the breath of autumn had blown over the woods of arkansas, and the first frost of november, followed by the beautiful indian summer, had imparted to the foliage those rich tints of red and gold known only to the forests of america. the squirrel, down among the dead leaves, actively engaged in garnishing its winter store, scarce heeds the footstep of the hunter heard near by among the trees. there is one making his way through the woods at no great distance from the dwelling of jerry rook. he was approaching from the west, with his face in the direction of the house. but although he carried a gun, and was not travelling upon either trace or path, he did not appear to be in pursuit of game. squirrels scampered off before him unmolested, and, once or twice, turkeys ran across his track without tempting him to draw trigger or even take the gun from his shoulder. in appearance he would have scarce have passed for a hunter, nor was he dressed after this fashion. his costume was more that of a traveller. moreover, he had just come from a stand some three miles back, where he had left a horse and a pair of well-filled saddle-bags. the "stand," a solitary tavern, was not far from the crossing of white river, on the road leading from little rock to the settlements on the mississippi. he had approached the tavern from the west as if coming from the former, and now on foot he was still advancing eastward, though not along the road which ran through the forest at some distance to his right, screened from view by thick timber standing between. by the dust still clinging to his garments, he appeared to have come a long way. it was gradually getting brushed off by the leaves of the underwood and the thick cane-brakes through which he was compelled to pass. why was he avoiding the road? was he a stranger who had taken the wrong fork that had conducted him to a blind trace now run out? no. it could not be that. the main road was not to be mistaken. besides, he had left it at right angles after getting out of sight of the stand, and had since been keeping parallel to it as if acquainted with its direction. if a stranger, he was evidently one who had been over the ground before. he had the appearance of being twenty-five years of age, with a complexion naturally dark, still further shaded either by exposure to a tropical sun or a protracted spell of travelling. his hair was jetty black and curly, his upper lip bearded, with a dark, well-defined whisker on the cheek. the chin was clean shaven, showing a protrusion indicative of great firmness, while the profile was of true roman type. his eyes were dark, lustrous, and piercing. in stature, he was full six feet, with a figure of fine proportions, knit as if for strength. its activity was displayed by his light, lithe step, as he made his way through the tangle of trees. as already stated, the dress was not that of a hunter, either amateur or professed. the coat was of broadcloth, dark-coloured, and of good quality, cut frock-fashion. it was worn buttoned, though showing underneath a vest of marsala, with striped shirt-bosom and sparkling breast-pin. the hat was of the kind known as grey felt. this, with the green-baize "wrappers" around the legs, showing the chafe of the stirrup-leather gave the costume somewhat of the character of a traveller's. the jaded horse and heavy saddle-bags, with a thick coating of dust over all, had told the tavern people as he reined up, of a long road left behind him--perhaps from the far prairies. the keeper of the lone hostelry had thought it strange his starting off the moment his horse was stabled. but the horse and saddle-bags were earnest of his coming back; and boniface had continued to chew his quid without being inquisitive. as the young man threaded his way through the trees, it was evident he was not straying. his face was continually in one direction; while his glance, directed forward, seemed to search for some object expected to appear before him. all at once he made a stop, at sight of a break among the trees. it indicated a tract of open ground, or clearing, that extended athwart the path he was pursuing. he seemed surprised at this, and glanced quickly to the right and left, as if to assure himself that he had been going right. "yes," he muttered, apparently satisfied on this head. "right before me was the spot--the creek and the cabin. i can't be mistaken. these old trees i remember well--every one of them. but there's a clearing now-- perhaps a plantation,--and the old shanty gone altogether." without finishing the reflection he kept onward, though slowly, and with greater caution, increasing as he drew nearer to the open ground. he appeared to approach it stealthily, step by step, as if stalking a herd of deer. he was soon on the edge of the opening, though still under cover of thick woods. a stream made the line of demarcation between them. on its opposite side, about twenty yards from the bank, he saw a neat farm-house, with a spacious porch in front, and surrounded by fields. there were outbuildings at the back, with sheds and corn-cribs; while in front a fenced enclosure, half garden half orchard, extended down to the stream, which formed its bottom boundary. just opposite this enclosure the stranger had stopped, the moment he caught sight of the house. "as i anticipated;" he muttered to himself. changed--everything changed!--the cabin cleared away, and the trees. jerry rook gone--perhaps dead. some stranger in his place;--and she gone too--grown up--and--and-- a choking sigh forbade the pronunciation of some word that struggled for utterance--the expression of some painful thought, made manifest by the dark shadow that swept across the countenance of the speaker. "oh! what an unfortunate fate. fool that i was to go away and leave her. fool to have listened to the counsels of her wicked father. when i learnt what he had done i should have come back, if not for love, for revenge. it may not be too late for the last; but, for the first--o god!--the girl i have loved for long years, to come back and find her-- perhaps in the arms of another--o god!" for some moments the young man stood with clouded, lace, his strong frame quivering under the shock of some painful emotion. "shall i cross over and make inquiry?" was the reflection that followed, as he became calmer. "the people can, no doubt, give me some information, whether he be dead, and if she be still in the neighbourhood. no--no; i will not ask. i dread the answer to be given me. "but, why not? i may as well know now the worst, whatever it be. i must learn it in time. why not at once? "there is no danger of my being recognised--even she would not know me, and these people are, perhaps, strange to the settlement. the country shows a change--clearings everywhere around, where i remember only trees. i wonder who they are? some of them should, soon come out by that door. the day is inviting; i shall hold back awhile and see." during all this time the young man had been standing among thick underwood that screened his person from view. he only changed position so that his face should be also invisible to any one upon the other side of the creek, and thus stood with eyes fixed intently upon the house. he had not been many minutes in this attitude of expectation, when the front door, which stood open, was filled by a form, the sight of which sent the blood in a lava current through his veins, and caused his heart to bound audibly in his breast. the apparition that had produced this effect was a young girl--a lady she might be called--in light summer dress, with a white kerchief thrown loosely over her head, only partially concealing the thick coil of shining hair held by the tortoiseshell comb underneath it. standing on the step of the door, with the dark background behind her, she appeared like some fair portrait suddenly set in its frame. changed as she was since he had last seen her--a young girl in coarse, copperas-dyed gown of homespun stuff, bareheaded, stockingless and shoeless--he who stood among the trees might not so readily have recognised her had he met her elsewhere; but there, upon that spot where stood the old cabin, under whose roof he had lived and loved--loved her--recognition came at the first glance. he knew that the fair vision before him was lena rook, still living, still lovely as ever. story one, chapter fifteen. lena's recognition. the first impulse of the young man was to spring forth from his ambush, leap over the creek, a mere rivulet, and rush into the presence of the fair creature who had shown herself in the doorway. he was restrained by a crowd of thoughts that came surging up at the moment--doubts and memories--both painful. her father might be still alive and inside the house. the stranger had serious reasons for not wishing to see _him_. or he might be dead and she now under the control of another! the last thought was agonising, and he gazed intently upon the girl as if searching for some sign that would release him from the torture of suspense. scarce twenty yards from where she stood, he could see the sparkle of jewellery upon the fingers of her left hand. did one of them carry that thin circlet of gold to show she was lost to him for ever? his glance, instinctively directed to her hand, now traced the contour of her person, and once more mounted to her face. form and features were alike scrutinised--the colour of her cheeks--the expression in her eyes--the air that pervaded all. it was that of one still single, whose fresh virginal charms had not given place to the staid demeanour produced by the solicitudes of wedded life. it pleased him to fancy so. and she, too, noted the melancholy air, and wondered at its meaning. there was much besides to wonder at in the changes that had taken place. how had jerry rook, a poor white, become a proprietor? he must be so if the house were his. and if not, then back again comes the painful thought that it, and she, too, might be the property of another. what had he best do? retire without showing himself, and seek information elsewhere--some one living near who could tell him all? or he might learn what he wanted from the landlord of the tavern where he had stopped. should he return to it and stay till circumstances favoured him with an _eclaircissement_? why not have it at once; and from her? maid or married she would not be likely to remember him. a skin changed from the soft smoothness of boyhood's day--a complexion deeply bronzed--the downy cheek and lips now roughly bearded--stature increased by at least six inches, and a dress altogether different from that in which she had been accustomed to see him. "no; she will not recognise me," muttered the young man, as he completed this self-examination. "i will go round by the gate, make some excuse for a call; get into conversation with her; and then--" he was about turning, to make the circuit unobserved, when he saw that she had stepped out of the porch, and was coming towards the creek. it was for this that the kerchief had been spread over her crown, as a shade against the sun. he could not safely retreat without having his ambush discovered. he resolved to keep his place. she came on down the walk, and turned in among the trees of the orchard. most of them were peach trees, laden with their luscious fruit, now ripe and falling. the ground was strewed with these golden globes, affording food to the honey-bee and hornet. she was now out of his sight, or seen only at intervals, her white dress gleaming through the leaves, as she moved through the orchard. the young man was thinking how he might present himself without seeming rude, when, all at once, a cry came from the lips of the young lady. it was a short, sharp exclamation, apparently called forth by some impending danger. it seemed a sufficient apology for intruding. accepting it as such, the stranger sprang across the creek, and rushed direct to the orchard. in a few seconds he stood confronting the girl, who had turned towards the house. "i heard you cry out," he said; "was there any danger. may i ask--" but, before he had finished the interrogatory, he saw what had elicited the exclamation. a huge snake lay coiled under one of the trees! it had been feasting on the fallen fruit, and, nearly trodden upon, had thrown itself into the defensive attitude. the "skirr" caused by the vibration of its tail told it to be a rattle-snake. without inquiring further, the young man raised his rifle, and sent a bullet through its head. its coils flew out, and, after struggling a few seconds on the grass the reptile lay dead. "thanks, sir," said the lady, as soon as she had recovered from her surprise. "i came near setting my foot upon it, and, perhaps, would have done so, if i'd not heard the rattle. you're a good shot, sir; you've killed it outright!" "i've had a deal of practice, _miss_," he replied, laying a marked emphasis on the last word. his heart throbbed audibly, as he awaited the rejoinder. would she accept the title, or correct it? he had already glanced at her left hand, holding a peach she had plucked. there were rings; but among them he saw not the plain circlet nor its keeper. their absence inspired him with hope. "one can easily see that," she rejoined. "besides, i am not unacquainted with the way of the woods. my father is a hunter, or was." "you say _was_, _miss_. is your father still living?" the question was asked with a double design. would she still permit herself to be called "miss?" was jerry rook the owner of the pretty house that had supplanted his rude sheiling? "my father living? certainly, sir; but he does not go hunting any more--or only at times. he has enough to keep him occupied about home-- clearing the ground and planting the crops." "is he at home now?" "to-day, no. he has ridden over to helena. i expect he will be back soon. do you wish to see him, sir. you have some business, perhaps?" "no, no. i was merely wandering through the woods, squirrel shooting. i had strayed to the other side of the creek, when i heard you cry." "it was very kind of you to come to my assistance," said the young girl, giving to the stranger a glance, in which she did not fail to note his graceful bearing. then, observing the dust upon his garments, she added, "if i mistake not, you're a stranger to this part of the country?" "i once knew it well, especially around this place." "indeed!" "yes. if i remember right, there was a cabin here--upon the very spot on which your house is now standing. it was inhabited by an old hunter by the name of rook--jeremiah or jerry rook." "that is my father's name." "then it must have been he. what a change! it was all standing timber around--scarce an acre of clearing." "that is true. it is only lately that my father bought the land, and cleared it as you see. we are better off than we were then." "has your father any family besides yourself--a son, or _son-in-law_?" "not any, sir," replied the young girl, turning upon the questioner a look of some surprise; "i am the only one--his only daughter. why do you ask?" "i thought i remembered--or had heard--something--" "heard what, sir?" asked she, cutting short the stammering speech. "of a young man--a boy, rather--who lived in your father's cabin. was he not your brother?" "i never had one. he you speak of was no relative to us." "there was some one, then?" "yes. he is gone away--gone years ago." the serious tone in which these words were spoken--something like a sigh that accompanied them, with a shadow that made its appearance on the countenance of the speaker--were signs pleasing to the interrogator. his heart beat joyfully as he put upon them his own interpretation. before he could question her further, the young girl, as if stirred by a sudden thought, looked inquiringly in his face. "you say you knew this place well, sir? when did you leave it? was it a long time ago?" "not so long either; but, alas! long enough for you to have forgotten me, lena." "_pierre, it is you_!" story one, chapter sixteen. absence explained. it was pierre robideau who stood once more in the presence of lena rook--not in her presence alone, for they were locked in each other's embrace. from the first moment of seeing him, the young girl had felt strange thoughts stealing over her--weird memories, awakened by that manly presence that scarce seemed unknown to her. she knew that pierre robideau still lived, and that her father had compelled her to keep it a secret. but why, she knew not, nor why her father had sent him away. it was well she knew not this. equally ignorant had she been kept as to where he had gone. california, her father told her; and this was indeed true. but what knew she of california? nothing beyond the fact of its being a far distant land, where people went to gather gold. this much was known to every one in the settlements around--every one in america. lena rook thought not of the gold. she thought only of her old playmate, and wondered why he was staying so long away. was he never going to return? he who had won the girl's heart--the firstlings of her young love--had stood under the forest tree, clasping her in his arms, and telling her she had won his! and on that dread night, when he lay upon the couch, slowly recovering from the terrible strangulation, was not the first word breathed forth from his lips her own name--lena? and to have gone away, and staid away, and forgotten all this! it was not strange she wondered, not strange she grieved--or that the cloud of melancholy, already remarked upon, sat almost continually on her countenance. she had not forgotten _him_--not for a single day. throughout the long lonely years, there was scarce an hour in which she did not think, though not permitted to speak, of him. she had been true to him--both in heart and hand--true against scores of solicitations, including that of alfred brandon, who was now seeking her hand in marriage, determined upon obtaining it. but she had resisted his suit--even braving the displeasure of her father who was backing it. and all for the memory of one who had gone away, without explaining the cause of his departure, or making promise to return. often had she thought of this, and with bitterness--at times, too, with a feeling akin to spite. but now with pierre once more in her presence, his tall graceful form before her eyes, she instantly forgot all, and threw herself sobbing upon his breast. there was no reservation in the act--no pretence of prudery. lena's instinct told her he was still loyal, and the firm, fervent pressure of his arms, as he received her in that sweet embrace, confirmed it. for some time both remained silent--their hearts too happy for speech. at length it returned to them, lena taking the initiative. "but tell me, pierre, why did you stay from me, and for such a time?" "your question is easily answered, lena. i have made a long journey to begin with. i have been to california, and spent some time there in searching for gold. but that is not altogether what delayed me. i was for three years a prisoner among the arapahoes." "arapahoes? what are they?" "a tribe of indians, who roam over the big prairie. i might have been still in their hands, but for a party of choctaws--my mother's people, you know--who chanced to come among the arapahoes. they rescued me by paying a ransom, and brought me back with them to the choctaw country, west of here, whence i have just come almost direct." "o, pierre! i am so happy you are here again. and you have grown so big and so beautiful, pierre. but you were always beautiful, pierre. and you have been to california? i heard that. but tell me, why did you go there at all?" "i went to find my father," he answered, in quiet tones. "your father? but he--" the young girl checked herself at the thought of a fearful incident that only now rose to her remembrance--another episode of that night of horrors. she repented of her speech, for she believed that pierre knew nothing of what had then occurred. he had not been told, either by her father or by herself, that dick tarleton had been there, as he was still in an unconscious state when the latter left the cabin never more to return to it. she had said nothing of it to pierre after his recovery. her father had cautioned her against any communication with him on the subject, and indeed there was not much chance, for the moment he was in a condition to travel, the old hunter had hurried him off, going in the dead of night, and taking the youth along with him. remembering all this, lena regretted the speech half commenced, and was thinking how she should change to another subject, when pierre, interrupting, relieved her from her embarrassment, as he spoke. "you need not tell me, lena," said he, his voice trembling; "i know the sad tale--all of it, perhaps more than you, though it was later that! learnt of it, my sweet innocent! you little dreamt when--but no, i must not. let us talk no more of those times, but only of the present. and now, lena, i do not wish to see your father, nor do i want him to know that i am in the neighbourhood. therefore, you must not say you have seen me." "i will not," answered she, in a tone that spoke more of sorrow than surprise. "alas! it is too easy to obey your request, for i dare not even speak of you to him. my father, i know not for what reason, has forbidden me to mention your name. if by chance i ever asked after you, or spoke of your coming back, it was only to get scolded. will you believe it, pierre, he once told me you were dead? but i grieved so, he afterwards repented, and said he had only done it to try me. god forgive me for speaking so of my own father, but i almost fancied at times that he wished it himself. o pierre! what have you ever done to make him your enemy?" "i cannot tell, that is a mystery to me; and so too his sending me away, and so too several other things; but--whose voice is that?" "my father's! and the tramp of his horse! he is coming along the lane. o, pierre! you must not let him see you!" "nor shall he. i can get off as i came, under cover of the trees. adieu, dearest! meet me to-morrow night. come out late, when all are gone to bed--say eleven. you'll find me waiting for you here--no, by the big cottonwood yonder. how often we used to sit under its shade." "go, pierre, go! he's got up to the gate." "one more kiss, love! and then--" their lips met and parted; and they too parted, the girl gliding towards the house, and the young man stealing off among the peach trees, to seek safer concealment in the shadowy woods beyond. story one, chapter seventeen. father and daughter. "i've got good news for ye, gurl," said jerry rook, sliding out of his saddle, and joining her in the porch. "darnationed good news." "what news, father?" "thet the liquor hez at last done its work, an' ole planter brandon air dead." "o father! surely you do not call it good news?" "and shurly i do--the best o' news. alf air now full master o' the place, an' thar's nothin' to hinder you from bein' full mistress o't. i know he intend makin', you a offer o' marriage, an' i've reezun to b'lieve it'll be done this very day. brandon war buried day before yesserday." "if he does, father, i shall refuse him." "refuse him!" cried the quondam squatter, half starting out of the chair in which he had just seated himself. "lena, gurl! hev ye tuk leave o' yur senses? air ye in airnest?" "i am, father. i mean what i've said." "mean, darnation! ye're eyether mad, gurl, or else talkin' like a chile. d'ye know what refusin' means?" "i have not thought of it." "but i hev, over an' over agin. it means beggary--preehap sturvation, for myself as well as you." "i'd rather starve than marry alf brandon." "ye woud, woud ye? then ye may hev a chance o't, sooner'n ye think for. ye've got an idea yur ole dad's well to do; an' so think a good many other folks. thar's been a house built, an' a clarin' made; but neyther's been paid for. jerry rook don't know the day he may hev to up sticks, an' go back agin to some durned old crib o' a cabin." "father! i was as happy in our old cabin as i've ever been in this fine house. ay, far happier." "yer war, war ye? but i warn't--not by a long chalk; and i don't want to squat in any o' yer shanties agin--not if i kin keep out o' 'em. hyar's a plan by which yur may be rich for the rest o' yur life; an' thur'd be no need for me starvin' eyther. alf brandon kums in for a good plantation, wi' three score niggers on it; an' thur's nothin' to hinder yur from bein' mistress o' the hul lot." "i don't wish it." "but i do; an' i mean to hev it so. don't git it in yur head, good-lookin' as yur may think yurself, thet the world air a stick o' sugar-candy an' ye've got nothin' to do but suck it. i tell yur, gurl, i've drifted into difeequilties. i've had some rasources you know nothin' beout; but i can't tell the day _the supplies may be stopt_, an' then we've got to go under. now, d'ye unnerstan' me?" "indeed, father, i know nothing of your affairs. how should i? but i am sure i should never be happy as the wife of alfred brandon." "an' why? what hev yur get agin him? he's a good-lookin' feller-- doggoned good-lookin'." "it has nothing to do with his looks." "what then? his karracktur, i s'pose?" "you know it is not good." "dum karracktur! what signify that? ef all the young weemen in these parts war to wait till they got a husband o' good karracktur, they'd stay a long spell single, i reck'n. alf brandon ain't no worse nor other people; an', what's o' far more konsequince, he air richer than most. ye'd be a fool, gurl, a dod-rotted eedyit, not to jump at the chance. an' don't you get it into yur head that i'm gwine to let it slip. willin' or not, ye've got to be the wife o' alf brandon. refuse? an' by the eturnal, ye shall be no longer my darter? ye hear that?" "i hear you, father. it is very painful to hear you; and painful, too, for me to tell you, that your threat cannot change me. i'm sure i have been obedient to you in everything else. why should you force me to this?" "wal," said the hardened man, apparently relenting, "i acknowledge ye've been a good gurl; but why shed yur now speil all the chances o' our gettin' a good livin' by yur obstinateness in bizness? i tell ye that my affairs air jest at this time a leetle preecarious. i owe alf brandon money--a good grist o't--an' now his father's dead he may be on me for't. beside, you're o' full age, an' oughter be spliced to somebody. who's better'n alf brandon?" had jerry arrived a little sooner at his house, or approached it with greater caution, he might have received a more satisfactory answer to his question. as it was, he got none, his daughter remaining silent, as if not caring to venture a reply. she had averted her eyes, displaying some slight embarrassment. something of this the old man must have noticed, as evinced by the remark that followed:-- "poor white, ye ain't a gwine to marry wi' my consent--i don't care what be his karracktur; an' ef ye've been makin' a fool o' yurself wi' sich, an' gin any promise, ye've got to get out o' it best way ye kin." neither was there any rejoinder to this; he sat for a time in silence, as if reflecting on the probability of some such complication. he had never heard of his daughter having bestowed her heart on any one; and, indeed, she had gained some celebrity for having so long kept it to herself. for all that, it might have been secretly surrendered; and this would, perhaps, account for her aversion to the man he most wished her to marry. "i heerd a shot as i war coming along the road. it war the crack o' a rifle, an' sounded as ef 'twar somewhar near the house. hez anybody been hyar?" the question was but a corollary to the train of thought he had been pursuing. fortunately for the young girl, it admitted of an evasive answer, under the circumstances excusable. "there has been no one _at the house_ since you left. there was a shot though; i heard it myself." "whar away?" "i think down by the creek--maybe in the woods beyond the orchard." "thar ain't nothin' in them woods, 'ceptin' squrrl. who's been squrrl shootin' this time o' day?" "some boys, perhaps?" "boys! hey! what's that dog a draggin' out from 'mong the peach trees? snake, by the eturnal!--a rattler too! the hound ain't killed that varmint himself?" the old hunter, yielding to curiosity, or some undeclared impulse, stepped down from the porch, and out to where the hound had come to a stop, and was standing by the body of the snake. driving the dog aside, he stooped over the dead reptile to examine it. "shot through the skull!" he muttered to himself; "an' wi' a rifle, o' sixty to the pound. that ere's been a hunter's gun. who ked it be? it's been done this side of the crik, too; seems as the dog hain't wetted a hair in fetchin' o't." turning along the trail of the snake--which, to his experienced eye, was discernible in the grass--he followed it, till he came to the spot where the snake had been killed. "shot hyar for sartin. yes; thar's the score o' the bullet arter it had passed through the varmint's brainpan; an' thar's the shoe track o' him as fired the shot. no boy that; but a full growed man! who the durnation hez been trespassin' 'mong my peach trees?" he bent down over the track, and carefully scrutinised them. then rising erect, he followed them to the bank of the creek, where he saw the same footprints, more conspicuously outlined in the mud. "stranger for sartin!" muttered he; "no sich futmark as that 'beout these settlements--not as i know on. who the durnation kin it a-been?" it was strange he should take so much trouble about a circumstance so slight; or show such anxiety to discover who had been the intruder. he was evidently uneasy about something of more importance to him than the trespass among his peach trees. "that gurl must a heerd the shot plainer than she's been tellin' me o', an' seed more'n she's confessed to. thar's somethin' on her mind, i hain't been able to make out any how. she shall be put thro' a chapter o' kattykism." "lena, gurl!" he continued, going back towards the porch, still occupied by his daughter; "d'ye mean to say ye seed nobody beout hyar to-day?" "i see some one now," said she; by the rarest bit of good luck enabled to evade giving an answer to the question. "see some un now! whar?" "there, a friend of yours, coming along the lane." "alf brandon!" exclaimed the old hunter, hurrying forth to receive the individual then announced; and who, astride a sleek horse, was seen riding leisurely in the direction of the house. for lena rook it was an opportune arrival; and, for a time at least, she was spared that threatened "chapter o' kattykism." story one, chapter eighteen. an angry admirer. for the first time in her life, lena rook saw alfred brandon approach her father's house without a feeling of pain or repulsion. though for years he had been the most solicitous of her suitors, she felt for him something more than contempt. despite his position in society--far superior to her own--despite his fine clothes and speeches, she saw through the character of the man, and believed him to be both a pretender and poltroon. she knew that he was cruel--a tyrant to all who had the misfortune to be under him, and a hard task-master to the black-skinned slaves that lived upon his father's plantation. though dissipated, he was not generous; and, with all the plenty he possessed, he was accounted among his associates the closest of screws. he spent money, and enough of it, but only upon himself, and in the indulgence of his own sensual desires. he had obtained the reputation of being one of the meanest fellows in the neighbourhood to which he belonged; and lena rook knew it. she had never liked him as a boy; and her aversion was increased by her knowledge that, as a boy, he had been the bitter enemy of pierre robideau. she did not think how much of this hostility was due to herself; for, from an early period, the son of the planter had been bitterly jealous of her playmate and companion. but she remembered the scene in the glade; she believed that alf brandon had been the chief instigator; and she had, all along, suspected that pierre's absence was in some way due to what had that day transpired. she was very pleased to see brandon now, only because he had rescued her from a position that promised to become embarrassing. what answer could she have made to that question her father had asked? the opportune arrival had relieved her from an agony of apprehension. the planter--now that his father was dead, no longer the planter's son-- seemed a little surprised at the pleased look with which she received him. she was not accustomed to give him such gracious acceptance, and little dreamt he of its cause. "no doubt," reasoned he, with a feeling of self-gratulation, "she's heard i'm now my own master, and won't much object to my becoming her's. a planter in his own right is a very different individual from a planter expectant; and miss lena rook will have the sense to see it. i don't think there will be much difficulty about this thing. she's been only pretending with me in the past; now that she sees all's ready, i guess she'll not stand shilly-shallying any longer. so here goes for the proposals." this string of reflections were made after alfred brandon had entered the gate, and was making his way towards the porch, on which the young lady was still standing. they were finished as he set foot on the step. there was no one to interfere with the conversation that came after. jerry rook, suspecting the purport of the planter's visit, had stayed behind to hitch up his horse, and afterwards found excuse to stray off to the back of the house, leaving the two alone. "i suppose you have heard of my affliction, miss rook?" said brandon, after salutations had been exchanged. "my father has been just telling me of it." "ah! yes; my old dad's dead and gone; buried him day before yesterday. can't be helped, you know. it's the way of us all. we've all got to die." to this lugubrious declaration lena rook yielded ready assent. there was a pause in the conversation. notwithstanding his plentitude of power, tending to inspire him with sufficient assurance, the suitor felt ill at ease. it was not to be wondered at, considering the errand on which he had come. moreover, the pleasant look had forsaken lena's face, and he had begun to doubt of success. she knew what he had come for, and was seriously reflecting upon the answer she should give him. she, of course, intended it to be negative; but she remembered her father's words, and was thinking in what way she might reject the disagreeable suitor, without stirring up his spite. she so well understood his nature as to know he would be contemptible enough to use it. it was no thought of herself that dictated the affability with which she was entertaining him; though she could scarce conceal her disgust for the man before her, talking in such strains of a father so recently deceased. she, too, had a father, who was not what he ought to be; and she knew it. but still he was her father. after remaining for some time silent--not knowing what to say--brandon at length summoned sufficient courage to stammer out his proposal. it was done with some fear and trembling. he was more himself after he had received the refusal, which he did, in as delicate terms as the young lady could command. but, delicacy was thrown away upon the spiteful planter, who, stung by the thought of being refused by the daughter of a poor white--he knew the secret of jerry rook's altered circumstances--began upbraiding in terms of opprobrious wrath the woman from whose feet he had just arisen! the young girl, thus grossly outraged, would have called to her father for protection, but again remembering his words, she remained silent under the infliction, not even making answer to her cowardly insulter. "somebody else, i suppose," said the rejected gentleman, spitefully pronouncing the words. "some poor `trash' of your own sort has got a hold of you! by--!" the ruffian swore a frightful oath, "if it be so, when i find out who it is, and i don't care who it is, i'll make these settlements too hot to hold him! _lena rook, you'll rue this refusal_!" not a word said lena rook in reply to this coarse invective. a disdainful curl upon her lip was all the answer she vouchsafed; which stayed there as she stood watching him along the walk, and until he had remounted his horse, and galloped off from the gate. her's were not the only eyes bent upon the disappointed suitor. jerry rook, engaged among the pigs and poultry, saw him ride away; and from the spiteful spurring of his horse, and the reckless air with which he rode, the old hunter conjectured the sort of answer that had been given him. "durn the girl!" muttered he, as a black shadow swept across his wrinkled brow; "she's played fool, an' refused him! looks as ef she'd sassed him! never mind, alf brandon, i'll make it all right for you. this chile ain't a gwine to let that fine plantashin o' your's slip through his fingers--not ef he know it. you shall hev the gurl, and she you, ef i hev myself to drag her up to the haltar. so, then, my lena, lass, when i've done here i'm a gwine to read you a lecture." if the abrupt departure of brandon had brought anger into the eyes of lena rook, there was yet another pair watching it, that became suffused with joy. they were the eyes of pierre robideau. after parting from that sweetheart so long separated from him, the young man had recrossed the creek; and, as he had intended, kept on through the woods towards the stand where he had left his horse. before going far, the thought occurred to him that he might as well have a look at the quondam squatter, and see if he, too, was changed like everything else. it was only to place himself in the ambush that had already proved so serviceable to his purposes, and stay there till jerry should show himself! knowing that the porches of a backwood's dwelling usually supplies the place of sitting-room, he did not anticipate any severe trial of patience. it was not the gratification of mere curiosity that tempted him to return. he had other reasons that rendered him desirous to look upon his host of former days; at the same time that he was equally desirous not to let that host see him. nor was it exactly a desire that counselled him to this act; but a sort of involuntary impulse, such as the bird feels to approach the serpent that would destroy it. pierre robideau had returned from california, better informed about the doings of jerry rook than he had been on going out there. it was the old hunter who had induced him to take that distant journey. he had counselled, almost compelled, him to it, by a false story that his father had gone there before him, and had entrusted jerry to send him after in all haste. for this purpose, his former host had furnished the outfit and directions, and had even seen him some distance on his way. as already stated the unsuspicious youth, before starting, knew nothing of what had occurred that night in the glade--not even that while he was himself hanging there, his father had been so near him! the story of the lynching had been kept from him previous to his departure, jerry rook alone having access to him, and carefully guarding against all other approach. it was only after his arrival in california, and failing to find his father at the appointed place, that he had heard of the tragedy on caney creek, and who had been its victim. the tale had got among the gold diggers, brought out by some new arrivals from little rock. why jerry rook had been so anxious to get him away, pierre robideau could never tell, though he had some terrible suspicions about it-- almost pointing out the old squatter as one of his father's murderers. it was this sort of curiosity that caused him to turn among the trees, and steal back to the concealment he had so recently forsaken. perhaps, too, he may have wished once more to gratify his eyes by gazing on that loved form so unceremoniously hurried out of his sight. whether or not, he was soon in his old position, and gazing intently through the curtain of leaves. so far as jerry rook was concerned, he obtained the satisfaction he had sought for. his quondam host was in front of the house, in conversation with his daughter, who stood in the porch above him. pierre had arrived at the moment when that question was put, so nearly concerning himself. he did not hear it, but he noticed the embarrassed air of the young lady, and the quick change that came over her countenance as she adroitly evaded the answer. from that moment jerry rook was no longer regarded. a third personage had appeared upon the scene, and the pleasing look with which jerry rook's daughter appeared to receive him sent a pang through the heart of pierre robideau. the exclamation had told him who the new comer was. but he did not heed that. no time could efface from his memory the image of one who had so cruelly outraged him, and six years had produced but little change in alf brandon. pierre knew him on sight. with heart beating wildly, he remained a silent witness of the scene that ensued. at first it beat bitterly, as he marked and misinterpreted the complaisant look with which lena regarded his rival. ere long came a delightful change, as he listened to the dialogue-- plainly overheard where he stood--and, when he heard the final speech, and saw the discomfited lover stride off towards the gate, he could scarce restrain himself from a shout of joy. he was fain to have sprung across the creek, and once more enfolded that fair form in his passionate embrace. but he saw that mischief might spring from such imprudence; and, turning from the spot, he walked silently away--his heart now swelling with triumph, now subsiding into sweet contentment. story one, chapter nineteen. a conclave of scoundrels. there was a time when "slaughter's hotel" was the first and only house of its kind in the town of helena. that was when slaughter, senior, presided over its destinies. now that he was no more, and his son walked rather slipshod in his shoes, it had sunk into a second-rate place of entertainment--an establishment more respectable, or, at all events, more pretentious, having swung out its sign. in slaughter's hostelry _bona fide_ travellers had become scarce. still it was not without guests and patrons in plenty. there were enough "sportsmen" in the place, with adventurers of other kinds, to give the house a custom, and these principally patronised it. from a family hotel, it had changed into a drinking and gambling saloon, and in this respect was prosperous enough. it was the resort of all the dissipated young men of the neighbourhood--and the old ones too. it had public and private parlours, and one of the latter, the landlord's own, was only accessible to the select of his acquaintances--his cronies of a special type. on the evening of that day in which alfred brandon had received his dismissal from the daughter of jerry rook, this apartment was occupied by six persons, including the landlord himself. they were the same who had figured in the hanging frolic, of which young robideau had been so near being the victim. on this account, it is not necessary to give their names nor any description of them, farther than to say that all six were as wild and wicked as ever, or, to speak with greater exactitude, wilder and more wicked. it might seem strange that chance had brought these young men together without any other company, but the closed door, and the order for no one to be admitted, showed that their meeting was not by mere accident. their conversation, already commenced, told that they had met by appointment, as also the purpose of their assembling. it was alfred brandon who had summoned them to the secret conclave, and he who made the opening speech, declaring his object in having done so. after "drinks all round," brandon had said:-- "well, boys, i've sent for you to meet me here, and here we are, guests; you know why?" "i guess we don't," bluntly responded buck. "choc?" suggested slaughter. "well, we know it's about choc," assented the son of the horse dealer; "any fool might guess that. but what about him? let's hear what you've got to say, alf." "well, not much, after all. only that i think it's high time we took some steps to get rid of this infernal tax we've been paying." "oh! you're come to that, are you? i thought you would, sometime. but for you, alf brandon, we might have done somethin' long ago. i'm out o' pocket clear five hundred dols, and damn me if i intend to pay another cent, come what will or may." "ditto with you, bill buck," endorsed slaughter. grubbs, randall, and spence were silent, though evidently inclined to the same way of thinking. "i've sworn every year i'd stop it," continued buck, "an' i'd have done so but for alf there. it's all very well for him. he's rich, and can stand it. with some of the rest of us it's dog-gone different." "nonsense!" exclaimed brandon. "my being rich had nothing to do with it. i was as anxious as any of you to get the load off my shoulders, only i could never see how it was to be done." "do you see now?" asked spence. "not very clearly, i confess." "it's clear as mud to me--one way is--" said slaughter. "and to me," chimed in buck. "what way? tell us?" demanded the store-keeper. "i'm ready for most anything that'll clear us of that tax." "you can get clear, then, by making a _clear_ of the collector." the suggestion was slaughter's, the last part of it made in a significant whisper. "them's just my sentiments," said buck, speaking louder and with more determination. "i'd have put 'em in practice before this, if alf brandon had showed the pluck to agree to it. durned if i wouldn't!" "what!" said the young planter, affecting ignorance of the suggested scheme, "carry the collector off? is that what you mean?" "oh! you're very innocent, alf brandon, you are, my sucking dove!" it was slaughter who spoke. "yes," said buck, who answered to the interrogatory, "carry him off, and so far that there'll be no danger o' his coming back again. that's what we mean. have you got anything better to propose? if you have, let's hear it. if not, what's the use of all this palaverin'?" "well," said brandon, "i've been thinking we might carry something else off that might answer our purpose as well, and without getting us into any _scrape_ worth talking about." "carry what off? the girl--rook's daughter?" "no, no; brandon don't mean that, and don't need it. he is going to take her to church, and there's no danger about his getting consent." it was buck who made the remark, and with some bitterness, being himself one of lena rook's unsuccessful admirers. brandon felt the sting all the more keenly from what had that day occurred. moreover, he knew that buck was upon the list of his rivals, and saw that the speech was meant for a slur. the lurid light in his eye, and the pallor suddenly overspreading his lips, showed the depth of his chagrin. but he said nothing, fearful of defeating the scheme he had traced out for himself in relation to lena rook. "come, gentlemen," said randall, for the first time entering into the conversation, "this talk only wastes time, and the subject is too serious for that. let us hear brandon out. i'm as anxious as any of you to settle this unpleasant matter, and if there be any safe plan we can all agree about, the sooner it's carried out the better. i needn't remind you the time's close at hand when the old shylock will call for another pound of flesh. if any one can suggest a way to escape paying it, i think the most of us would be but too willing to stand the best champagne supper jim slaughter can get up for us, and a `jury' into the bargain." "certain we'll all go snacks for that." "speak out, brandon!" "the fact is," said brandon, thus appealed to, "we've been all a lot of fools to stand this thing so long. supposing we have the old scoundrel, and dare him to do his worst, what evidence has he got against us only his own oath?" "an' the girl's." "no; the girl saw nothing, at least, only what was circumstantial. she couldn't swear to the deed; nor he neither, as far as that goes, though he makes pretence that he can. suppose he does swear, what then? there are six of us--six oaths to one. i needn't ask whether you are all willing?" "no, you needn't," was the unanimous rejoinder. "good, so far. i think you all know that jerry rook's oath wouldn't go far about these parts, and if we stick together and deny the thing _in toto_, i'd like to know how a jury could give against us. we've been fools not to try it. i'd have proposed it long ago, only that, like some of the rest, i've been thin-skinned about it, and didn't like to stir up stinking waters." "yes," cried buck; "you've been thin-skinned 'bout it--no mistake o' that. your damned thin-skinnedness, as you call it, has cost me five hundred silver dollars." "me the same," said slaughter. "well, for that matter, we all had to pay alike; and now let us all agree to share alike in any law expenses, in case it should come to that; for my part, i don't think it will." "and why won't it?" asked randall, whose law experience, himself being a practitioner, guided him to a different conclusion. "you don't suppose that the old shylock will yield without a trial? trust me, fellows, he'll fight hard to stick to that six hundred dollars _per annum_ he's been so long pulling out of us." "damn him! let him fight! what can he do? let him tell his story, and what evidence can he bring to support it? as i've said, his oath won't count for anything against all six of ours." "but, alf; you forget the _body_?" this reminiscence called up by randall, caused all the others to start; for all had forgotten it--brandon alone excepted. "no, i don't," replied the latter, with an air of triumph at his own astuteness. "well, he'd bring that up, wouldn't he?" "no doubt he would, if we're fools enough to let him." "ah! i see what you're driving at." "so do we all." "we know where _it_ lies; we've had good reason to. we've been soft to let it lie there so long, and we'd be softer still to let it lie there any longer." "darn it, there's something in what he says." "what do you propose, alf?" "that we go in for a good bit of quiet exhumation, and transfer that body, or bones, or whatever relics be left of it, to a safer place. after that's done let jerry rook do his worst." "a good idea!" "jest the thing, by god!" "let's carry it out, then!" "when?" "to-morrow night; we're not prepared now, or it might be to-night. let us provide the tools for to-morrow night, and meet about midnight. we can come together in the glade, and go from there. you must all of you come, and all have a hand in it." "agreed! we'll do the grave-digging!" "enough, boys! let's fill up and drink to our success!" amidst the clinking of glasses was sealed the singular compact; and the body-stealers, that were to be, soon after separated, to come together again upon the morrow. story one, chapter twenty. the tryst under the tree. under the canopy of the great cottonwood the tryst of the lovers was to be kept. pierre was there first, and stood within the shadow of the tree, expectant. there had been nothing to interfere with his coming, either to hinder or retard it. he had left the tavern at an early hour, telling them he might not return that night; and slowly sauntering through the woods, had reached the place of appointment some time before that agreed upon. having arrived under the tree, and taken a survey of the ground, he regretted having chosen it as a rendezvous. better need not have been desired had the night been dark; but it was not; on the contrary, a clear moon was sailing through the sky. when pierre robideau last stood under that tree there was brushwood around it, with a cane-brake along the edge of the creek. both were now gone; burnt off long ago to enlarge the little clearing that had sufficed for the cabin of the squatter. there were the stumps of other trees still, and a rough rail fence running up to the corner of the house; but with the exception of these, any one approaching from the house side would find no cover to prevent them from being seen. it occurred to pierre robideau that his sweetheart might be watched. he had reason to believe that her father kept a close eye upon her, and might be suspicious of her movements. what he had seen and heard the day before told him how things stood between jerry rook and alf brandon. once under the cottonwood there would be no danger; even the white dress of a woman could not be descried in the deep shadow of the moss-laden branches--at least, not from any distance, and in case of any one passing accidentally near, the young man knew that the tree was hollow-- a huge cavity opening into its trunk, capable of holding a horse. more than once, when a boy, had he and little lena played hide and seek in this capacious tree-chamber. on the other side, that opposite to the house, the tree could be approached under cover, along the edge of the creek, where a thin strip of wood had been left standing undisturbed. it was through this he had himself come, after crossing the creek some distance above. eleven o'clock came, as he knew by a clock striking inside the house, and then a long spell that seemed nearly a day, though it was not quite an hour. still no sign of his sweetheart, nor of living thing anywhere outside the dwelling of jerry rook. he could see the porch, and one of the windows beyond it; through this came the light of a lamp or candle indistinct under the bright shimmer of the moonbeams. upon the window his eyes were habitually kept, and he indulged in conjecture as to who was the occupant of the lighted room. at first he supposed it to be lena; but as the time passed without the appointment being kept, he began to fancy it might be her father. he had no knowledge of the interior of the house; but if the lighted window belonged to the kitchen, it was like enough the old hunter was inside, sitting in a huge arm-chair, and smoking his pipe, a habit that pierre knew him to indulge in days long past. moreover, he might set very late up into the morning hours, as he had been often accustomed to do in those same days. the remembrance made pierre uneasy, especially as the time stole past, and still no appearance of the expected one. he was beginning to despair of an interview that night, when the light upon which his eyes had been fixed appeared to have been put out, as the glass showed black under the moonbeams. "it was she, then," he muttered to himself. "she has been waiting till all were well asleep. she will come now." forsaking the window, his gaze became fixed upon the porch, within whose shadow he expected her to appear. she did so, but not until another long interval had elapsed--a fresh trial of the lover's patience. before it was exhausted, however, a form became outlined in the dark doorway--the door having been silently opened--and soon after the moon shone down upon the drapery of a woman's dress. the white kerchief upon her head would have enabled pierre robideau to recognise her. but that was not needed. the direction she took on stepping out of the porch, told him it was she whom he expected. she came on, but not as one who walks without fear. she kept along the fence, on its shadowy side, and close in to the rails. now and then she stopped, looked behind, and listened. that she feared was evidently not abroad, but at home. some serious cause had detained her beyond her time. pierre watched her with eager eyes, with heart beating impatiently, until he felt hers beating against it? once more they stood breast to breast, with arms entwining. why was she so late? what had detained her? the questions were put with no thought of reproach, only fear as to the answer. as pierre had suspected, jerry rook had been sitting up late; and, as she suspected, with some idea of watching her. the lighted room was his, and it was he who had extinguished the candle; she had waited after, till he should be well asleep. she had a terrible time of it, both that day and yesterday. her father had been very angry with her about several things; he had found out that pierre had been there; he had cross-questioned her, and made her confess it. it was no use denying it, as her father had found his track, and saw the snake that had been shot; and, besides, one of the negroes had heard a man's voice along with hers among the trees of the orchard. it made it all the worse that she had tried to conceal it, and been found out. of course she did not say who it was, only a stranger _she had never seen before_. "o, pierre! i told that great lie about you. god forgive me!" her father had gone furious; there was something else, too, that made him so--about alf brandon, who had come over to see them just after pierre had gone. "what was it about alf brandon?" asked pierre, rather calmly, considering that the individual spoken of was a most dangerous rival. the young girl noticed this, and answered with some pique. "oh! nothing much," she said, relaxing the pressure of her arms. "at least, nothing, i suppose, you would care about." "nay, dear lena!" he hastily rejoined, noticing the hurt he had unconsciously occasioned, and drawing her back to his breast, "pardon me for the apparent coldness of the question; i only asked it because i wished to tell you that i know all." "all what, pierre?" "all that occurred between you and alf brandon." "and who told you?" "no one. i'm going to make a confession if you'll promise not to be angry with me." "angry with you, pierre?" "well, then, it was thus: after leaving you yesterday, i came back again, and took stand under cover of the trees, just over the creek there, at the bottom of the garden. of course, i could see the house, and all in front of it. i got there just as your father was leaving to meet mr brandon by the gate, and i not only saw what passed between you two, but heard most of what was said. it was much as i could do to restrain myself from springing across the creek, and laying the fellow at your feet; but i kept back, thinking of the trouble i might get you into, to say nothing of myself, with your father. i own to all this meanness, lena, without being able to let you know my motive for it. one reason for my returning, was to look again upon you." "oh, pierre," said the girl, once more reciprocating the pressure of his embrace, "if i had only known you were there! but, no; perhaps it was better not. i might have done something that would have betrayed us both." "true," he said. "and, from what i know of your father's designs, i see that we cannot be too cautious. but, promise me, love; promise, before we part, that, no matter what may arise, nor how long it may be before i gain your father's consent, that you will still keep true to me. will you promise this?" "promise it! how could you doubt me? after six years--more i may say, for i loved you ever since i first knew you, ay, pierre, when i was only a little bit of a bare-footed girl--after being true all that time, surely you will not doubt me now? promise it! anything, pierre-- anything!" firmer and faster became the folding of their arms, closer and closer came their lips, till meeting, they remained together in a long, rapturous kiss. story one, chapter twenty one. the tree-cave. a long, rapturous kiss, and a kiss that came nigh betraying them. fortunately, it had ended before anyone was near enough to bear witness to it, or blight its sweetness by rude interruption. the lovers were about taking leave of each other, their arms were once more free, and they were arranging the time and place for another interview, when the quick ear of the young man, attuned to take notice of suspicious sounds, was caught by one that appeared to be of this character. it was a rustling among the canes that bordered the creek, with now and then their culms crackling together as if something--man or animal--was making way through them. the sounds proceeded from a point at some distance; but, as the lovers stood listening, they could tell that, whatever made them, was drawing nearer. and soon they saw that they were not made by an animal, nor yet by a man, but by several men, who, under the clear light of the moon, could be seen approaching the spot. and it could be seen, too, that they were not coming on openly and boldly, like men bent on an honest errand, but skulking along the edge of the creek, here and there crouching under the cane, whose thin growth only partially concealed them. the noise they made was inadvertent. they were not making more than they could help, and, if there was any talk between them, it must have been in whispers, as no words were heard by the two standing under the tree. for them it was too late to retreat unobserved. they might have done so at first; but not now. the skulkers were too near, and any attempt to get away from the spot would expose the lovers under the full light of the moon. their only chance to remain undiscovered was to keep within the shadow of the tree. not long before, this, too, appeared doubtful; as they now saw that the dark forms advancing along the edge of the stream must pass close to where they stood--so close as to see them in spite of the obscurity. who the cautious travellers were, or what their designs, neither had the slightest idea. but it mattered not what. enough for the lovers to know that they were in danger of being surprised, and under circumstances to cause them chagrin. what was to be done? the skulkers were coming on. they would soon be under the tree! the returned gold-seeker had taken the young girl on his arm--partly with the idea of protecting her should any rudeness he attempted, and partly to inspire her with courage. he was thinking whether it would not be the best for them to step boldly out and show themselves in the open light. it would less expose them to ridicule, though the lateness of the hour--it was now after midnight-- would still render them liable to that. a young lady and gentleman-- they had markedly this appearance--indulging in a moonlight stroll at nigh one o'clock of the morning, were not likely to escape scandal if seen. what was to be done? at this moment a happy thought came up to answer the question. it flashed simultaneously through the minds of both. both remembered the cavity in the tree; and without a word to one another--both acting under the same impulse--they glided inside, and stood in shadow dark as the dungeon itself! they had scarce time to compose themselves ere the party of intruders came up, and stopped right under the tree. to their chagrin they saw this. they had hoped that such early travellers might be bent upon some distant journey, and that once past the spot they would be themselves free to continue their affectionate leave-taking. they soon perceived that this was not to be. the new comers had halted close up to the trunk, directly in front of the cavity, and although enveloped in deep shadow their figures were distinguishable from the deeper shadow that surrounded the two spectators. either of these could have touched them by stretching forth a hand! neither had thoughts of doing this. on the contrary, they stood motionless as marble, both silently striving to keep back their breath. six figures there were--six men--several of them carrying implements, at first taken for guns, but which, on more prolonged scrutiny, proved to be spades and shovels. from the way they were manipulating these tools it was evident they intended making use of them, and on the spot! the occupants of the tree-cave where puzzled by these preparations. for what were they going to dig? the blood of both ran cold at the thought of its being a _grave_. and both had it. what else could they have thought? six men, armed with excavating implements, at that unearthly time of the night! and a secret grave, too, for the body of some one whom they had murdered! else why their stealthy movements, and their talking in low tones, scarce louder than a whisper? who could they be? and what their purpose? these were the questions that came before the minds of pierre robideau and lena rook, only in thought; they dared not interrogate one another even in whispers. they stood silent, watching the development of events. "where can the darned thing be?" asked one of the men, stooping down, and apparently searching for something along the grass. "who of ye remembers the spot?" "a little farther out, i think," answered a voice that caused lena rook to start, and take hold of pierre's hand. "about here. yes, here it is. i can feel the lumps upon the turf." the speaker appeared to be groping the ground with his feet. "alf brandon!" whispered the girl, with her lips close to her companion's ear. the others gathered around the spot indicated by brandon. two who carried spades commenced digging, while a like number of shovel-men followed, throwing out the loose earth. "wonder how deep the old skunk has buried him?" asked one. "not very deep, i reck'n. jerry rook's too lazy to a dug far down. we'll soon come to it." these were the voices of bill buck and slaughter, the hotel-keeper, recognised by lena rook, though not by her companion. "do you think there's a coffin?" inquired one who had not yet spoken. it was spence. "no," answered another new speaker, recognised as lawyer randall, "i should say not. the old squatter wasn't likely to take that trouble for such a creature as choc, and, as the fellow had no other friends, i think you'll find him in his deerskin shirt--that is, if jerry harn't taken the pains to strip him." "the shirt wasn't worth it," remarked a sixth speaker, who was the store-keeper, grubbs. "the six who hanged you, pierre!" whispered the girl to him by her side. "the very same!" pierre made no reply. he was too much occupied in endeavouring to interpret the strange talk, and comprehend the singular scene passing before him. "it's getting hard down here," said one of the spadesmen. "seems to me i've touched bottom." "old jerry must have tramped him tight down," remarked another, adding a slight laugh. "don't speak so loud, boys!" commanded brandon. "look at the house, 'tisn't twenty yards off, and there's a weasel in it that seldom sleeps. if we're heard, you know what'll follow. keep silent, it may save each of you a hundred dollars a-year." at this appeal the diggers turned their eyes towards the house; but only to give a cursory glance, and back to the ground again. lena rook looked longer in that direction, for there was the man she most feared--her father. intimately acquainted with the precincts of the dwelling, and, of course, better able to tell if anything was stirring, she saw--what had escaped the notice of the body-stealers--the front door standing open! it should have been shut; for, on coming out, she had carefully closed it behind her! she had scarce made the discovery when she saw a figure in the doorway, that, after standing a moment as if to reconnoitre and listen, stole out into the porch, and then, stealthily descending the steps, glided crouchingly towards the cover of the orchard. only for a moment was it under the moonlight; but the young girl had no difficulty in recognising the form of her father! something in his hands glistened in the moonlight. it appeared to be a gun. pierre's attention is called to it by a significant pressure on his arm. pierre also saw the flitting figure and knew whose it was. the weasel, as alf brandon termed him, had not been asleep! and just like a weasel he had acted; in sight only for six seconds, as he shot across the open space between the porch and the peach trees. once among these, he was invisible to the only eyes that had seen him, those of his daughter and pierre robideau. but both expected soon to see him again. he had not gone into the orchard for nothing, and his cat-like movements told that he had suspicion of something astir under the cottonwood, and was stealing round by the creek to approach it unobserved. whether he yet saw the excavators could not be known, but he must have heard the clinking of their tools as he stood in the doorway. not one of them either heard or saw him, as, without pausing, they continued their work, brandon having once again counselled them to silence. "darned if 'taint the bottom! i told you so," said bill buck, striking his spade point against the ground under his feet. "thar's been neyther pick nor spade into this not since the days of old noah, i reckon. there! try for yourself, alf brandon!" brandon took the implement offered, and struck it upon the space already stripped, and sunk some eighteen inches below the surface. the ring was that of solid earth that had never been disturbed by a spade. he tried it in several places, all of which gave back the same sound! "clear out the loose mould!" commanded he. this was done, and once more was the test applied. "there's no grave there," remarked randall. "nor body," said spence. "not so much as a bone," added buck; "no, nor never has been. dog-gone my cats, if old rook hasn't been humbuggin' us!" "ha-ha! he--he--he--he!" the sounds thus represented were intended for a laugh, that came from the other side of the tree, and in a voice that did not belong to any of the excavating party. whatever mirth may have been in the man who uttered them, it failed to communicate itself to any of the six grave-diggers, all of whom, startled at the strange noise, stood staring wildly around them. if the body for which they had been searching had suddenly appeared in their midst, and given utterance to that unearthly cachination, they could not have been more astonished. and their astonishment lasted until a man, well known to them, stepped from behind the tree, and discovered himself in the clear moonlight. "jerry rook, by the eternal!" story one, chapter twenty two. the diggers dismissed. "yes, jerry rook, by the eternal!" exclaimed the old hunter, with another mocking laugh. "an' why thet, i shed like to know? do it astonish ye to see a man by the side o' his own gurden? i reckin this chile hev got more reezun to be surprised at seem you hyar, one an' all o' ye. who air ye anyhow?" he asked, drawing nearer to the party, and pretending to examine their faces. "ef this chile ain't mistaken he heard bill buck among ye. yes, billee, thet's you, an' mr planter brandon, an' as thar's four more o' ye, i reckin' i kin guess who the t'others air. an' what mout ye a been doin'? spades and shovels! ho-- ho! ye've been a grave-diggin', hev ye? wal, i hope ye've goed deep enough. you're a gwine to berry somebidy, air ye?" there was no reply. the six excavators had thrown down their tools, and stood in sullen silence. "maybe ye were arter the other thing. doin' a bit of dissinterry as they call it? wal, i hope ye foun' what ye hev been rootin' for?" still no response. "an' so, mr bill buck, you think thet jerry rook hez been a humbuggin' ye?" "i do," replied buck, doggedly. "and so do i." "yes; so all of us." "oh! ye're agreed beout thet, air ye? wal, ye ain't a gwine to humbug _me_ as ye've been jest now a tryin'. i warn't sech a precious fool as to put the poor young fellur's karkiss whar you could kum and scrape it up agin whenever you'd a mind. ne'er a bit o't. i've got it safer stowed than that, an' i'll take care o't too, till ye refuse to keep to your contract. when any o' ye do that i'll then do a bit o' dissenterry myself, you see ef i don't." the discomfited excavators had once more relapsed into silence. having nothing to say by which they could justify themselves, they made no attempt. it was no use to deny either what they had been doing, or its design. jerry rook saw the one, and guessed the other. "ye 'pear very silent beout it," he continued, jeeringly. "wal, ef you've got nothing to say, i reckin you'd better all go hum to yur beds an' sleep the thing over. preehaps some o' ye may dream whar the body air laid. ha--ha--ha!" they were not all silent, though their speech was not addressed to him. there was whispering among themselves, in which bill buck and slaughter took the principal part; and had there been lights enough for jerry rook to see the faces of these two men, and the demoniac fire in their eyes, as they glanced at him, and then towards the spades, he might have changed his hilarious tune, and, perhaps, made hasty retreat into the house. there was a suggestion that the half-dug grave should be deepened, and a body put into it--the body of jerry rook! it came from slaughter, and was backed by bill buck. but the others were not plucky enough for such an extreme measure; and the old squatter was spared. perhaps his rifle had something to do with the decision. they saw that he had it with him, and, although jerry rook was a sexagenarian, they knew him to be a sure and deadly shot. he would not be conquered without a struggle. "what the ole nick air ye whisperin' 'beout?" he asked, seeing them with their heads together. "plotting some kind o' a conspyracy, air ye? wal, plot away. ef ye kin think o' any way that'll git ye clear o' payin' me your hundred dollars apiece pree-annum, i'd like to hear it. i know a way, myself, maybe you'd like to hear it?" "let's hear it, then!" "wal, i am open to a offer, or, i'll make one to you; whichsomever you weesh." "make it!" "durn it, don't be so short 'beout it. i only want to be accommodatin'. ef you'll each an' all o' ye pay me five hundred a piece, down on the nail, an' no darduckshin, i'll gie you a clar receet, an' squar up the hul buzness now!" "we can't give you an answer now, jerry rook," interposed the planter, without waiting for the others. "we shall consider your proposal, and tell you some other time." "wal, tak' yur own time; but remember, all o' ye, thet saturday nex air the day of the annival settlin'; an' don't fail to meet me at the usooal place. i hain't no spare beds, or i'd ask you all in; but i s'pose ye'll be a goin' back wi' mr slaughter thar, an' havin' a drink by way o' night cap? don't forgit your spades; they mout git stole ef you left 'em hyar." this bit of irony terminated the scene, so far as the disappointed resurrectionists were concerned, who, like, a band of prowling jackals, scared from a carcass, turned in their tracks and sneaked sulkily away. "he! he! he!" chuckled the old pirate, as he stood watching them. "out of the field--he! he! he!" he continued, stooping over the fresh turned earth, and examining their work. "they _war_ playin' a game wi' poor cards in thar hand--the set o' cussed greenhorns! durnation!" that this last exclamation had no reference to the episode just ended, was evident from the cloud that passed over his countenance while giving utterance to it. something else had come into his thoughts, all at once changing them from gay to grave. "durnation!" he repeated, stamping on the ground, and glancing angrily around him. "i'd most forgotten it! whar kin the gurl hev gone? "ain't in her bed; nor ain't a been this night! _ain't_ in the house neyther! whar kin she be?" "i thort i mout a foun' her hyar; but this hain't hed nuthin' ter do wi' her. it kedn't a' hed. "durn me, ef i don't b'lieve she's goed out to meet some un'; an', maybe, that same fellar as shot the snake! who the red thunder kin he be? by the eturnal, ef't be so, i'll put a eend to his snake shooting! "whar _kin_ the gurl be? i shall look all night, or i'll find her. she ain't in the orchart, or i'd a seed her comin' through. an' shurly she ain't goed across the crik? maybe she's strayed up behint the stable or the corn-cribs? i'll try thar." the hearts of the lovers, so long held in a suspense, almost agonising, began to beat more tranquilly as they saw him pass away from the spot. it was but a short respite, lasting only the time occupied by jerry rook in taking ten steps. a hound, beating about the field, had strayed up to the tree and poked his snout into the cavity where they stood concealed. a short, sharp yelp, followed by a growl, proclaimed the presence of something that ought not to be there. "yoicks! good dog!" cried the ci-devant hunter, quick harking to the cry. "what you got thar?" hastily returning to the tree, and stopping in front of the dark entrance, he continued-- "somebidy inside thar? who air it? lena, gurl, is't you?" silence broken only by the baying of the hound. "hush up, you brute!" cried his master, driving off the dog with a kick. "hear me thar, you inside! 'tain't no good playin' possum. ef it's you, lena gurl, i command ye to come out." thus summoned, the girl saw it would be no use disobeying. it could serve no purpose, and would only end in her father stepping inside the cavity and dragging her angrily forth. "i'll go," she whispered to her companion. "but stay you, pierre, and don't stir! he'll think i'm alone." pierre had no chance to remonstrate, for on speaking the words, she stepped hastily out, and stood face to face with her father. "so, so! i've foun' you at last, hev i? an' that's the hole in which ye war hidin', is it? nice place that for a young lady, as ye think yurself, at this time o' night! an' a nice party yer been hevin' clost to ye! come, gurl! no denial o' what you've been doin'; but give an explanation o' yurself! how kim ye to be hyar?" "o, father! i was walking about. it was such a beautiful night, and i couldn't sleep. i thought i'd come out into the field and have a stroll down here to the old tree. i was standing under it when i saw them coming up--alf brandon and the others--" "wal, go on!" "i couldn't get back without their seeing me, and as i was afraid of them, i slipped inside the hollow." "an' ye war thar all the time, war ye?" "yes; all the time." "wal, and what did yur hear?" "a great deal, father. it'll take time to tell it all. if you'll come on into the house, i can repeat better what was said by them. i'm so frightened after what i heard, i want to get away from this horrid place." it was a commendable stratagem to secure the retreat of her lover. unfortunately it did not succeed. the old squatter was too cautious to be so easily deceived. "o, yes," he said; "i'll go 'long wi' ye into the house; but not afore i've fust seed whether thar ain't somethin' else in the holler o' this tree." his daughter trembled as he gazed towards the entrance, but her trembling turned to a convulsive agony, as she heard the cocking of his rifle, and saw him point it towards the dark cavity in the trunk. with a wild cry, she sprang forward, placing herself right before the muzzle of the gun. then, in the terrible agitation of the moment, forgetting all else, she shouted: "come out, pierre, come out!" "pierre!" cried the furious father. "what pierre?" "oh, father, it is pierre robideau!" it was well lena rook had grasped the barrel of the rifle and turned it aside, else along with the last speech the bullet would have passed through the body of pierre, instead of over his head. but it was now too late, and jerry rook saw it. the young man had sprung out, and was standing by his side. any attempt at violence on his part would have ended by his being dashed instantly to the earth. beside pierre robideau he was like an old wasted wolf in the presence of a young, strong panther. he felt his inferiority, and cowered upon the instant. he even assumed the counterfeit of friendship. "oh, 'tair you, pierre, is it? i wouldn't a knowed yer. it's so long since i've seed yer. you kin go in, gurl. i want to hev some talk wi' pierre." lena looked as though she would have stayed. it was a look of strange meaning, but it wore off as she reflected that her lover could be in no danger now, and she walked slowly away. story one, chapter twenty three. a companion. for some seconds jerry rook stood in the shadow without saying a word, but thinking intensely. his thoughts were black and bitter. the return of pierre robideau would be nothing less than ruin to him, depriving him of the support upon which for years he had been living. once buck, brandon, and co. should ascertain that he they supposed dead was still living, not only would the payment be stopped, but they might demand to be recouped the sums of which he had so cunningly mulcted them. he had not much fear of this last. if they had not actually committed murder, they would still be indictable for the attempt; and though, under the circumstances, they might not fear any severe punishment, they would yet shrink from the exposure. it was not the old score that jerry rook was troubled about, but the prospect now before him. no more black mail; no money from any source; and alf brandon his creditor, now released from the bondage in which he had hitherto been held, spited by the rejection of yesterday, would lose no time in coming down upon him for the debt. the quondam squatter saw before him only a feature of gloom and darkness--ejection from his ill-gotten home and clearing--a return to his lowly life--to toil and poverty--along with a dishonoured old age. mingling with these black thoughts, there was one blacker--a regret that he had not pulled the trigger in time! had he shot pierre robideau inside the tree all would have been well. no one would have known that he had killed him; and to his own daughter he could have pleaded ignorance that there was any one inside. much as she might have lamented the act, she could scarcely have believed it wilful, and would have said nothing about it. it was too late now. to kill the young man as he stood, in the darkness--it might still have been done--or even at a later time, would be the same as to murder him under the eyes of his daughter. from what she now knew the hand of the assassin could not be concealed. these thoughts occupied jerry rook scarce any time. they came and passed like lightning that flashes deadly through dark clouds. this prolonged silence was due to other thoughts. he was reflecting on what course he would take with the man, whose unexpected appearance had placed him in such a dilemma. turning to the latter, he at length spoke-- "how long 've ye been back, pierre?" the tone of pretended kindness did not deceive the returned gold-seeker. "i came into the neighbourhood yesterday," he replied, coldly. "have ye seed any one that know'd ye?" "not that i am aware of." "ye'll excuse me for bein' a leetle rough wi' ye. i war a bit flurried 'beout the gurl bein' out, not knowin' who she wur with. there's a lot o' fellars arter her, an' it's but right i shed be careful." pierre could not object to this. "of course," pursued jerry, after another pause of reflection, "ye heerd all that passed atween me an' that lot o' diggers?" "every word of it." "an' i suppose you know who they war?" "yes; i have good reason." "yu're right thar. ye'll be knowin' then why this chile ain't livin' any more in the ole shanty, but in a good, comftable frame-house, wi' a clarin' roun' it?" "yes, jerry rook, i think i understand that matter." "yur won't wonder, then, why i tuk so much pains, six years ago, to send yur out o' the way? no doubt yur did wonder at that?" "i did; i don't now. it is all clear enough!" "an' i reck'n it'll be equally clar to ye, thet yur comin' back ain't a gwine to do _me_ any good. jest ruinates me, that's all." "i don't see that, jerry rook." "ye don't! but this chile do. the minute any o' them six sets eyes on yur my game's up, an' thar's nothin' more left but clear out o' this, an' take to the trees agin. at my time o' life that ere'll be pleasant." "you mean that by my showing myself you would lose the six hundred dollars per annum i've heard you make mention of." "not only thet, but--i reckin i may as well tell yer--i am in debt to alf brandon, an' it war only by his believin' in your death i hev been able to stave it off. now, pierre robideau!" in his turn the gold-seeker stood reflecting. "well, jerry rook," he rejoined, after a time, "as to the black mail you've been levying on these six scoundrels, i have no particular wish to see them relieved of it. it is but a just punishment for what they did to me, and to tell you the truth, it has, to some extent, taken the sting out of my vengeance, for i had come back determined upon a terrible satisfaction. while serving yourself you've been doing some service to me!" "may be," suggested the old pirate, pleased at the turn matters appeared to be taking, "maybe pierre, ye'd like things to go on as they air, an' let me gi'e you more o' the same sort o' satisfackshun? thar's a way o' doin' it, without any harm to yurself. it's only for you _to keep out o' sight_." pierre was again silent, as if reflecting on the answer. he at length gave it. "you speak truth, jerry rook. there is a way, as you've said; but it must be coupled with a condition." "what condishun?" "your daughter." "what o' her?" "i must have her for my wife." rook recoiled at the proposal. he was thinking of alf brandon and the plantation, the grand estate he had so long coveted, and set his heart upon having. on the other side were the six hundred dollars a-year. but what was this in comparison? and coupled with a young man for his son-in-law, who was not even a full-blooded white--poor, perhaps penniless. no doubt he had come back without a dollar in his pocket. was this certain? he had been to california, the country of gold. from what could be seen of him in the dim light, he appeared well dressed, and his speech proclaimed him well instructed. he had certainly changed much from the time of his departure. he may not have returned either so fortuneless or friendless. these conjectures kept jerry rook from making any immediate answer. taking advantage of his silence, the young man continued-- "i know, jerry rook, you will be wanting for your son-in-law some one with means; at least, enough to support your daughter in a decent position in society. i am fortunate enough to have this, obtained by hard toil, in the gold _placers_ of california. if you wish satisfaction on this head, i can refer to the pacific banking company of san francisco, where, three years ago, i deposited my three year's gatherings--in all, i believe, about fifty thousand dollars." "fifty thousand dollars! d'ye mean that, pierre robideau?" "i mean it. if i had a light here, i could show you the proof of the deposit." "come into the house, pierre. i don't mean for a light. ye'll stay all night? thar's a spare bed; and lena'll see to your heving some supper. come along in." the lucky gold-seeker made no opposition to the proffered hospitality; and in five minutes after he was seated by the fireside of the man who, but five minutes before, had been chafing at having lost the opportunity of spilling his blood! story one, chapter twenty four. another eavesdropper. jerry rook and his guest had scarce closed the door behind them, when a man, who had been skulking behind the cottonwood, came out into the front, and paused upon the spot they had abandoned. he had been on the other side of the tree, from the time they had commenced their conversation, and heard it all. the man was alfred brandon! what had brought alfred brandon back to the cottonwood? the explanation is easy enough. the six resurrectionists did not go to helena, as jerry rook had hinted they might do. on getting out of jerry's clearing, only five of them turned towards the town, brandon going off towards his own home, which was not far off, in the opposite direction. the planter, on parting with the others, instead of continuing homewards, sat down upon a stump by the side of the path, and taking out a cigar, commenced smoking it. he had no particular reason for thus stopping on his way, only that after such a disappointment he knew he could not sleep, and the cigar might do something to compose his exasperated spirit. the night was a lovely one, and he could pass a half-hour upon the stump with reflections not more wretched than those that awaited him in his sleeping-chamber. he was still within earshot of jerry rook's house, and he had scarce ignited his cigar, when a sound reached his ear from that direction. it was the yelp of a hound, close followed by the animal's howling. soon after was heard the voice of a man speaking in harsh accents, and soon after this another voice--a woman's. on the still silent night they were borne to brandon's ears with sufficient distinctness for him to recognise them as the voices of jerry rook and his daughter. it did not need either the angry accent of the one, nor the affecting tone of the other, to draw alf brandon to the spot. starting up from the stump, and flinging himself over the fence, he proceeded towards the place where the voices were still heard in excited and earnest conversation. had brandon not feared discovering himself to the speakers, he might have been up in time to see pierre robideau step forth from the cavity of the tree, and lena rook protecting him from the wrath of her father. but the necessity of approaching unobserved, by skulking along the creek and keeping under cover of the canes, delayed him, and he only arrived behind the cottonwood as the young lady was being ordered into the house. for alfred brandon, there was surprise enough without that. the presence of pierre robideau, whose name he had heard distinctly pronounced, with the sight of a tall form, dimly shaded under the tree, which he knew must be that of the _murdered_ man, was sufficient to astonish him to his heart's content. it had this effect; and he stood behind the cottonwood, whose shelter he had reached, in speechless wonder, trembling from the crown to the toes. though his fear soon forsook him, his wonder was scarce diminished, when the dialogue between jerry rook and pierre robideau furnished him with a key to the mysterious re-appearance of the latter upon the banks of caney creek. "god a mercy!" gasped he, stepping from behind the huge tree trunk, and looking after them as they were entering the house. "here's news for messrs. buck, slaughter, grubbs, spence, and randall! glad they'll be to hear it, and at last get relief from their debts. this i reckon'll cancel it. "ah!" he exclaimed, adding a fearful oath; "it's all very well for them, but what matters the money to me? i'd pay it ten times over and all my life to have that girl; and hang me if i don't have her yet for a wife or for worse. choc still alive and kicking! cut down then before he got choked outright! darned if i didn't more than half suspect it from the way old rook talked about the burying of the body. the precious old pirate; hasn't he bilked us nicely? "mr pierre robideau! yes that was the name, and this is the very fellow. i remember his voice, as if it were but yesterday. missing for six years! been to california! and picked up fifty thousand worth of yellow gravel! lodged it in a bank, too, at san francisco. no doubt going there again, and will be wanting to take lena rook along with him." at this thought another fierce oath leaped from his lips, and the light of the fire-flies as they flitted past his face showed an expression upon it that might have done credit to the stage of a suburban theatre. "never!" he ejaculated. "never shall _she_ go, if i can find means to prevent it." he stood for a time reflecting. "there's a way," he again broke forth, "a sure way. buck would be the man to lend a hand in it. he's crazed about the girl himself, and when he knows there's no chance for him, and thinks it's this fellow stands in the way; besides, he wants money, and wouldn't mind risking something to get it. buck's the man!" "if he don't i'll do it myself. i will, by the etarnal! i'd rather die upon the scaffold than this indian should have her--he or any one else. i've been wild about her for six years. her refusing has only made me worse. "there can't be much danger if one only gets the chance. he's been away once, and nobody missed him. he can go gold gathering again--this time never to return. he shall do it." an oath again clinched the ambiguous threat. apparently relieved by having expressed his dark determination, he proceeded in a calmer strain. "won't they be glad to hear of this resurrection! i wonder if they're still at slaughter's. they went there--sure to be there yet. i'll go. it'll make their hearts happier than all the liquor in the tavern. good night, jerry rook! take care of your guest. next time he goes off it won't be by your sending of him." after this sham apostrophe he struck off across the field, and, once more clambering over the fence, he took the road leading to helena. story one, chapter twenty five. the stranger guest. the fifth instalment of "hush-money," that had been paid to jerry rook, proved to be the last. on meeting the contracting parties, and applying for the sixth, he found to his great surprise, as well as chagrin, that the grand secret was gone out of his keeping, and his power over them at an end! they were not only prepared to repudiate, but talked of his refunding, and even threatened to lynch him upon the spot. so far from making his claim, he was but too glad to get out of their company. it is probable they would have insisted upon the repayment, or put lynching in practice, but for fear of the scandal that either must necessarily create in the community. to this was jerry indebted for his escape from their vengeful indignation. "who could have told them that pierre robideau still lived?" this was the question put by jerry rook to himself, as he rode back to his house, filled with mortification. he asked it a score of times, amid oaths and angry ejaculations. it could not have been pierre himself, who was now his welcome guest, and had been so ever since the night of that strange rencontre under the cottonwood? though the returned gold-seeker had strolled about the clearing, with lena for a companion, he had never once gone beyond its boundaries, and could scarce have been seen by any outsider. no one-- neighbour or stranger--had been near the house. the half-dozen negroes who belonged to jerry rook, had no previous acquaintance with pierre robideau's person; and, even had it been otherwise, they would scarce have recognised him now. it was not through them the information had reached alfred brandon and his associates. who, then, could have been the informer? for the life of him jerry rook could not guess; and pierre himself, when told of it, was equally puzzled upon the point. the only conjecture at all probable, was, that some one had seen and identified him--one of the gang themselves; or it might have been some individual totally uninterested, who, by chance, had seen and recognised him, soon after his arrival at the stand. now that his being alive was known to them, there was no longer any object in his keeping concealed; and he went about the settlements as of yore, at times visiting the town of helena, for the purchase of such commodities as he required. he had taken up his stay at the house of his former host, and was so often seen in the company of his host's daughter, that it soon became talked of in the neighbourhood. those who took any interest in the affairs of jerry rook's family were satisfied that his daughter, so long resisting, had at length yielded her heart to the dark-skinned, but handsome stranger, who was staying at her father's house. there were few accustomed to have communication with either the quondam squatter or his people. it was a time when there were many new comers among the surrounding settlements, and a stranger, of whatever kind, attracted but slight attention. under these circumstances pierre robideau escaped much notice, and many remarks that might otherwise have been made about him. there were more than one, however, keenly sensible of his existence--his success with lena rook--who saw with black bitterness that the smiles of that young lady were being bestowed upon him. bill buck was among the number of these disappointed aspirants; but the chief sufferer was alfred brandon. with heart on fire, and bosom brimful of jealous rage, he heard all the talk about jerry rook's daughter and her stranger sweetheart. it in no way tranquilised his spirits when jerry rook returned him his loan of stores and dollars, and promptly on the first demand. it but farther embittered it; for he could not help knowing whence the money had come. he saw that his wealth would no longer avail him. there would be no chance now of reducing the parent to that penury that would give him power over the child. his scheme had fallen through? and he set himself to the concoction of some new plan that would help him either to lena rook or revenge. he spent nearly the whole of his time in reflecting upon his atrocious purpose--brooding over it until he had come to the determination of committing murder! several times he had thought of this, but on each occasion had recoiled at the thought, less from horror of the crime itself, than through fear of the consequences. he had half resolved to make common cause with bill buck, and induce him to become a confederate in the foul deed. but the doubtful character of the horse-dealer's son, each day getting darker, had scared him from entering into such a perilous partnership; and he still kept his designs locked up within his own troubled bosom. strange enough, buck was at the same time entertaining in his own mind a scheme of assassination, and with the same victim in view. without suspecting it, pierre robideau was in double danger. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ it was about ten days after the returned gold-seeker had taken up his residence at the house of jerry rook, when an errand called him to the town of helena. it was the mending of his bridle-bit, which had been broken by accident, and required to be half an hour in the hands of a blacksmith. it was the bridle he had brought with him from the choctaw country--an indian article with reins of plaited horsehair--and as he had no other, it necessitated his going afoot. in this way he started from jerry rook's house, leaving jerry rook's daughter at the door, looking lovingly after and calling him to come soon back. the distance was not great; and in less than an hour after he was standing in the blacksmith's shop, a tranquil spectator to the welding of his broken bit. there was one who saw him there, whose spirit was less composed--one who had seen him entering the town, and had sauntered after at a distance, careless like, but closely watching him. this was not a citizen of the place; but a man in planter costume, who, by the spurs on his heels, had evidently ridden in from the country. in his hand he carried a rifle, as was common at the time to all going abroad, no matter to what distance, on horseback. the man thus armed and accoutred was alfred brandon. there were plenty of other people in the streets, and but few took note of him as he walked carelessly along. no one noticed the lurid light in his eye, nor the tight contraction of his lips that spoke of some dangerous design. much less were these indications observed by the man who was calling them forth. standing beside the blacksmith's forge, quietly watching the work, pierre robideau had no thought of the eyes that were upon him, nor did he even know that brandon was in the town. little dreamt he at that moment how near was a treacherous enemy thirsting for his blood. brandon's design was to pick a quarrel with the stranger, and before the latter could draw in his defence, shoot him down in his track. in this there would be nothing strange for the streets of helena, nor anything very reprehensible. pierre was armed with knife and pistol, but both were carried unseen. all at once the planter appeared to recoil from his purpose, and looking askant, he spent some time in surveying his intended victim, and as if calculating the chances of a rencontre. perhaps the stalwart frame and strong vigorous arms of the _ci-devant_ gold-seeker rendered him apprehensive about the issue, and caused him to change his resolution. the protruding breast of pierre robideau's coat told of pistol or other weapon, and should the first fire fail, his own life, and not that of his unsuspecting adversary, might be the forfeit in the affray. while thus communing with his own mind, a still fouler thought came into it, kindling in his eye with more sinister lights. suddenly turning away, as if from some change of design, he patrolled back along the street, entered the stable where he had left his horse, and, mounting inside the stable-yard, rode hastily out of the town. story one, chapter twenty six. a revanche. about half an hour after the planter had taken his departure from the house, pierre robideau paid for the mending of his bridle; and having no other errand to detain him in the town, started homewards afoot as he had come. the road to jerry rook's house still corresponded with that leading to little rock, only that the latter, now much travelled, no longer passed through the well-known glade--a better crossing of caney creek having caused it to diverge before it entered the natural clearing. the old trace, however, was that taken by any one going to rook's house, and to it pierre robideau was making his return from the town. with the bridle lashed belt-like across his shoulders, he was walking unsuspectingly along, thinking how pleased lena rook would be at seeing him so soon back. on entering the glade a change came over his spirit, indicated by a dark cloud suddenly overspreading his face. it was natural enough at sight of that too well-remembered tree, recalling not only his own agonies, but the foul murder there committed, for he knew that upon that same tree his unfortunate father, whom he could not think otherwise than innocent, had been sacrificed to the madness of a frantic mob. there still was the branch extended towards him, as if mockingly to remind him of a vengeance still unsatisfied! an impulse came over him he was unable to resist; and yielding to it, he stopped in his track, and stood gazing upon the tree--a strange lurid light shining in his eyes. all at once he felt a shock in the left arm, accompanied by a stinging sensation, as if from the bite of an insect; but it was not this, for, almost at the same instant, he heard the "spang" of a rifle, and saw a puff of smoke flirting up over some bushes directly before him. it was a shot that had been fired; and the blood spirting from his torn coat-sleeve left no doubt of it having been fired at himself. nor could there be as to the deadly intention, though the damage done was only a slight abrasion of the arm, scarce deeper than the thickness of the skin. pierre robideau did not stay to reflect on this. the moment he saw the smoke he sprang forward, and ran on until he had reached the spot where the bushes were still enveloped in the low, scattering, sulphurous vapour. he could see no one there; but this did not surprise him. it was not likely that such an assassin would stay to be discovered; but he must still be near, stealing off among the trees. suspending his breath pierre stood to listen. for a time he could hear nothing, not even the rustling of a leaf, and he was beginning to fear that he might again be made the mark of an unseen murderer's bullet, when the screech of a jay came sharply through the trees. it gave him instant relief, for he knew by the compressed scolding of the bird that some one was intruding upon its haunts. it must be the retreating assassin! guided by the chattering of the jay, he recommenced the pursuit. he had not gone twenty yards farther when he heard footsteps, and the "swish" of leaves, as if some one was making way through the underwood. directed by these sounds he rushed rapidly after. ten seconds more and he was in sight of a saddled horse, standing tied to a tree, and a man in the act of untying him. the man was making all haste, hindered by a heavy rifle carried in his hand. it was the gun that had just been discharged, and pierre robideau had recognised the man who had made the attempt to murder him. alfred brandon! with a shout, such as only one indian-born could give, he bounded forward, and, before the retreating assassin could climb into his saddle, he seized him by the throat and dashed him against the trunk of a tree. the horse, frightened by the fierce onslaught, gave a loud neigh, and galloped off. "i thank you," cried robideau, "and you alone, mr alf brandon, for giving me this chance! i've got you exactly where i wanted you! for six years i've been longing for this hour, and now it has come as if i'd planned it myself." brandon, by this time recovered from the shock, threw down his gun, drew pistol, and was about to fire; but, before he could get his finger on the trigger, his antagonist seized him by the wrist, and, wrenching the weapon from his hand, dashed him a second time against the tree trunk. reeling and giddy, he saw the muzzle of his own pistol pointed at his head, and expected nothing else than the bullet through his brains. the cry of the coward came from his lips as he writhed under the terrible anticipation. to his astonishment the shot was not fired! pierre robideau, flinging the pistol away, stood before him apparently unarmed! "no, mr alf brandon!" said he, "shooting is too good for such a dog as you; and a dog's death you shall have. come away from here! come on! i want to see which of us can _hang longest by the hand_. we tried it six years ago, but the trial wasn't a fair one. 'tis your turn now. come on!" more than ever astonished, brandon hesitated to comply. the calm yet determined air of his antagonist told him it was no jest, but that something terrible was intended. he glanced stealthily to the right and left, and seemed to calculate the chances of escape. robideau read his thoughts. "don't attempt it," said he, throwing back the lapel of his coat, and showing the butt of a pistol. "i have this, and will use it if you make any effort to get off. come!" saying this, he seized the cowering ruffian by the wrist, and, half leading, half dragging, hurried him away from the spot. in five minutes after they stood under a tree--the same upon which pierre robideau had endured all the horrors of hanging. "what do you mean to do?" asked brandon, in a faltering voice. "i've told you. i am curious to see how long _you_ can stand it." as he said this, he unloosed the bridle-reins from his body, and, taking out his knife, commenced cutting them free from the bit. it was a double rein, composed of two long pieces of closely-plaited hair taken from the tail of a horse. brandon stood pale and trembling. he could not fail to interpret the preparations that were being made. once more he thought of flight, and once more pierre robideau read his thoughts. "it is no use," he said sternly; "you are in my power. attempt to get out of it, or resist, and i dash your brains out against that tree. now, your wrist in this rope." feeble with fear, brandon allowed his left hand to be seized, and his wrist drawn into a noose made of one of the bridle-reins. the other end of the cord was passed around his thigh, and then brought back and secured by a firm knot, so as to hold the arm helpless by his side. this done, the other rein, with a running loop, was adjusted round his neck, its loose end thrown over one of the large branches. "now," cried robideau, "mount upon this log, and take hold, as you made me do. quick, or i jerk you up by the neck!" bewildered, brandon knew not what to do. was his enemy in earnest, or was it only a grim jest? he would fain have believed it this; but the fierce, determined look of robideau forbade him to hope for mercy. he remembered at this moment how little he was deserving of it. he was left no time to reflect. he felt the noose tightening around his neck, and the cord stretching taut above him. in another instant he was drawn from the ground and, mechanically throwing up his right arm, he caught hold of the branch. it was the only chance to save him from almost instant strangulation! "now," cried robideau, who had sprung upon the log and made the rope fast to the upper limb, "now, mr alf brandon, you're just as you left me six years ago. i hope you'll enjoy the situation. good day to you!" and, with a scornful laugh, pierre robideau strode away from the spot. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ all the agony that can be endured by a man who sees death before him, and sees no chance to escape it, was at that hour endured by alfred brandon. in vain he shouted till he was hoarse, till his cries could have been no longer heard a hundred yards from the tree, soon to become his gallows. there was no response, save the echo of his own voice. no one to hear or to heed it! he had no expectation of being saved by the man who had just left him. that scornful laugh at parting precluded all hope: though in his agonised struggle he begged aloud for mercy, calling upon pierre robideau by name. pierre robideau came not to his assistance; and, after a long struggle-- protracted to the utmost point of endurance--till the arm, half disjointed, could no longer sustain his body, he let go his hold, and dropped _to the ground_. the peals of derisive laughter that rang in his ears as he lay exhausted upon the earth, were not pleasant--the less so that a female voice was heard taking part in it. but even this was endurable after the dread agony through which he had passed; and hurriedly springing to his feet, and releasing his neck from the rope, he sneaked off among the trees, without staying to cast a look at pierre robideau or lena rook, who, standing by the edge of the glade, had been witness to his unnecessary contortions. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ our tale is told, so far as it might interest the reader. what afterwards happened to the different character who have figured in it, were but events such as may occur in every-day life. there was nothing strange in a young man, with a taint of indian blood in him, marrying the daughter of a backwoods-settler, and carrying her off to california; nothing strange, either, that the father of the girl should sell off his "improvement," and make the far-western migration along with them. and this was the history of jerry rook, his daughter, and his daughter's husband; all three of whom, in less than twelve months after, might have been seen settled in their new home, on the far shore of the pacific, and surrounded with every comfort required upon earth. there pierre robideau had nothing further to fear from the hostility of early enemies, or the vengeance of jealous rivals; there lena rook, no longer exposed to social humiliation, had the opportunity of becoming that for which nature had intended her--an ornament of society; and there, too, her father found time to repent of the past, and prepare himself for that future which awaits alike the weary and the wicked. of his crimes, both committed and conceived, jerry rook died repentant. the fate of alfred brandon was somewhat similar to that of his father. drink brought him to a premature grave; though, unlike his father, he died without heir and almost without heritage, having spent the whole of his property in the low dissipation of the tavern and the gaming-table. his executors found scarce sufficient to pay for the hearse that carried him to the grave. with bill buck it was different. his funeral, which occurred shortly after, was at the public expense--his grave being dug near the foot of the gallows on which he had perished for many crimes committed against society, the last and greatest being a cold-blooded murder, with robbery for its motive. spencer, slaughter, randall, and grubbs, lived to take part in the late fratricidal war--all four, as might be expected, embracing the cause of secession, and all, it is believed, having perished in the strife, after the perpetration of many of those cruel atrocities in which the state of arkansas was most conspicuously infamous. helena still stands on the banks of the mighty river, and there are many there who remember the tragedy of dick tarleton's death; but few, if any, who have ever heard the tale of "the helpless hand." story two, chapter one. the falcon rover. the discovery. a mystery! by heaven, i'll find it out. if a man may!--_the maiden_. speed, malise, speed!--_lady of the lake_. one of the most lovely pictures in lowland scenery which i have ever looked upon is that around the mouth of a river which i have called the clearwater (the english translation of its indian name), and which flows between two of the southern counties of the western shore of maryland. from the northern shore of that stream, in this place wide and beautiful, stretches out a long, flat strip of white sand, which is covered here and there with patches of crab-grass, and of that kind of cactus commonly called the prickly pear. on the western side of this strip of sand is a deep and capacious harbour, much resorted to by bay-craft and sea-going vessels, while waiting for a fair wind up or down the bay. on its eastern side extends a gulf, or indentation of the coast, called by sailors, if i remember rightly, patuxent roads, and which expands towards, and mingles with, the broad and beautiful chesapeake. along the shores of this gulf are shoals, famous in the country round as resorts of the fish called drums, which circumstance has given the name of drum point to the beach extending, as described, between the clearwater and maryland's noble bay. on the northern side of drum point harbour, and near to where the point begins to curve away from the mainland, stood, during the second decade of this century (and, indeed, for many years afterwards), a long, single-storey frame building. this building, though placed upon the sands, was still many yards away from the highest line reached by the water at high tide. directly behind it the land rose with a rapid swell to a plateau, some thirty or forty feet above the shore of the harbour. this frame structure was what is called in the united states a store, and contained for sale such articles as are most in demand among seamen. it belonged to an individual whom, for many reasons, i will call by a fictitious name, ashleigh, and who owned an estate of several hundred acres, embracing all the eastern line of the harbour shore, and extending some distance into the country behind it. at the time of which i write, mysterious and very injurious stories, about the owner of this store, circulated in the neighbouring country on both sides of the clearwater. it was said that he concealed smuggled goods, and even goods captured by pirates on the high seas, until an opportunity should occur for secretly conveying them to baltimore for sale; and that he was implicated in some way in the trials for piracy held before one of the united states courts in baltimore, in the early part of the present century. at about half-past twelve o'clock, on a night towards the end of may, in the year , three human figures stood upon the hill-side, overlooking drum point harbour. the principal form in the group was that of john alvan coe, a handsome young man of twenty-one or twenty-two years of age, tall, and well proportioned. when seen in the day-time, his clear blue eyes, roman nose, and light chestnut hair, indicated a sanguine but gentle character, and one endowed with dauntless courage, controlled by a reflective mind. this young gentleman, the son of a planter in the neighbourhood, once wealthy, but now much reduced in worldly circumstances, was returning from his sport of night-fishing for drums, accompanied by two sturdy negro men, who bore between them, suspended upon a pole, the ends of which rested upon their shoulders, a large basket, heavily laden with the scaly trophies of their recent sport. young coe, while passing on his way to the fishing, about sunset, along the hill-side on which he now stood, had noticed, among the two or three vessels in drum point harbour, a beautiful brig of about a hundred and twenty tons burden. she was remarkable among the other vessels for her graceful figure, and the neat and trim appearance of everything on board of her. on his return from the fishing, after leaving his boat hauled up on the beach of a small cove on the east side of drum point, his path lay across the low and sandy neck of land connecting the point with the mainland, and then in a gradual ascent along the green hill-side overlooking the harbour. while pursuing this path he had halted, with his companions, in a position from which he could view to the best advantage the fair and romantic scene which lay before him. the moon, which was at its full, shed a softly brilliant silvery light over land and water. away towards the west spread the beautiful lake-like expanse of the river--above five miles in length by two miles in width--which is bounded northward and southward respectively by the counties before referred to, eastward by drum point, and westward by the long, slender and curving, and still more lovely point patience. the waters of this fair expanse, softly stirred by a light breeze, gleamed with myriads of lights and shadows under the moonlight spell. the front of the low bluffs on the saint mary's side of the river, and the broad beach of sand beneath them, glowed softly white in the beautiful light. it was impossible that one endowed with the temperament of john alvan coe could avoid, although constantly accustomed to scenes of natural beauty, allowing his gaze to rest for a moment upon the charming view before him. his attention was soon arrested, however, by something which was occurring in the harbour under the hill on which he stood. the only vessel remaining there was the beautiful brig which he had noticed at sunset. three boats, apparently heavily laden, had left the brig and were coming towards the shore. soon afterwards the young man saw a light shining out from one of the back windows of the storehouse on the beach. there were some peculiarities in the character, or rather mental constitution, of young coe, with which it is necessary that i should acquaint the reader, before we proceed farther in the narrative, of the remarkable series of occurrences which arose to him out of the incidents of this night. he not only loved danger for its own sake, but was endowed with great fondness for romantic and stirring adventures. he had a great and at times irresistible curiosity to investigate whatever presented the appearance of darkness and mystery. in childhood this peculiarity had mainly exhibited itself in a fondness for unravelling riddles and conundrums; in more advanced youth, by solving, with great patience and industry, the most difficult problems in mathematics. the penetration of the meaning of the movement of the boats from the brig at such an hour irresistibly called to mind, as it did, the mysterious reports of smugglers and pirates in connection with this place, presented an especial fascination to a mind constituted as was his. his resolution was immediately formed to discover, at all hazards, the meaning of what was taking place beneath him. it should have been mentioned before, perhaps, that the hill-side above the harbour was covered, to a great extent, with a growth of bushes, with a tree here and there. it was under one of the latter, whose dense shadow hid them from the view of those in the boats, that the fishing-party stood, while young coe was making the observations recorded above. as soon as he formed the resolution already mentioned, the young man addressed the two negro men-- "boys," he said, "take up the basket"--they had put it down to rest themselves--"and go on. i shall follow you very soon. but do not wait for me, even though i should not overtake you before you get home." the two negroes resumed their load and again started on their path. the young man waited until they had passed out of sight over the hill, and until the boats had landed and the men belonging to them had, after a number of trips between the boats and the storehouse, transferred all the lading to the latter, and themselves remained under its roof. he then cautiously descended the hill, concealing himself as much as possible by interposing, whenever he could do so, the bushes between himself and the shore. in a few minutes he arrived beneath the window of the store-room from which the light that he had before observed was still shining. guardedly he looked in. the counter had been entirely removed from its place, revealing a long and narrow opening in the floor, and steps leading downwards. silks and other costly dry goods, and a number of boxes and other closed packages, were piled on the counter and floor. a lamp, casting a bright light, stood upon the counter, and another light shone from an opening in the floor; and men were seen carrying the merchandise into the cellar to which the steps below the floor led, and returning at short intervals for more. two or three other men were standing on the floor of the store-room; one or the other of whom seemed, from time to time, to be giving directions to those who were removing the piles of goods to the apartment below. there was a tall and handsome man on the side of the room opposite to the window at which young coe was standing, who leaned against the closed door which looked, when opened, upon the river. this man wore a dark dress, and a black hat with a broad slouched brim, which threw a dense shadow over the upper part of his countenance. the long black beard from his unshaven face reached half way from his chin to his waist. this man did not speak, except to make a remark now and then to the two or three men who were not engaged in removing the goods. among all the men whom young coe saw, there was not one whom he recognised as having been seen by him before. if mr ashleigh himself was engaged in what was taking place, he must have been in the cellar. john alvan coe had barely time to make the observations recorded above, when the tall and quiet individual, who was leaning against the closed door, beckoned to a man near him, to whom he made some remarks in a low tone. this man immediately spoke to the others who were standing about on the floor of the store room. instantly all in the room who were not engaged in removing the goods--except the long-bearded man who wore the slouched hat, and who, with a motion not at all hurried, opened for them the door against which he had been leaning--sallied forth upon the sands. the young man waited for no further development. supposing very naturally, what was the case, that he had been discovered, and that this party were sent in pursuit of him, he immediately turned away from the window and plunged into the pathway leading up the hill towards mr ashleigh's residence. no action, under the circumstances, could have shown the quick perception and ready decision of his mind to more advantage than his at once taking to this pathway; for, after he was once seen by his pursuers, his concealing himself amongst the few trees and scattered clumps of bushes along the hill-side would have been no safeguard under the almost daylight brightness of the clear moonlight. such a course would have given to his pursuers only a limited space of ground to search over at their leisure, with the absolute certainty of discovering his place of concealment and making him prisoner. his taking the plain pathway to the hill-top made his escape depend upon his fleetness of foot, but only for a short distance; the hill once surmounted, a dense forest spread for miles along the route which he had to pursue. he had no uneasiness or doubt in trusting to his speed; for, inured by daily exercise, he had long been considered the boldest leaper and fleetest runner in all the country side. story two, chapter two. the pursuit. *hahn*. my lord, he has escaped. *otto*. have thou no fear; he shall be prisoner. i know the bird, his ways, where he frequents; and i shall lime a twig, upon the which i'll easily entice him to alight.--_oldenheim_. the noise of the footsteps passing out of the door brought from the cellar a tall and slender elderly man, with black eyes, and dark hair thickly interspersed with grey. this individual seemed to be in a state of much excitement. "what is the matter, captain vance?" he asked. "what has happened?" "nothing of much importance," answered the dark man with the black slouched hat, who was again leaning, as when first seen by john alvan coe, against the door, which opened upon the sands. "i caught sight of a man looking in upon us just now through the back window." "do you consider that fact as of not much importance?" said the elderly man from the cellar. "if you were in my position, i think that you would entertain a different opinion." "oh!" exclaimed the captain in a careless manner, "he was only `a chiel amang us takin' notes.' i am very sure that he will never `prent 'em.' i shall take especial pains that he shall never have a chance of doing so." "the men who went out just now then," remarked the elderly man, in an interrogative manner, "were sent to catch him?" "yes," was the laconic reply. "god grant that they may catch him!" exclaimed the grey-headed man, in an earnest tone. "if i were you, i would not call upon god in such a case," said captain vance, whose coolness and self-possession afforded a complete contrast to the excitement and alarm conspicuous in the bearing of his elder companion. "you had better turn your face downward than upward when you call for help; for you are more likely to have sympathy, in the present business, from the powers below than from the powers above. if prayer is the longing of the heart rather than the speech of the lips--as i heard the man who was looking in at the window say a year or so ago--you would have more chance for help by praying to the devil, mr ashleigh; that is, if his infernal majesty should think that any more assistance to you is needed to buy you." "it is evident, captain," retorted mr ashleigh, "that you are now in one of your philosophical moods, as billy bowsprit calls them. i cannot see, however, that, even in the view of our relative positions which you are now taking, you have any advantage of me. i have long been familiar with the saying that `the receiver is as bad as the thief;' but i have never heard, if my memory serves me rightly, that the receiver is worse than the thief." "nevertheless, i have the advantage of you," quietly answered captain vance. "i do not pretend to be any better than i am; i do not `wear the livery of heaven to serve the devil in.'" "not in `your vocation, hal,'" said mr ashleigh; "that is, not here, on shipboard; but at home you are, i am sure, just as much a hypocrite as i am." "there is some pith in that retort," replied captain vance, in a somewhat yielding tone. "ah! we are all more or less hypocrites, mr ashleigh; as the poet says, `we are all shadows to each other.'" "besides," continued mr ashleigh, "nobody in this neighbourhood would recognise you in that disguise and by this light; whereas, this building is known to belong to me, and the discovery of the business which is carried on here would, therefore, ruin me." "pardon the lightness of my manner of speaking," said the young man, in an earnest tone of voice. "my real reason for speaking so was not on account of want of concern in your interests, but because there is, in fact, no danger to you, or to any one of us, in any discovery made by the individual who just now peeped in upon us." "i think that you intimated, a few moments ago," remarked ashleigh, "that you know the person who was reconnoitring us. who is he?" "john alvan coe," was the answer; "son of old mr coe, who owns a plantation at the head of saint john's creek, a few miles from this place." "then i am lost," exclaimed ashleigh, in increased alarm. "no man in this county--i may say in this state--can surpass him in ferreting out a secret, when once he has obtained a hint of it." "i am as familiar with that peculiarity in his character as you are," remarked captain vance. "but i have a plan partly formed in my head, which, i am almost sure, will not only render him harmless, but will also add a very brave and intelligent member to my ship's company. i have but little hope that those who have gone in pursuit of him will overtake him. he is the fleetest runner that i ever knew; and sailors make but poor comparative headway on land." "what is your plan?" asked ashleigh. "it is not yet perfectly formed," answered vance. "it is still in the crucible of the brain; and i cannot tell what shape it will take until it has come out complete." "you had better be in a hurry then," said the elder speaker. "there is but little time to act; when he has once told what he has witnessed here to another, the information will spread and spread, and there will be no stopping it. and then the consequences--ah! `that way madness lies.'" "feel no uneasiness," said captain vance, in a tone of perfect confidence. "he shall take his breakfast on board of the _falcon_ to-morrow morning." "it is some relief to me to hear you speak so confidently," remarked ashleigh. "still i cannot help fearing that trouble will grow out of this thing. i wish that my advice in one respect had been followed, and that we had waited for a few days, until the moon will set before daylight, so that we might have had an hour or two of absolute darkness for our work." "i have before represented to you," replied captain vance, "that we should have run still greater risk by such a course, perhaps have had the revenue officer down upon me, while i had all these men on board, and such a quantity of goods for which i have no bill of lading. what suspicions would have been aroused by my lingering round here for a week at least, with no excuse on account of stress of weather for the delay!" "well," observed ashleigh, with an uneasy sigh, "there is some force in what you say; and it is too late now to discuss the matter." "oh!" said vance, in a light and cheerful manner, "there is no need of sighing, i assure you. this affair of young coe does not disturb me at all. it only determines me to do at once what i have often thought of undertaking. i have no doubt, as i said before, that it will only result in adding a new and unusually valuable member to our force. he is remarkably intelligent, and as brave as a lion." "i hope that your impressions may prove correct," remarked ashleigh, in a manner that still expressed uneasiness. at this moment the door was opened from the outside, giving entrance to a male individual of a somewhat comical appearance. he was rather under five feet in height, and was what is called "square built," that is, his form and limbs were very stout, or rather, perhaps, thick; and his waist was nearly as wide as his shoulders or his hips. his hair was of a reddish-brown or tawny colour, of exuberant growth, and worn in long, clustering curls which swept his shoulders. his face was deeply tanned by sun and weather; and the scar of a sabre-cut above his left eye caused the eyebrow on that side to be below the line of its fellow. the eyes were of a reddish hazel colour, and their expression showed that their possessor had an appreciation of the humorous, but that there was also "a lurking devil" in his composition. he was dressed in the ordinary sailor costume of that as well as of the present period, of blue cloth roundabout, with many small brass buttons, coarse osnaburg trowsers, considerably soiled, light pumps, and a tarpaulin hat. "well, billy," said the captain, "what luck?" "no luck at all, as far as i am concerned," was the answer. "a short, broad-beamed lugger like me has no more chance of overhauling a trim, well-rigged craft like that long-legged fellow, who has been taking liberties with our harmless secrets, than a dutch drogger has to beat upon a wind a baltimore clipper." baltimore was even then, the reader will recollect, famed for the fleetness of her vessels. "where are the other two?" asked captain vance. "i don't know, indeed, captain," replied billy. "when i got to the top of the hill they were all hull down; and i thought that i had better steer for port before i had lost all my bearings. so here i am. i think, by-the-bye, that that long-legged fellow will get the weather-guage of all of them. do you know his name, captain?" billy was a privileged character with his captain, who, in fact, was generally more familiar with his men than is usual with officers in chief command. "yes," answered captain vance; "his name is coe." "that's just the very name for him," said the sailor. "i have often heard that, in the merchant-houses, `co.' sometimes stands for more than one man; and i know that this fellow is fully equal to two. indeed, i think that he'll prove himself too much for all of us to-night. he runs like a clipper before the wind." the door again opened, and two seamen entered, both dressed in costumes similar to that of the last-comer before them. one was evidently a common sailor; the other was a stout, compactly-built man, about five feet six or seven inches in height, of a swarthy complexion, with dark and lowering eyes, and a generally stern and forbidding expression of countenance. his dark hair, somewhat mingled with grey, was, contrary to the usual sailor fashion, cut closely to his head; but he wore all of his grizzled, straight, and uncurling beard long. he seemed to be about forty years of age. this man interlarded his talk with many oaths of the rudest character. i prefer to omit them in reporting his conversation. "well, mr afton," said captain vance, in a pleasant tone, addressing this individual, "where is your prisoner?" "prisoner?" was the rough answer, "i once was told of a man who was such a fool as to undertake to run a race with the moon; but he had a sight more chance of winning his race than we had of winning ours. we overtook, in the pursuit, two stupid negroes carrying a load of fish. i thought that they had probably seen him, and could, therefore, give us some information with regard to our chase; but though i cut some tough hickory rods, and they were both well thrashed, we could get nothing out of them." "that was useless, to say the least of it," said the captain, with some sternness. "of course, if they had seen him, they would have told you without having been cruelly beaten." mr afton indulged himself in a few more oaths, and a heavy frown came upon his face. the captain seemed to take but little notice, however; and there was silence for a few moments. this silence was broken by mr afton. "if i knew who that spying fellow is, and where he lives, captain," he said, with more respect in his tones and manner, "i would, with your consent, take a few of the men, storm the house, capture him, and bring him aboard." "i know the man," replied captain vance, "and also where he is to be found. but there is no need of resorting to the violent means which you recommend--which, by-the-bye, would destroy our trade here, by making it unsafe for us to visit this harbour or its neighbourhood any more. i think that i have a better plan. i know well the character of the man who was watching us, and since you started in pursuit of him, have thought of a plan by which i shall have him peaceably on board of the brig early to-morrow morning, before he shall have an opportunity of communicating with any one. trust the matter to me; i feel not the least doubt of my success. i will speak to you further on the subject presently." from the time that afton, billy, and the other sailor had gone in pursuit of young coe, the process of removing the bales and boxes of goods to the cellar had been unremittingly continued. soon after billy bowsprit's return, mr ashleigh had gone down into the cellar again, to resume the superintendence of the storage of the merchandise. shortly after the close of the conversation recorded above, between the captain and the first-mate, the merchant reascended to the store-room, and announced that the goods were all safely put away. he was followed by the sailors who had been engaged in carrying down the packages. "come, boys," said the store-keeper, addressing those who had come with him out of the cellar; "let us put the slide and the counter back into their places, and put the store-room again in order. our night's work will then be finished. i, for one, shall be glad of it, for i am both tired and sleepy." in a few moments afterwards, and while captain vance was holding a short, whispered conversation with mr afton, his first-mate, the doors and windows of the store-room were made fast. then the merchant took his way up the hill to his house, and the seafaring people, all but one, returned to the brig. story two, chapter three. the early visitor. *teler*. 'tis a brave venture, our good master jansen, and needs a man of pluck to carry it. *jansen*. danger, say you? and mystery to back it! say no more, teler--i'm the man for you.--_old drama_. millmont, the residence of thomas coe, esq, on his plantation of the same name, near the head of saint john's creek, was a large, two-storey frame building, with single-storey wings. each of these wings contained one room, with an attic above, and was connected with the main building by a short and narrow passage or entry. in one of these wings was the chamber of john alvan coe. it was a large room, with windows sheltered by venetian blinds, and opening almost to the floor. a large yard, shaded by several old trees, extended from the front of the house and from the gables of the wings; the garden, in the usual fashion when attached to plantation houses of that time, was on the fourth side, or in the rear of the buildings. john alvan coe not only escaped from his pursuers, but arrived home before the two negro men who had accompanied him. he at once entered his room, and in a few moments--having first loaded his pistols and placed them on a table near the head of his bed, and having seen that the window-shutters were all made fast--sprung into bed, and was soon deep in that sound and refreshing sleep which fatigue always assures to healthy youth. about four o'clock, or at the earliest "peep of day," the young man was aroused from his slumbers by a light, grating noise, made by running a stick or a finger down along the outside of the venetian shutters of one of the windows of his room. he immediately started from his sleep. "who is there?" he exclaimed. "get up, john, and let me in, quickly," said a voice from the outside of the window. "i have something interesting to tell you." "is that you, harry marston?" asked john. "wait a moment till i get on some of my clothes." in a few minutes the early visitor was admitted into the chamber. it was, as john had supposed, henry marston, the son of a wealthy planter in the neighbourhood. being of an adventurous and roving disposition, he had been unwillingly allowed by his parents, some years before, to enter upon a seafaring life. he had risen rapidly in his chosen profession, and was now captain of the _sea-bird_, a merchant vessel in which his father owned an interest, and which was engaged in trading between baltimore and certain ports in the west indies and along the spanish main. young marston was tall and handsome. his hair and the slight moustache which shaded his upper lip were of dark brown hue. his dark, hazel eyes were expressive, at the first glance, of both gentleness and resolution; but a second, and more observant look, discovered something more in them--a something that created uneasiness and a want of trust. every movement of his body seemed instinct with grace. his voice was soft and musical, but it did not at all remind you of the singing of birds or of the tones of other cheerful and innocent creatures. still, there was a peculiar fascination in his speech and manner, which possessed a great influence over certain natures. the young man was on this occasion dressed in a handsome suit of black broadcloth. "how _are_ you, harry?" exclaimed john, as soon as his visitor entered the room. "this is, indeed, a surprise, and a delightful one. when did you get back home?" "last night," was the answer, "or, rather, i should say this morning, since it was fully one o'clock when i got home. everybody was aroused from sleep by my arrival; and the old folks insisted upon dressing and coming down to see me at once. all the little ones, too, came out of their nests to see the long-absent harry. thus, it was nearly three o'clock before i got a chance of retiring to my chamber, by which time the excitement of seeing so many loved ones banished from me all weariness and inclination to sleep. and this brings me to the cause of my so early visit to you." "in the delight of seeing you," said john, "i had forgotten that subject entirely." "when i entered my chamber," continued henry marston, "i found upon the floor, directly in front of the door by which i had come in, this singular and enigmatical card, enclosed in an envelope directed to my address--`captain henry marston, blue oldfields'--the name of my father's place, you know. remembering your fondness for adventure--we are alike in that respect, in truth--i came over here at once, to ask your assistance in developing the mystery. there is no time for delays, you see, as to-day is the twenty-first." the young sailor handed to his friend a card, on which was written, in letters imitating print, these words: _may st, , at : a.m_. at the spout. _the number is_ *eight*. be *prompt*--*be true*. _forget not the pass_. "a f e." "what do you want to do?" asked john, after reading the words on the card. "i can make but little meaning out of this." "why, of course," replied marston, "i want you to go with me to this rendezvous. i am determined to find out the mystery. you see, there will be eight there--seven besides myself; at any rate, that is what i understand the card to mean. if anything be wrong, i can scarcely hope to contend successfully against seven men. at an hour so early, few upon whom i could call for help will be about--probably not one at that lonely place. yet i am determined, at all hazards, to solve the mystery. if you think there is too much risk in the affair, john, i will go by myself." "as to that matter," said john, "you know that i don't care about the risk, as you call it; so that if you are determined to go i will accompany you. but the affair may be only a joke; and i don't wish to do anything that will make me the subject of laughter." "it may be a joke to try my courage," observed marston. "in any view of the case," he continued, after a pause, "i am determined to make the venture." "and i shall accompany you," said john. "the place designated, i suppose, is the spout on saint leonard's creek?" "of course it is," was the answer. "there is no other place in this neighbourhood called the spout." "but my going with you," said john, reflectively, "may be the very cause of danger to you, since i have received no card of invitation. by the way, what is that piece of paper on the floor behind you near the door. bless my life!" he continued, picking up the paper; "it is addressed to me, and contains, word for word, a card like the one addressed to you." "you will go now, i suppose, unhesitatingly," said captain marston. "certainly," was the reply. "but i had better awaken one of the servants, and leave a message for the family." "there is no use in doing that," said henry. "i left no message at home. we shall be back, in all probability, by the time they are up. have you not a pair of pistols? i remember that we each bought, in baltimore, a pair precisely alike, during my last visit home. we should go well armed, and in that condition, i think, as we are both good shots, and not at all nervous, that we shall be very nearly, if not quite, a match for the other six." "my pistols," answered young coe, "are here on the table, and ready for use. i loaded them immediately on my return from a drum-fishing excursion last night, on account of an adventure which befell me on my way home. this card may have something to do with that adventure." "ah! what is that adventure to which you refer!" asked captain marston, with much expression of interest. while young coe was relating to his friend the incidents of the night, he was also engaged in dressing. during the process of dressing, while young coe's eyes were turned for a moment or two away from marston, the latter took up the pistols which had been lying upon the table, and placed them in his pockets, and immediately afterwards put upon the table in their place another pair of pistols which were precisely similar in appearance to the former, and which he had withdrawn from another pair of pockets in his dress. "what befell you last night," remarked the captain, when john had concluded his narrative, "can have nothing to do with the present affair, because they could not have recognised you under the circumstances; and, besides, i should not have received a card as well as you, since i had nothing to do with that adventure." "true," replied john. "yet i may have been recognised; who knows but that one or more persons of this neighbourhood who knows me are engaged in this smuggling business, and were there disguised? moreover, the card sent to you also may be intended to put me off my guard." "if you feel any uneasiness about the matter," said captain marston, "you had better, perhaps, not go. i shall go, however, at all risks." "oh!" exclaimed john, in an easy tone; "my thinking the affair a plot will not prevent me from trying to discover its meaning. if it be a trap to catch me, that trap is well set; for what is more apt to draw one on to adventure than mystery, especially when that mystery is awaited on by apparent peril? i am determined to solve the riddle, let it be attended by what danger it may be." "come, then," said the captain, "are you ready? if so, let us go at once. time is pressing." the two men then left the house, and proceeded to the stable, where john soon saddled two horses for the ride. mounting, they rode slowly, for fear of disturbing the sleep of the household, down a land bordered with old cherry-trees, which led from the dwelling at millmont to the public road at the distance of a few hundred yards; but on gaining this road their horses were urged to a fast gallop. the daylight was now shining broad and bright, although there was nearly half an hour to sunrise. the sky was softly blue, and clear of clouds, save a few light and fleecy ones, which sailed slowly along, seemingly far away in the depths of ether. "a dewy freshness filled the air," which was cool and bracing, and made sweet by the fragrant breath of grasses and leaves, and of the humble wild flowers which grew on either side of the road. the stimulating character of the atmosphere, and the elastic motion of their steeds, stirred the blood of the young men to a more, rapid circulation, and aroused them to a full enjoyment of the adventure in which they were engaged. "what a strange and inexpressible pleasure there is in danger!" said john. "there seems to me to be no enjoyment in life, unless there be obstacles to overcome, and perils to meet." "i agree with you," said captain marston. "but it requires caution as well as courage to win for us in the battle of life. has it occurred to you that we have not the password to admit us to the rendezvous?" "no," replied john. "but what is the use of it? we have received cards of invitation, and we know the place and hour of meeting." "so we do," said marston; "yet a want of knowledge of this password may give us inconvenience as well as trouble." "probably," suggested coe, "the letters `a f e' are the password." "but," objected captain marston, "perhaps they are only the initials of it; and in that case, the question arises, what do they stand for? it is well to be armed against all contingencies." "true," consented john. "but i am sure i have no idea what they can mean. let me think for a minute or two." "don't you remember," asked marston, "the english story, which we read together when we were schoolboys, about a mysterious secret society? can you recollect the initials of their password?" "yes," was the ready reply; "they are `o f a--a f o,' which, being interpreted, mean `one for all, all for one.' let me see! `a f e.' all for each. i wonder if that is not the password in this case?" "very probable," assented marston. "if necessary, let us try it, at all events." this proposition was agreed to. as the distance between millmont and the spout, over a road which traversed, in rapidly succeeding alternations, fields and forests, hills and plains, was fully nine miles, the two young men were obliged to put their horses to a tolerably high speed to reach the place of their destination in time. but little more conversation passed between them, therefore, until they arrived at the head of the ravine, down which their road led to the shore of saint leonard's creek. story two, chapter four. at the spout. *ossario*. stand, ho! who are you? *antonio*. we are true men, sir. *ossario*. true men, give the word--and pass. _old play_. *walter*. only a pleasant jest, i do assure you. _the borry joke_. when the two men descended the ravine leading to the shore, the sun was half an hour above the horizon. before they left the mouth of the ravine, they dismounted, at the suggestion of captain marston, and fastened their horses to the drooping branches of a tree which grew by the side of the road. the animals were, in this situation, out of sight of the place of rendezvous. the companions having thus made their horses secure, advanced to the shore. the novelist, and even the poet, could find no lovelier locality, ready created for the scenes of fancied grief and pleasures, than that contained within lines embracing saint leonard's creek and its immediate adjuncts. not only is the stream itself--especially in the fair expanse near its junction with the river, which is now supposed to lie glowing and dimpling in the morning sunshines with varying lights and shadows, before the reader's mental eyes--remarkably beautiful; but all around it--every bill and dale, every field and grove, every jutting promontory and retiring cove--partakes of the same character of pre-eminent loveliness. on the southern side of the expanse mentioned is a broad beach of white sand. from the side of a cliff which towers above this beach flows a fountain of water, very pure, clear, and cold, and equally abundant at all seasons of the year. this fountain is known throughout a large district of surrounding country as the spout, and is some fifty yards from the spot where the road, leading down the ravine before-mentioned, enters upon the sands. just as captain marston and john coe stepped upon the shore, and were turning to the left hand to seek the fountain, a short and stout man, about forty years of age, with long, curling locks of reddish-brown hair, and a face very darkly tanned by sun and breeze, and, probably, by battle, too--to judge by the marks upon his countenance--presented himself before them. "stand!" exclaimed this individual, planting himself directly in front of the two young men, and presenting a cocked pistol in each hand. "we'll see about that," said john coe, sternly, drawing a pistol also. but captain marston placed a hand upon the arm of the angry young man. "don't be so fast, john," he said. "don't you see the twinkle in the fellow's eyes? i am disposed to believe that this is but a jest after all. what do you want?" he continued, addressing the sailor. "no one can go beyond this spot," answered the stranger, "without giving the password." "a f e?" said captain marston, interrogatively. "there seems to be something in that," remarked the sailor; "but it will not answer." "how will this answer?" asked the captain. "`all for each?'" "all right," was the reply; "pass, gentlemen." as the two young men walked forward, they were followed by the sailor, who still held the two pistols in his hands. on arriving in front of the spout, they found a beautiful row-boat, the bow of which just touched the shore. it was manned by four sturdy seamen, whose hands rested upon their oars, which were ready placed in their rowlocks. a boy, apparently between fifteen and sixteen years of age, in straw hat and light blue trousers and jacket, occupied the stern seat. this last-mentioned person was remarkably handsome; his face was beautifully oval in its shape; its complexion was a pale brunette (if i may use the phrase), there being in it no tinge of red. his form was slender and graceful; his large, soft black eyes had a thoughtful, or rather a dreamy expression, and masses of jet-black curls hung down below his shoulders. "jump aboard, gentlemen," said the sailor in fancy dress; "the time is fully arrived, and we shall be expected as soon as we can make the distance. if we don't go at once, somebody will be disappointed." "a moment, if you please, sir," said john, in a sarcastic tone and manner, and with a darkening expression of face. "may i claim the honour of knowing your name?" "certainly, sir," was the answer, accompanied by a mock-ceremonious bow, which did not tend to cool the rising wrath of young coe. "my name is william brown, better known as billy bowsprit. this latter name may seem, unaccompanied by a proper explanation, to derogate from the dignity of the fair position which i occupy in maritime society, and with which, by-the-bye, i will presently make you acquainted. but it originated in what was, in fact, a compliment to my wit and my other good qualities. a highly intelligent gentleman, of french inclinations--having probably been born of such a disposition, seeing that he was a native of paris--once did me the honour, on account of some slight jocular remark which fell from me in a social hour, of saying that i was a _beau esprit_. the rude, unlettered sailors," he waved a hand towards those in the row-boat, "have, in their ignorance, manufactured out of this compliment the absurd name of bowsprit. i submit to the _soubriquet_, partly because those who use it do not know any better, but mainly because it intimates a just compliment, seeing that, as the bowsprit is in advance of the ship, so do i take the lead of all on shipboard in all affairs where either sagacity or boldness is required." "well, mr brown," began young coe-- "allow me, if you please, sir," said bowsprit, interrupting him, and making at the same time a low and apologetic bow; "i have not yet finished the catalogue of myself, a desire to become acquainted with which was intimated in your polite and very flattering inquiry. permit me to add, to what i have already said, that i fill the honourable post of first-mate on board of as beautiful a little craft as eye was ever blessed with seeing." the reader will, perhaps, be surprised at the great apparent improvement in the language of billy bowsprit since his first introduction in the second chapter. the fact is, that individual had received what is called a good ordinary education, and prided himself upon his ability to talk in either good english, or in what he styled "sailors' lingo." "well, mr brown, better known as billy bowsprit," said john coe, in a tone of voice expressive of both anger and resolution, as soon as the voluble sailor gave him an opportunity of speaking, "i wish you to know that i do not allow myself to be dealt with in this summary manner. i shall return home, and any man who interferes with me will do so at his imminent peril." saying this, he drew both of his pistols, setting the hammers with his thumbs in the act of drawing them from his pockets. billy bowsprit raised the pistol which was in his right hand, and was about to pull the trigger, when at a slight and rapid sign from captain marston, who stood a little in the rear of young coe, he suddenly pointed the muzzles of both pistols towards the ground. at the same moment the captain drew both of his pistols also, and placed himself by the side of john. "come," he said, addressing billy bowsprit in a really stern voice, "if this is a jest--as i think it is--we have had enough of it. tell us what you want, and what the whole of this singular affair means." "why, sir," replied the seaman, in a somewhat crestfallen tone, "no harm has been meant to either of you all the while; and if this young gentleman," looking at john, "hadn't been quite so fiery, everything would have been explained to you some time ago. the fact is, my captain is an old acquaintance of both of you; he hasn't seen either of you for years, and so is very anxious to see you both, if only for a short time. he wants you to come and take breakfast with him this morning. he had business with the schooner up the river here as far as benedict, to land a cargo of goods. he has to get to baltimore as soon as possible, but was determined to see you both first. so he landed me early yesterday morning, on this side of the river, opposite benedict, to carry a message to you. but not knowing the latitude and longitude of that part of the country, i was obliged to take bearings and to make observations so often, that i did not arrive in your neighbourhood till after midnight; and i did not of course like to waken up families who were strangers to me at such a time of night. the notion about the cards was one of my own--a kind of experiment. i know how much curiosity there is in the world; and i felt certain, therefore, of seeing you two gentlemen here this morning." "thank you for the compliment, mr bowlegs--i beg your pardon-- bowsprit," said the captain. "you seem to be somewhat of a philosopher; you carry out a plan with so much coolness, so much self-possession, beings always on your guard neither to act nor to speak hastily or unadvisedly." there was evidently sarcasm, if not irony, in the captain's remarks. the sailor bowed merely; he seemed to be, to use a common expression, "struck dumb." young coe laughed heartily. yet he must doubtless have felt somewhat abashed at the conviction that marston's course of treating the affair as a farce was decidedly more successful than his own, of viewing it as a melodrama. there was silence for a minute or two, during which all the pistols which had been drawn were put out of sight. at length the stillness was broken by a question from john. "how did you manage to get your card or note into my room?" he asked of the sailor. "allow me to keep that secret to myself," answered billy bowsprit, with a smile, holding out in his hand at the same time, however, several skeleton keys. "but you are not to suppose, mr coe, that these keys show that i have any bad habits; i have never used them except in such innocent ventures as the present." john took the skeleton keys in his hand; he had never seen such instruments before. "i don't think," he remarked, returning the keys, "that any one of those could possibly unlock my outer door." "one must understand the use of them," replied billy bowsprit. "i have others, however." "how did you so readily make your way to this point!" asked captain marston of billy bowsprit. "why, sir," was the reply, "i have been over this road before, many years ago now. on that occasion, i was for a short time at the houses of both your father and mr coe. i came here because this was the place where this boat here was to meet you two gentlemen and myself." "who is this friend of ours who wants to see us, mr bowsprit--i mean mr brown?" asked john. "i beg your pardon, sir," was the answer. "my captain particularly ordered me not to tell you; he wanted, he said, to give you a pleasant surprise." "what do you say, john?" asked captain marston. "shall we accept the invitation of this unknown friend?" "if we knew what to do with our horses," said john, "and i could get a note home to tell them what has become of me, i should say `yes' at once." "if that is all that is in the way, gentlemen," said mr brown, _alias_ bowsprit, "get your notes ready at once. here, tom," he continued, addressing the youth who was sitting on the stern seat of the row-boat, "do you knew the way to millmont and to blue oldfields?" "if i don't, i can inquire for it, sir," answered the boy. "then, as soon as you get the notes which these gentlemen want you to deliver at their houses," said bowsprit, "take their horses, which you will find just behind those trees, _there_," pointing, "where the road corners with the shore; and as soon as you can do so, deliver notes and horses to their proper addresses. you will then walk down to drum point, where we shall be by that time, and we will there take you aboard." "ay, ay, sir," said the boy. while these directions were being given, captain marston had drawn a note-book and a couple of lead-pencils from his pocket. tearing a blank leaf from the book, he handed that and one of the pencils to john. using their hats as writing-desks, the two young men soon finished their notes and handed them to the boy, who immediately started on his mission. the four men in the boat had been merely lookers-on and listeners in respect to what had been taking place on the shore. when the boy took his departure, captain marston, john coe, and billy bowsprit leaped into the boat. "will you steer, captain marston, if you please?" asked bowsprit. "with pleasure," answered the captain. "then, if mr coe will take his seat with you at the stern," said the sailor, "i will take my place at the bow, and act as lookout." the seats were taken, and the boat having been driven from the shore by one or two backward strokes of the oars, her head was turned down the creek. the supple rowers bending "with a will" to the elastic blades, the light craft fleetly bounded on her course over the glowing tide of saint leonard's, towards the broad clearwater, which lay before them in the morning sunshine as ever bright and beautiful. story two, chapter five. on board the schooner. *sebastian*. how are you, friends? i'm very glad to see you. _as you will_. *toby*. who are these men, sir? *wily will*. they're travellers only. _the masquerade_. the row-boats, carrying john, captain harry marston, billy bowsprit, and the four seamen, leaving the mouth of saint leonard's creek, entered upon that largest and fairest of the several lake-like expanses of the clearwater--being six miles in length and three in width--which lies between point patience on the south-east, and solitary point on the north-west. on gaining an offing sufficient to give the occupants of the boat a view commanding the whole expanse, only one vessel was in sight. this was a graceful little schooner, of about thirty tons burden, which lay at anchor on a part of the river called the flats, situate on the eastern side of the stream; she was in a position south-east of otter point, directly in front of hungerford's creek, and about a mile and a half from point patience. an easy row of three-quarters of an hour over the crystal-like waters, which were but slightly stirred by a slight wind, brought the boat from the spout alongside of this schooner. a vessel so small required no steps to ascend her sides, and the occupants of the row-boat soon leaped upon the deck. they were there met by a young man about five feet and a half in height, with blue eyes, light flaxen hair, and cheeks which, originally fair, were somewhat tanned by exposure to sun, wind, and weather. he was dressed in roundabout and pantaloons of light blue cloth, pumps, and light straw hat. "how are you, john? how are you, harry?" he exclaimed, shaking hands with coe and marston, with much appearance of cordiality. "i am very glad to see you. i hope that you are not offended with the _ruse_ which i used to bring you to see me for a short time? i feared that, if you knew who it was, you would not take the trouble to come to see me." both of the young men assured him that a _ruse_ was not at all necessary; it was nearly preventing them from coming, and that, had they only known at once that it was their old school-friend, george dempster, who wanted to see them, there would have been no hesitation on their part in coming to visit him. john coe was much surprised at finding george dempster--who had been his classmate at princeton, and who was the oldest son of a planter in good circumstances on the eastern shore of maryland--occupying the position of skipper of a small bay-craft; politeness, however, prevented him from making any allusion to what seemed to him so singular. captain dempster--to give him the title generally bestowed in courtesy upon the commander of the smallest trading craft, on the chesapeake bay, at least--invited his old friends to come at once into his cabin. here a mahogany table was handsomely set out, being spread with a fine linen diaper cloth, and being covered with a porcelain breakfast-set. cushioned mahogany seats for four surrounded the table. the steward--or he who in a vessel so small generally performs the duties of both that officer and of cook--had apparently already received his orders, for scarcely had the captain, his mate, and his two friends entered the cabin, when breakfast was placed on the table. fragrant coffee, light rolls, fresh butter, ham and eggs, fried crocuses and soft crabs, formed the repast. "you may think it strange, my friends," said captain dempster, while the party of four were partaking of the meal, for which the bracing morning air and their early ride and row had given my hero and captain marston keen appetites, "that you find me in this position. the matter is easily explained, however. it is due to a compromise, agreed to by my father and myself, between my extreme views in favour of a life on the ocean and his extreme views in favour of a life for me on the land. thus i can indulge, to a limited extent, my preference for a seafaring life, and he can enjoy what he honours me by calling the pleasure of seeing me frequently. i confess that i would much prefer a life on the open sea; but one must not be disobedient to an affectionate and generally indulgent father." while the three friends--mr bowsprit had left the table, as soon as his appetite was satisfied, to attend to duties upon deck--sat over their claret, talking of "old days," as, even when young, we fondly call them, hours sped on. in the meantime the anchor had been secured on board, the sails hoisted, and the vessel had laid her course down the river, impelled by a light wind from the west. point patience was soon rounded, and in two hours and a half or three hours from the time of leaving her anchorage, the schooner had passed down the lowest reach of clearwater, and had rounded to at the extreme end of drum point, to take on board the lad who had been sent to deliver the horses and notes of john alvan coe and captain marston to their respective homes. the boy made excellent speed, and was waiting at the place of rendezvous when the schooner was still some miles from the point. "why, dempster," said young coe, seeing that they had passed drum point harbour, "you are not going out upon the bay, are you?" "i have to take off a load of cord-wood," was the answer, "from the shore near the old eltonhead manor house, this side of cove point. we shall there be but little farther from your home than here at drum point; and i want to see all that i can of both of you. but think, coe, of my carrying a load of fire-wood to baltimore! "`to what base uses we may come, horatio.'" "but how are marston and myself to get home this evening?" asked john. "oh! as to that matter," was the answer, "i can borrow horses from mr chew, whose house is but a few miles from eltonhead; and the boy tom, who took your horses home this morning, can go with you, and bring back the animals. but i hope that you will not return until the morning. let me spend at least one evening with you." "what do you say, marston?" asked john, who was enjoying the society of his friends very much. "i have not seen that lonely old eltonhead house since i was a schoolboy, and i should like to see it again, especially if we could visit it `by the glimpses of the moon' to-night, since it has now, and has had for some time, i believe, the reputation of being haunted. i hardly think that they would feel uneasy at home on account of my continued absence, as i merely said in my note that i was going to visit a friend on board of his vessel." "if you are agreed, let us stay," replied marston. "i should like to revisit the old house myself, especially as you say, to "`visit it by the pale moonlight.'" "and, if you gentlemen desire it," said captain dempster, "i will have some hammocks swung this evening in the old manor house. we will pass the night there, and will thus--to take a liberty with sir walter scott's verse--dare "`to brave the witches in their den, the spirits in their hall.'" this proposition being very agreeable to both coe and marston, they consented to continue as captain dempster's guests until the morning. the three young men remained upon deck to enjoy the glorious day and the beautiful and rapidly shifting scenes presented to their view, as the schooner skirted, within a few hundred yards of the beach, the northern shore of patuxent roads--a sheet of water which is, in fact (as i have before mentioned, i think), a gulf or widening of the chesapeake bay at the mouth of the clearwater river. while the three friends were gaily chatting, inspired by the cheering influence of their surroundings, mr bowsprit walked up to the commander of the craft. "captain dempster," he said, "i think those sailors in the hold and forecastle will be getting into a state of mutiny soon, if we don't let them come out upon deck. they say that their quarters are too close." "tell them," replied the skipper, "they can come up as soon as they please; we are now fairly out of the clearwater--at least, out of sight of drum point harbour." the sheet of water called patuxent roads is by some considered to be a part of the clearwater river. "these men of whom mr brown speaks," continued captain dempster, addressing his two friends, "are some newly-discharged united states seamen, whom i am taking to baltimore. i had a load of freight to carry from baltimore to portsmouth. at the latter place these men applied to me for passage to the former city. i told them that i had freight to take from portsmouth to benedict, and then a load of wood to carry to baltimore. as they did not care much for the delay, i bargained to take them to baltimore, and to charge them only for what their board while on the schooner might be worth, on condition that they would help us to load and to unload. i did not wish so many men to be seen on board of my craft while in the river, since such an incident would probably subject me to the delay of a search by the revenue officer, who, having but very little to do, naturally wishes to make the most of his office." about thirty rough, sunburnt and weather-beaten men now came upon the deck. among them was almost every variety of dress which nautical fashions then allowed; but the cloth roundabouts and tarpaulin hats prevailed. they kept away from the after-part of the deck, gathering in groups amidships and towards the bow. they seemed to be in fine spirits, as frequent bursts of somewhat subdued laughter came from the different groups. little did young coe think that he was the subject of their merriment. it was scarcely half an hour after these men came upon deck when the schooner anchored about fifty yards from the beach, at a point where long ranks of pine and oak cord-wood were ranged along the edge of the cliff, which was here but from twenty to twenty-five feet high. a large flatboat, oblong in shape, and of the kind commonly called "scow," was lying on rollers far up on the beach and close under the cliff. as soon as the anchor was dropped overboard and the sails lowered and secured, the row-boat--which had been hanging from the davits at the stern of the schooner since the lad had been taken aboard at drum point--was forthwith let down into the water. it had to make three trips from the schooner to the shore before the unusually large number of hands were all landed. then the scow was at once pushed into the water. some of the seamen soon ascended the cliff by a small ravine near at hand; and the work of throwing down the wood to the beach, pitching it to the water's edge, and piling it into the scow was at once commenced. our hero and his two friends passed the rest of the day, to all appearances, very pleasantly together; there was so much to say to each other of what young people call, queerly enough, "old times," so much that each had to tell to the others of what had occurred to himself since their last meeting. about an hour after the schooner came to anchor they took their dinner--which comprised "all the luxuries of the season"--in the elegant little cabin. mr bowsprit was present at this meal, and added to the enjoyment of it by his unique and pleasant sallies. this joyous individual was with them only at dinner; his duty required him to attend to the loading of the vessel. the dinner of the hands, by the way, was sent ashore to them, and eaten under the shade of the trees upon the cliff. story two, chapter six. at the old manor house. a prisoner, didst thou say? o, gracious heaven! have mercy on my parents and my friends, and for uncertainty let them not too long suffer! oh speedily set me free!--_anon_. *cyrus*. who art thou, fair and gentle princess? *myranda*. knight, i am, alas! unfortunate; but yet i wish thee well, and fain would do thee service. _romance of sir cyrus_. i will not do it, lady; speak no more. _the tempted_. about half an hour after the dinner was concluded, the three young friends were taken ashore in the jolly-boat. leaving the beach, they pursued a path through a dense forest for about half a mile, when they came into a small opening in the woods, in the centre of which stood the old brick building known as eltonhead manor house, surrounded by its out-houses, all of brick. the opening in which this old-time mansion stood had evidently been in former days much more extensive, for among the small pine-trees covering the ground in the part of the forest nearest to the old house, the earth still distinctly bore the impress of corn-rows the marks of former cultivation of that species of grain first obtained from the red man. desolation marked the spot. the yard and garden walls were broken down in many places; the gate at the end of the short avenue had fallen and now lay in ruins. the shade trees in the yard and avenue needed pruning; scions from their roots had sprang up in all directions. even at this early season weeds spread over the yard and garden, and closed the gateways; yet the building itself was in comparatively good preservation. it was not by any means such a mansion as in great britain would be suggested to the mind by the title of manor house. it was built of bricks imported from england, and the walls were of such thickness that, though time had, in passing over them, stamped his impress upon them in weather-stains and moss and lichen, they stood, apparently, as firm as when first erected. the house, was two stories high; on the floor of the first storey, a wide hall passing through the centre of the buildings with two very large rooms on each side of it. the second storey, and the attic to some extent, corresponded to the first; a broad staircase led upwards from the hall on the ground floor. some pieces of old and almost worn-out furniture remained in the building, one or two heavy old tables, and a dozen or so huge and very old-fashioned oaken chairs. in one of the rooms downstairs were two or three rude settees or benches, left by some tenant who had used the premises since they had been deserted by their proper occupants. during the afternoon captain dempster and his guests rambled through the woods and along the bay shore. when they had concluded their ramble and returned to the old manor house, the shades of twilight were gathering. they found that three hammocks, intended for their night's rest, had been swung in one of the large rooms of the second storey, and in another room on the same floor, a plentiful and well-lighted board was spread for supper. on a chair beside the supper table was an open hamper of champagne, beside which was a pack of playing cards. the intention of captain dempster was declared by himself to be to pass the evening at whist, admitting mr brown, _alias_ billy bowsprit, to complete the necessary party of four; the game to be enlivened by an occasional glass of wine. no game of whist was played that evening, however. john coe, after he had finished his supper and taken one or two glasses of champagne, was obliged to plead overwhelming drowsiness, which he attributed to the interesting character and unusual excitement of the day. although early in going to bed, yet it was late in the morning when the young man awoke. on looking around him he found that the other hammocks in the room were vacant. springing out of bed he hurried to the door; it was locked. the windows were all down. on throwing open the sash of one of them and looking out, he saw a man with a musket on his shoulder, who was promenading to and fro in the yard below, and keeping an eye on the windows of his room. it seemed, then, that he was guarded as if a prisoner. he called out to the man who was apparently keeping watch in the court below. "what do you want?" asked the guard. "where are captain dempster and captain marston?" exclaimed john. "i don't know of whom you are talking," answered the guard. "i only know that captain vance and lieutenant seacome took supper with you last night, after which you got drunk, and had to be put to bed; and that captain vance--my captain--said that you were on no account to leave the house. that is all i know about the matter, sir." "i was not drunk," said young coe. "i took but two glasses of wine after supper. there must be some mistake somewhere. the gentlemen with whom i supped last night are two of my oldest friends. i never dreamed that they were capable, nor can i yet believe that they are, of treachery towards me." "i don't understand what you are talking about," said the man with the musket. "i only know that our orders are not only to keep you within this house, but not to let any one come near enough to the house to hear a human voice from it, even when raised to its highest pitch. we are also ordered, if you make a very loud call, to shoot you at once. we have nearly thirty men here; guards are placed all round the building, and scouts are spread through the country for a mile round. my own impression is, mr coe (that is your name i believe)--but it is, after all, only my opinion, mind you--that you are a very close prisoner. moreover, i believe that i am authorised in saying to you that you are a prisoner to men from whom no one ever escaped alive. so, close your window, and make the best of your situation." john left the window, and walked to the door, which he found locked. on turning his face from the door he noticed, for the first time, in his astonishment at his situation, that a table was already neatly spread, near the middle of the room, with a clean, white damask table cloth, upon which a handsome breakfast-set of china-ware was arranged, with chairs, plates, knives and forks, cups and saucers, for two; but no viands were yet set out upon the board. the sight of the table so spread, creating in him a fear of being surprised by the entrance of a visitant before his toilet was completed, caused him to hurry on his dress. he found a pair of pistols in his pockets; they seemed to be his own, but on examining them closely, he found not the private mark which he had placed on each of them, soon after they were purchased, to distinguish them from henry marston's. it was evident that the re-exchange of pistols, by which his own should have been returned to him, had either been overlooked, or intentionally avoided by his captors the night before. scarcely had his hasty toilet been completed, for which he had found in the room water, towels and soap, looking-glass, combs, brushes, shaving instruments, and even scented oils and waters--when the door opened, and two of the seamen came in, bringing the covers for breakfast. they placed upon the table the dishes which they carried, and then immediately retired, taking with them the three hammocks, and removing all vestiges of the room having been slept in. shortly after they retired, two or three light taps were given at the door, and a soft and musical female voice was heard asking permission to enter. "enter if you can," he said. the door was opened again, and what seemed to be a vision of loveliness entered. this vision was a lady, rather above than under the ordinary height, with a form as graceful as imagination can conceive. her face was oval in shape, her complexion was very pure olive, beautifully tinged with rose. her features were neither perfectly grecian nor perfectly roman, but of a style where the two were equally and beautifully blended. her eyes were of jet-black, and of wonderful brightness, and her hair, of raven hue, was confined by a circlet of large pearls, with a single brilliant just above the forehead, and fell, in heavy and tastefully-arranged masses of curls, all round her head, to below her shoulders. her dress was of rich black silk, elegantly fitted to her shape, and ornamented, on the flounces of the skirt and above the elbows of the loose sleeves, with thick and glossy fringes of the same hue and material as the dress. light golden bracelets, ornamented each with pearls and a single diamond, encircled her wrists. as she advanced into the room, her very small and well-shaped feet--covered with a pair of light, black satin slippers, with high heels, and festooned with light gold buckles, flashing with tiny jewels--peeped in and out from under the sweeping folds of her skirt. this lady advanced gracefully to the head of the table, making an elegant courtesy to the astonished john, and inviting him, by a polite motion of the head, to take a seat. "a pleasant morning to you, mr coe," she said. "i should thank you for your good wish," answered the young man; "but, lady, i am a prisoner, i am informed. i have, it seems, been betrayed by those whom i thought my friends. oh, madam! of all the pains in the world, the greatest is that which is caused by having been betrayed by those in whom we had unlimited faith." "there are cases in which that which seems to be treason is friendship in disguise. it was no wish to do you injury which caused you to be taken prisoner; but your friends wished to have you always with them. had harm been intended towards you, i should not have been left here; it was thought that i might devise ways of making captivity more bearable to you. i fear that this opinion only flattered me." john was young, and therefore impressible; he could but feel the spell of so dazzling a presence. what could he do but make such answer as the lady had sought to obtain? "so much beauty, madam," he said with _empressement_, "has power to lessen the pain of the most wretched captivity." "you are improving vastly," said the lady, with a bright and fascinating smile. "we shall, i see, be very good friends, indeed. but the fact that we shall have to pass nearly, if not quite two weeks together, requires that you should have for me some less formal title than `madam.' call me, hereafter, ada." "you still leave me in doubt, madam. i cannot take the liberty of addressing you familiarly by your christian name." the lady seemed for a moment to be in thought. "know me then," she at length said, "as miss ada revere." "your face is strangely familiar to me," said john. "you saw me yesterday morning," answered the lady, with a sad smile, "at the spout on saint leonard's creek. you remember the lad who took charge of your and captain marston's notes and horses?" young coe's countenance expressed much surprise and interest. but miss revere gave him no opportunity to speak. "but i have known you much longer ago than that," she continued, after making but little pause--"long before either of us knew that there was evil or deceit in the world. i may, perhaps, by-and-bye tell you my sad history,"--an expression of intense pain passed over the beautiful face--"this is no time for such a narrative. your own position requires consideration and action; and our first thoughts must be given to that." "can you explain to me," asked john, "why i was captured, and why i am held as a prisoner?" "yes," answered the lady; "and i am authorised to give you the information which you ask. i was not at the store at drum point the night before last, when you were seen by captain vance to look in at the window while certain goods were being conveyed to their secret depository; but i know all that took place. ruin to mr ashleigh, and great injury to all connected with the brig would have been the certain result of your making publicly known what you had discovered. the first thought was to pursue and capture you at once; and the attempt to do so was made. that attempt was, as you know, a failure. the proposition was then made, as you were known to more than one of the brig's company, to seize you at once at your father's house. this proposition was made by one whom i hate, a man the enormity of whose villainy i have no words to express; i have no doubt that, had his proposal been acceded to, you would have been killed instead of captured. captain marston saved you from such a fate; he thought you might be enticed from your home, and even induced to join the ship's company. he has a great affection for you, as an old schoolmate and friend; he has told me, with his own lips, that there is no living man for whom he has greater regard than for yourself." "i do not, without much painful feeling, oppose a lady's views," said our hero, "and yours seem to agree with those of captain marston; but it would not be fair in me to allow you to entertain opinions so incorrect as are captain marston's respecting my character. true, i have been made a prisoner in the manner in which he had thought that i could be captured; so far his views were correct. but he does not understand my character entirely: i can be led--alas! too easily--even perhaps, to do what my moral sense disapproves of; but i cannot be driven. had i been attacked in my father's house by open force, i do not think that i should have been captured; i had arms at hand, and should have resisted to the death. my father is himself a strong, sensible, and brave man; the negroes would have fought for both. we might, at least, have held out until the neighbourhood could have been aroused; and the result, instead of being disastrous to me, might have been ruinous to the assailants. as to captain marston's impression that i might be induced to join a ship's company, or any other company, engaged in illicit trade--especially without my father's consent--such a notion proves that he understands, and but to a small extent, only the outride of my character; while my inner and real life is to him a thoroughly sealed book." the lady reflected for some moments. she hardly knew how to act with the case before her. she saw clearly that he felt the power of her beauty; but that beauty, she began to think, would have no influence to change his opinions. she had been placed in the position in which we find her for the purpose of inducing young coe to join the company of the brig; she was authorised to offer him a new office in that company which was to be created especially for him, that of commander of a kind of marine corps, to be organised especially on his account, and the chief officer of which organisation, should he become popular with his men, might have the power to defy the authority of the captain of the brig himself, or even to supersede him. miss ada revere, as she called herself, determined, after some reflection, to pursue the subject no further for the present. "we shall be prisoners in this house, mr coe," she added, after a few moments' silence, "for some weeks, while the _sea-bird_ is discharging and receiving freight, and perhaps undergoing some necessary repairs. in the meantime, it will be my duty to use my best efforts to make your captivity bearable. we have the materials here for chess, draughts, and backgammon. i sing a little, and also play upon several musical instruments; but only one instrument of the kind is here--a guitar. should you wish to take a glass of wine, there are specimens of several vintages at hand. and believe, at any rate, that, whatever may happen, i am entirely your friend." the lady was evidently in earnest in this last declaration. john made a proper acknowledgment; and in a few moments the two were engaged in a game of chess. story two, chapter seven. on board the brig--the challenge. *othario*. remove the prisoner; the foe is near. _the sea witch_. he manned himself with dauntless air, returned the chief his haughty stare. * * * * * come one, come all! * * * * * fear nought--nay, that i need not say-- but doubt not aught from mine array. thou art my guest. _lady of the lake_. more than a week passed, and still john coe was a prisoner at the old manor house. no chance of escape presented itself; and neither offers of money nor threats affected his guards. yet, but for the name of captivity, and the thought of what might be in store for him in the future, his time would have passed pleasantly. miss ada revere--as the lady chose to call herself--exerted all her talents and accomplishments to cause his time to pass agreeably. games at chess and cards, books of poetry and romance, music of the guitar, and songs sung with charming taste, and accompanied by that fascinating instrument, varied her day and evening entertainments for the prisoner. as great as was the interest which he felt in her who made his captivity pleasant, and as much aroused, therefore, as was his curiosity to know what was meant by her declaration that he and she had known each other in earlier days, he could not induce her to tell him to what she referred; he could only obtain from her the promise that she would at some future time make him acquainted with her history. miss ada revere had been commissioned by those who held john in captivity, not only to make his imprisonment more bearable, but also to endeavour to persuade him to join captain vance's band. in the former task the reader has seen that she was successful; but the latter seemed to her to be so hopeless, that she did not even attempt it; she contented herself by persuading him to yield so far to circumstances as to pretend to be inclined to join them, that he might by such means have some chance of securing an opportunity to escape. the violent indignation--to call the feeling by a mild name--which young coe entertained against his pretended friends, marston and dempster, he made no secret of to the lady; but the earnest desire which he cherished to have each of them before him at the pistol's mouth, or at the sword's point, he kept to himself. some ten or twelve days after that upon which young coe had been so skilfully allured to imprisonment at the old manor house, the brig _sea-bird_ captain henry marston, dropped anchor off the eltonhead landing. she had needed no repairs, and her unlading and relading in baltimore had been executed with the greatest despatch. without resistance john allowed himself to be taken from the manor house on board the brig. where opposition would have been certainly unavailing, the attempt to make it would have been only a compromise of his dignity. as the moon was in its first quarter, that orb had long since set when the long-boat and jolly-boat belonging to the brig returned from the shore to the vessel, both heavily laden with the men who had been left at the manor house--those in the smaller boat having young coe among them as prisoner. a single lantern, held by one of the seamen at the gangway, showed but a dim outline of the deck and rigging of the brig, as those newly arrived climbed her sides. john had but a short time to make observations, as he was at once hurried down into the after-cabin, and through that into a small and neat state-room forward of it. he parted with miss ada revere immediately on gaining the deck. there was much expression of pain and uneasiness in the face of the mysterious young girl when she shook hands, on parting with the prisoner at the gangway, and whispered to him "be firm and hopeful, and do not give way to anger, however just." when all had embarked, the boats were secured on deck, the anchor lifted, the sails hoisted, and the brig, impelled by a fair and light but freshening breeze from the north, sped on her course over the broad, bold waters of the chesapeake towards the wide atlantic. when a bright and cloudless morning, near the middle of june, arose in beauty over the wide and flashing expanse of the lower chesapeake, old point comfort lay in sight, but far away on the starboard-bow. a number of bay-craft, and a few sea-going vessels were scattered here and there, at points nearer or more distant, over the bright surface. the smoke of no steamer was seen; such vessels were at that period very rare, not only on the waters of the chesapeake, but over the whole world. at this time, john was confined to his state-room; he had risen and dressed, but, on trying the door of his room, had found it locked. none of the seamen, either, except those consisting of the watch, were allowed to come upon deck while the brig was in such confined waters; such a large number of hands being seen would not comport with the _sea-bird's_ character of a peaceful merchant vessel. the wind continuing to blow fair, although still somewhat light, the afternoon had advanced but two or three hours when the brig had passed out between the capes and was at sea, and entirely out of sight of land. all were now allowed to come upon deck, john among them, to find upon the quarter-deck captains marston and dempster. near to them stood mr bowsprit, mr afton, and ada revere--the latter wearing her sailor-boy dress. the rest of the crew were mostly on the deck amidships; some few were in the bows, and a group was gathered but a little forward of the quarter-deck. "well, john," said captain marston, "i hope that you have made up your mind to join us. i can offer you a respectable position. we have very nearly fifty men, all told. i shall form thirty of these into a company of marines, and offer you the post of commander of this newly-made corps. but, before i proceed any farther, let me introduce you to some of your new shipmates. this old friend of ours, whom you know now, i suppose, as my first-mate, mr dempster, becomes my first lieutenant, mr seacome, when we enter the tropics; at the same time your humble servant takes the more convenient name of captain vance, and this good brig, the _sea-bird_, becomes the _falcon_--the free rover. this is my second mate, mr afton, who prefers to change, under such circumstances, his title only, and to be called second-lieutenant afton." this burly and savage-looking individual growled an oath or two about not being afraid of his own name. "this joyous individual," continued the captain, motioning his hand towards another of the party, "is my third-mate, or lieutenant, and selects his _sobriquet_ for his roving name--that is, third-mate brown becomes third-lieutenant bowsprit. you have already met this jolly person. you are also, i presume, well acquainted by this time, with this young gentleman, master revere, my clerk." at mentioning this last name, captain marston, with a slightly sarcastic expression of countenance, waved his hand towards ada revere. she cast her eyes to the deck, and a vivid blush spread over her beautiful face. even in the midst of his own trouble, john could not help feeling pity for the poor girl. often had the questions recurred to him: "what is her real position on board of this vessel? what is her history?" sympathy with her lonely condition and the wrongs which he felt that she must have received from one leading member, at least, of the brig's company, strengthened the indignation which he experienced on account of his own injuries, and probably caused him to forget all prudence in answering captain marston's addresses to him. "you, captain marston," he said, in a firm and perfectly collected manner, and with a certain intensity of voice which intimated that he felt more than he spoke, "address me in calm tones and familiarly, as if you had done me no wrong to destroy the intimacy and kind feelings which existed between us in past years. in speaking thus, you add insult to injury; your words, manner, and voice suggesting that i am so simple, so very weak in intellect, as not to be able to appreciate the inexpressibly gross outrage which has been committed against me." "you do me wrong," said captain marston, "in supposing for a moment that i doubt that you possess a very unusual degree of intellect. i have always considered you one of the most remarkably endowed men, both in mind and body, with whom i ever met. in what other manner could i have spoken? and what was the use of my speaking with excitement? that you must remain with us is a fixed fact. you have learned things the public knowledge of which would ruin mr ashleigh, implicate--if an investigation should take place--the character of some gentlemen of the highest standing in baltimore, or even endanger their safety--to say nothing of the security and interests of those among whom you are now standing. self-preservation is the first law of nature; and you obliged us to make and hold you a prisoner, by informing yourself wilfully of secrets important to us, and of not the least concern to you. you have yourself alone to blame for the situation in which you are placed." "every citizen," replied the spirited young man, "has not only a right, but it is his duty, if an opportunity occurs, to investigate whatsoever appears to him to be a breach of the laws of his country." "that remark does not affect us at all," answered marston, "although it may have justified, to yourself and others, your curiosity and interference. our duty is to defend ourselves against the laws." "with the view which you take of the matter," retorted john, feeling offended and irritated by marston's application to him of the words "curiosity and interference," and determined to retort at all hazards to language which appeared to him personally insulting, "i should not have so much cause to complain had i been captured by open force; but my kind feelings towards yourself were played upon in a treacherous and cowardly manner to work out my own injury." a dark and lowering scowl came upon the face of captain marston, and he placed his right hand in his bosom as if to draw a weapon. at the same instant afton drew a pistol from one of his pockets and raised it. "do you dare," he cried, "to call our captain a coward?" captain marston, however, who seemed not yet to have overcome his rage sufficiently to speak, suddenly grasped afton's weapon, and drew it from his hand. "this is courage, truly!" said young coe, with bitter irony expressed in his voice, and addressing afton. "you are _very_ brave in assaulting an unarmed man. you would feel and act very differently if you and i were alone, and equally armed." "captain," exclaimed afton, "what is the use of bandying words with this fool? let us settle the matter at once by shooting him, and throwing him overboard. we needn't fear his betraying us then. `dead men tell no tales.'" "leave him to me," said captain marston, moving his hand towards afton. then, addressing john, he continued--"you take advantage, john coe, of our relative positions; you know that i, as a brave man, cannot, while surrounded by my band, resent an insult from an unarmed prisoner. if i am a smuggler--and, perhaps, even what you would call a pirate--you know that i cannot so sacrifice my manhood as to take advantage of the means at my command to punish the gross insult which you have offered me." "if you boast so much of your manhood, which word also implies your honour, such as it is," said john, "and feel so wounded at what i have said, the same power which you possess over your band to bring them against me, should also be strong enough to prevent them from interfering while i render you the satisfaction for which you seem to long. here, in the sight of your men, with no friend to see what is called fair play, i am willing to fight you with sword, pistol, or gun. yes, i will do so, even though they may kill me, should i defeat you, the moment after; for i had as lief die as be debarred my liberty, or be obliged to yield my actions to the expediency which is merely suggested by opposing force." "i thank you for your proposition," said captain vance, "and accept of it. you shall have a fairer contest, too, than you seem to expect. here, dempster, afton, brown." the officers addressed drew around their captain. "promise me," said marston, "by all the pledges that bind our association together, that if mr coe should succeed in killing me, he shall receive no injury for doing so; and further, that, upon his mere pledge of honour to keep secret what he has learned about us, you will land him at any port, near to our course, at which he may wish to disembark. promise, moreover, under the same pledges, that you will not interfere in the combat about to take place between mr coe and myself, by deed, word, or look." the officers addressed, even the brutal afton, gave the pledges required unhesitatingly, being perfectly assured that their captain would gain the victory. "what weapons do you choose, mr coe?" asked marston. "it is for you to choose," said john; "you have the right as the challenged party." "i select swords, then," said captain marston; "the conqueror with that weapon is not obliged to injure his adversary." "you seem to consider it as granted, by that remark," observed our hero, "that you will be successful?" "by no means," answered marston. john turned upon his adversary an inquiring and rather threatening look; but he said nothing more on the subject. lieutenant dempster, or seacome, was sent into the captain's cabin for a pair of small-swords. ada revere had looked imploringly upon marston and coe alternately, while the quarrel had been growing to its present condition. anxiety and terror were both plainly expressed in her face; she had seemed, hitherto, desirous of interfering, but fearful of doing so; no doubt she had learned from much experience the danger of attempting to check captain marston in any of his acts. now the prospect of an immediate conflict seemed to rouse her to action. she threw herself upon her knees between the two foes. "oh! i beseech you," she cried, "let this quarrel go no farther. you know, captain marston, why i feel an interest in you; but you do not know that this gentleman, mr coe, rendered me, many years ago, one of those services which can never be forgotten. think, gentlemen, what horror it would be to me to see one of you injured, or perhaps even killed by the other, and have pity upon me." john coe raised her from her kneeling position with evident tenderness. "i do not fully know what you mean, madam," he said, "and cannot, therefore, make use of your meaning to put a stop to what is going on. but i can feel for your evident suffering without knowing its cause." "master revere," said marston, with sadness and yet something of sternness in his voice, "if i could, i would consult your feelings in this matter. but what you say comes too late, even if it were fully explained. mr brown, do me the favour to lead this young gentleman to his state-room door." mr bowsprit advanced, and taking the hand of ada led her away. she retired, still extending her disengaged hand towards the intended combatants, with an imploring glance. story two, chapter eight. the ship duchess. she was a vision of delight. _ballad_. these treasures are for you, my own beloved one-- laid up for you by your own father's hand. _foxglove_. *antonio*. a long, low, black and rakish vessel, say you? *pietro*. yes, captain; she's a pirate beyond doubt. *antonio*. we'll have a fight or e'er she capture us. _the storm_. the truth of my history obliges me to relate some occurrences powerfully bearing upon john's fortunes. it was in the early part of the month of june, in the year , when the ship _duchess_ left the port of kingston, in the island of jamaica, bound to the port of havre, in france. she had been chartered for this voyage by a french merchant by the name of jules durocher. jules durocher had settled, when a young man, as a planter in the island of hayti; but, dissatisfied with a planter's life, he had sold his land in that island, and afterwards removed from hayti to kingston, where he established himself as a merchant. here he had succeeded in making a large fortune, when he was but little more than forty years of age. having lost his wife, an english lady, whom he had married in jamaica, and to whom he was much attached, and his health, which had for many years seemed to be good, failing at length suddenly from the insidious and slowly-working effects of the climate, he had determined to retire from business, to realise his gains, and to pass the remainder of his days in his native france, with his only child louise. he had now so far carried out his intentions as to have converted into gold and bills of exchange all his large fortune, except the comparatively small portion which had been required to purchase a cargo of the native products of jamaica for the ship he had chartered. so uncertain, however, are the calculations of men, that now, when the quietude in which he had long hoped to pass his declining years appeared almost certain of realisation, his health began rapidly to decline; and his state was so weak, when the lading of the _duchess_ was completed, that he had to be taken from his bed on land and carried to one on board of the ship. such was the state of things in which jules durocher and his daughter louise left their home of many years in kingston, to transfer their fortunes to the father's native france. louise durocher was very beautiful; but her beauty was not of the kind which we generally attribute to french ladies, and which is characterised by sparkling black eyes, raven-hued tresses, and a brunette complexion. her loveliness was a direct antithesis to this description. her hair deserved fully the title of "golden" on account of both its colour and its lustre, and held smoothly round her head by a plain riband, fell in a mass of rich curls over her shoulders. her softly bright eyes, dark, but decidedly and purely blue, exhibited in every glance a tender heart and an intelligent mind. a soft rose-tinge upon her cheeks illustrated by a delicate contrast the pearly fairness of her complexion. at the time when she is introduced to my readers, she was dressed in a loose white muslin morning robe, slightly confined at the waist by a white silken cord; and from beneath the folds of this garment peeped out now and then two beautifully-shaped little feet clad in a delicate pair of white satin slippers. the band round her hair was also white. a dress of this description does not generally comport with beauty of the style of louise's; but in the case of loveliness so exceeding as hers, it absolutely added to the effect. the pure, innocent, and elevated expression of her face, haloed by her lustrous wealth of golden hair, the beholder might be said to realise the ideal of the old masters. the cabin of the _duchess_ occupied, as usual, the after-part of the ship. directly at the stern, and dividing the width of the vessel between them, were two handsome and elegantly-furnished state-rooms--the one assigned to mr durocher, and the other to his daughter. each of these state-rooms opened into the saloon, which, occupying the breadth of the ship, was very nearly square. forward of this saloon, a narrow passage leading from it divided a double row of state-rooms--two upon each side--which were used by the officers of the ship. at the time when these new characters are introduced to the reader, the _duchess_ had been some days out of port. she had gone through what is called the windward passage--between the islands of cuba and hayti--had passed through the channel crowded with many islets, which lies between caycos and turks islands and had fairly entered upon the broad atlantic. the invigorating air of the open sea had so improved the health of mr durocher that he had been brought from the bed in his state-room to a sofa in the saloon. here he was attended by his daughter and a young quadroon slave girl, who waited upon the young lady. louise, who was skilled in music, and performed upon several instruments, had just finished singing, to an accompaniment on the harp, the beautiful old song entitled "my normandy"--a genuine relic of the age of chivalry, of the days of the trouviers and troubadours--when her father's emotion caused her to put aside the instrument. that touching song, applying fully to the case of the returning exile himself, with its tender refrain-- "i long again the land to see, which gave me birth--my normandy," recalled the past vividly, with many a hope then entertained of a happy return to his native land--many a hope which the untimely death of his wife had destroyed for ever. "dear louise," said mr durocher, "how feelingly you sing that charming song of my native land! what happiness i used to anticipate in pointing out to your now sainted mother--when wealth, achieved through a long and tedious exile, should enable me to resume, in my normandy, the station from which losses had reduced my family--all the beautiful scenes so familiar to my childhood. god destroys such hopes to draw our affections away from the things of earth. 'tis now for you only, my beloved child, that i at all consider a worldly future. you will have wealth; few of the daughters of france born upon the soil will be heirs to such a fortune. but there are cares also belonging to the possession of riches; and how will an inexperienced young girl like you know how to meet these?" "do not trouble yourself about me, my dear father," said the affectionate daughter. "is not your health improving? every day since we left kingston you have gained strength. you will live yourself to see your money safely invested and your daughter's future secured. let us hope that many, many happy years on earth await us." "if future years are in store for me, louise," replied mr durocher, "they may be cheerful when blessed by your presence, but i cannot be happy where your mother is not. i feel convinced, however, that i shall soon meet her again; i am impressed with a feeling--though i know not why--that i shall never more see france." the young lady left her seat beside the harp and sat upon a chair near to the sofa on which her father was reclining. she placed her arm round his neck, and took in her disengaged hand one of his. "dearest father," she said, in a tender and soothing tone of voice, "these low spirits are but the lingering effects of your illness. life must still have much happiness in store for you. the grand and beautiful scenes of day and night, upon land and water, exhibiting, as they ever do, a proof of the power and goodness and love of god towards his creatures, must have an influence leading to happiness upon every human soul. i am sure that one so good as you must feel this blessed influence." "i do feel it, my dear child," said the invalid; "but that feeling cannot remove the uneasiness which i experience at the conviction that i must soon leave you alone in the world. i have a number of relations in france; but you are unknown to all of them; even i, so long has it been since i have met any of them, must be nearly, if not quite forgotten." the speaker paused awhile in reflection. louise was also silent; she could make no reply to her father's last observation; its probable truth admitted of no just objection. mr durocher at length spoke again-- "louise," he said, taking a pocket-book from an inside breast-pocket of his coat, "in this pocket-book are bills of exchange on different bankers in france to the amount of twelve hundred thousand francs. even if these be lost, the money will still be safe; the bills are executed in triplicate; one copy of each has been left by me in the hands of a friend at kingston, and the third copy of each has been sent to a gentleman in havre. these bills can only be paid on my endorsement, or on that of my legal representative, in case of my death. there is a note of the names of these gentlemen and of a list of the drafts in my trunk; here is a copy of the same note which i wish you to take possession of. in the strong-box in my state-room are fifty thousand francs in gold; and the cargo of this ship should sell at havre for at least a hundred and fifty thousand francs. in the event of my death, this property is yours. i should have mentioned to you these particulars before; i feel urged now to postpone no longer giving you this information." at this instant, and before louise could make a reply, a loud voice giving orders and the noise of hurrying feet were heard upon deck. "celeste," said mr durocher, addressing the quadroon girl, "go upon deck and see if you can learn what is the matter." the girl hurried up the cabin steps, as ordered, and soon returned accompanied by the captain. "what is the cause of the disturbance overhead, captain johnson?" asked the invalid. "we have been apparently pursued for some hours," was the answer, "by a rather suspicious-looking vessel. pirates are by no means uncommon in these waters, and it is not improbable that this is one. as the wind is light, we have crowded on every yard of canvas. the stranger, nevertheless, is evidently gaining upon us. i have, therefore, ordered our two twelve-pounders to be made ready for service, and have directed the men also to look to their small-arms. if it were late in the day we might indulge a hope of keeping at a sufficient distance from the suspicious craft to make our escape in the night." the time was between nine and ten o'clock in the morning. the face of louise became white with alarm. the poor girl seemed to be terribly frightened. "there is no need of feeling alarmed, miss durocher," said the captain, in a cheerful voice. "we are not by any means certain the stranger is a pirate. should he prove to be such, the probabilities are in our favour that he will not molest us, when he finds, on nearer approach, that we are so strong; these sea-robbers are not apt to assault any vessel which they cannot capture without fighting. we are well manned, having sixteen officers and seamen, all able men. we have two cannons and plenty of muskets and cutlasses, besides a full supply of ammunition. even if he should attack us, i think that we can easily beat him off. my vessel is larger than his, and manoeuvres well; and fully one-half of us are man-of-war's men." "why do you suppose," asked mr durocher, "that the stranger is in pursuit of you?" "because," replied captain johnson, "when we first saw him, the course which he was steering was due south-east as ours is north-east, and he is now directly astern of us. if miss durocher will come with me upon deck, she can see our pursuer very plainly by aid of the telescope. you are too weak, i suppose, to get upon deck yourself, mr durocher?" "i will try to do so, if you will give me your aid," answered the invalid. "you had better not undertake so much," said louise. "i am afraid that the fatigue will do you harm." "it will not hurt him at all, miss," said captain johnson, cheerily. "he need not suffer from fatigue at all. if you will let that yellow girl of yours bring up an easy-chair, i will carry your father up in my arms." captain johnson was, indeed, a powerfully-made man; he was fully six feet in height, and stout in proportion. constant exercise in the open air had given to him the full vigour to which his herculean frame seemed to entitle him. as soon as the invalid was made comfortable in his easy-chair, and was in a position from which he commanded a view of the ocean all around, the spy-glass was handed to him. far away towards the south-west, and at first sight rather low upon the horizon, the strange sail could be seen by the unassisted eye; but the telescope showed that her hull was above the horizon. "there seem to be a number of men upon her deck," said mr durocher; "and she has one of those long pivot-guns amidships. that is a very dangerous cannon, captain johnson; our pursuer may, with a gun of so long a range, do us ruinous injury without coming near enough to allow us to do him harm with our small cannon." the telescope was passed to the captain, and by him to louise. it was then handed to the officers of the ship. "can you make out her hull?" asked the captain of one of these officers, who had at the moment the glass in his hand. "partly," was the answer. "what i can see of it is entirely black. she seems to be clipper-built." "and these baltimore clippers are so fleet," remarked the captain. things began to look dark for those on board the ship, it must be confessed; if the stranger's intentions were hostile, his superior speed, and the long range of his pivot-gun, made the escape of the chase very doubtful. captain johnson, however, like a good officer, made every preparation for defence. his self-possessed and even cheerful manner inspired those under his command with confidence. but louise became very pale, and mr durocher suffered much in mind, principally upon her account; but, for the sake of each other, their fears were kept to themselves. the quadroon girl shivered with terror, on her own account, and on account of those to whom she had been so much attached for many years. story two, chapter nine. the combat. the foe, invulnerable still, foiled his wild rage by steady skill, till, at advantage ta'en, his brand forced roderick's weapon from his hand. _lady of the lake_. *orano*. we offer you the post of captain, sir. *ortega*. i accept--with conditions. _the onslaught_. a pirate ship, and a pirate crew. _old song_. the swords were brought. a clear space was left upon the deck for the combatants to move in, around which the sailors--first those who had stood near to the quarter-deck, and afterwards those from the more forward parts of the vessels formed a ring; all were eager and intensely interested, but quiet spectators. seeing the officers offering no interference, they no doubt considered that it was also their part to make no interruption. mr dempster acted as second to marston; mr brown, better known as bowsprit, acted as second to john coe. the swords were measured by the seconds and found of equal length. as both the weapons belonged to captain marston, the choice of them was offered to the prisoner, who took one of them at once, apparently without making any selection. the combatants were then placed in position; the salutes with the blades were given, and the fight began. it was very soon apparent that young coe was the more expert swordsman. captain marston had, when young, as most young gentlemen of fortune were in the habit of doing, taken lessons in the small-sword exercise; but he had of late been accustomed only occasionally to combats with the cutlass; and such conflicts--as even one who is not an expert at either weapon must know--must rather tend to diminish than increase one's skill with the small-sword. his antagonist, on the contrary, had been in the habit for years of practising play with foils with young gentlemen in his neighbourhood, so that he had much improved his skill of late years. the sword-points were scarcely crossed before john was aware that his adversary's life was in his hands. this discovery was a great relief to his mind. he placed no faith in the pledges given by captain marston's officers; on the contrary, he felt assured that, if he should kill one who had virtually acknowledged himself to be a pirate chief, his own life would be forfeited; even if the officers should keep their pledges to the letter, the common sailors were bound by no pledge. these reflections caused him to use all his efforts to disarm his adversary; and added to these considerations, inducing him to pursue such a course, was the memory of early associations, and also the apparent generosity of his foe in granting him a combat at all, as equal almost as it could be made under the circumstances. captain marston, too, became very soon aware that he was fighting against one who was superior in the use of the weapon which he had selected. shaken from his usual self-possession by a knowledge of this fact, and irritated by the forbearance of one whom he had considered his inferior with any weapon, and especially with the one which he had chosen, he made the mistake usual in such cases, "and showered his blows like wintry rain." john coe, on the contrary, kept perfect control of his faculties. for an instant he retreated rapidly before the violent assault of his adversary; but the next moment, with a short, sudden and powerful blow of his sword, he sent captain marston's weapon flying over his own head. his own sword-point was immediately at the captain's breast. there was a sensation among the spectators at this sudden and totally unexpected result of the combat; but there was no movement towards any interference. captain marston's arms dropped by his side. he stood before his antagonist, as if ready to receive his sword-thrust. coe stood, meanwhile, with his sword fixed, as it were, in the same position, while he kept his eyes firmly bent upon those of his conquered adversary. "i am at your mercy, mr coe," said captain marston, at length in a voice that palpitated, if i may use the term, partly on account of his recent violent exertion, and partly because of surprise at his defeat. "i wish you no harm," answered the victor, lowering his sword-point. "i only wished to show that had i been assailed by open force, i should not have been easily made a prisoner." the expression of the faces of the lookers-on showed that their captive had risen very highly in their estimation within the last few minutes. the most brutal and debased human being in the world still admires manly courage and magnanimity. the determined bearing of the prisoner, indicating a perfect preservation of his self-respect and self-reliance, in such adverse circumstances, and his willingness, even eagerness to prove his manhood by fighting captain marston in the very presence of his band, and the coolness, skill, and self-control which he had exhibited in winning and in using his victory, all manifested those qualities which men most admire in men. captain marston saw the admiration of his prisoner which was expressed in the faces of his officers and men; and he immediately resorted to an expedient which, by exhibiting on his part a generosity apparently equal, but in fact more than equal, to that of his adversary, might neutralise to some extent the injury which may have been done to his standing in the opinions of his band by the result of the contest. "you see, gentlemen," he said, addressing his ship's company, "that in the opinion which i have heretofore expressed to you of my friendly foe, i have not overrated his merits. let us have three hearty cheers for john alvan coe." the three cheers called for were immediately given with a will. "i further propose, gentlemen," said captain marston, "that we proceed forthwith to form the corps of marines which i have before spoken of to you, and that mr coe be offered the captaincy of that band." "and with all due deference to captain vance," exclaimed afton, before captain marston's proposition could be acted upon, and with his usual intermingling of expletives, "i propose that we either make mr coe commander of this brig, or throw him overboard. for my part, i should prefer to have the latter alternative carried out. no divided command can exist except to our disadvantage. if mr coe is, in your opinion, superior to captain vance, make him our chief; but do not give to him a charge which, unless he and the captain entirely agree, may cause civil war on board the brig." "i beg to differ with my honoured friend, lieutenant afton," said bowsprit, facing the ship's company. "as mr coe has proved himself a brave and skilful man, we should try to secure him as a co-partner in our enterprises. as he is a born and bred gentleman, there are cogent reasons why he should hold a respectable position among us. but, although he has shown that he is superior to captain vance in the use of the small-sword, we are not therefore to suppose that he is co-equal with our distinguished chieftain in experience in seamanship and in habits of command. nor would our new friend rank, in the position proposed, with our captain; he would be co-ordinate in rank with lieutenant seacome. there would be no danger of a conflict of authority with captain vance; there is a commander of marines on board of every man-of-war. i cannot, therefore, agree with either of the propositions of my distinguished friend afton. his first would be unjust to our captain, his second would be an equal wrong to the gallant new comer. i second captain vance's motion." the speech of billy bowsprit was received with much applause, and the proposition of the captain was adopted by a vote of two to one. mr afton had his admirers among those old salts who were, like himself, rough in language, and especially hardened in crime. these men were not influenced in their votes by the authority of the captain, or the eloquence of billy bowsprit. "and now, mr coe," said the captain, "will you do me the honour of accepting the post to which we have elected you, and give me the pleasure of being the first to name you by your new title, captain coe, of the marine force?" young coe remembered the conversation upon this very subject which he had held, in anticipation, with ada revere, and her advice as to the course which he should pursue, should the offer be made to him. he called to mind also that, immediately preceding his duel with captain marston, she had declared that she was indebted to himself for an important service. he knew that that unfortunate girl must be better qualified by experience than he was himself to guide his course in relation to this matter. he determined, therefore, that he would consult with her again, and, should he find her sincere in her friendly feelings towards him, to be governed by her counsel in the desperate strait in which he was placed. with this purpose in view he made answer to captain marston's question-- "your offer, captain vance, and gentlemen," he said, addressing the officers and seamen, and, for the first time, giving the captain of the brig his assumed name, "so changes the relation which i bore towards you but a few moments ago, that i must beg of you to grant me a little time to consider this question so suddenly placed before me. with your permission, i will retire for a few moments, and then return and give you my decision. in any case, i thank you for the favour you have shown to me." having thus spoken on deck, he retired to the cabin. in the saloon he found ada revere. she sat upon a sofa, with her head resting upon her hands. on the entrance of our hero she rose at once to meet him, and her face, which had been sad, expressed a sense of relief. "oh! i am so glad to see you, mr coe," she said. "your face seems to show that nothing unpleasant has resulted from the state of things in which i left you. tell me--do tell me quickly--what has happened?" john related to her all that had occurred. "and now, miss revere," he added, "i have come to ask an explanation of your language when you spoke some time ago of being under an obligation to me. when i saw you at the old manor house, your face seemed familiar to me. i thought that that recognition was accounted for by my having seen you in your boy's dress, at the spout on saint leonard's creek. but you appeared to refer to an acquaintance between us dating, farther into the past." "i can see nothing wrong, mr coe," answered the beautiful girl, "in telling you--in outline, at least--all my history. do you remember ada ashleigh, who was one of your schoolmates at the old manor quarter school-house situate between millmont and drum point?" "certainly i do," was the answer. "what a sweet and guileless little girl she was!" "i was that little girl, mr coe," said ada. "do you not remember that, when any of the schoolchildren charged me with being the daughter of a man who received smuggled goods, after my father was brought before a court in baltimore on such a charge, you always took my part? and once--an occasion which i shall never forget--when mr dempster, now an officer on board of this brig, but then a boy almost a year older than yourself, wounded my feelings even to weeping by his jeers, you rebuked him so severely for being rude, as you said, to a harmless little girl, that he challenged you to fight. i shall never forget the gratitude which i felt towards you for championing my cause, and my delight when you handled dempster so roughly, that he was obliged to acknowledge himself beaten, and to promise never to say a harsh word to me again." "we had heard in calvert," said john alvan, "that ada ashleigh had made a runaway marriage in baltimore, for which she was disinherited by her father. since that intelligence was received, two or three years ago, i have heard nothing of her fate." "that runaway marriage was between me and harry marston," said ada. "he intended it for a false marriage; and when he told me that it was such, i believed his words. but i learned, nearly a year ago now, from the friend of captain marston, whom he engaged to procure the services of some one, not a minister of the gospel, to perform the ceremony, that we had actually been wedded by a regular priest, and i have since obtained from that priest a certificate of the marriage. the conscience of henry marston's friend would not, at the last, allow him to take part in such deceit. my father never knew that it was with captain marston that i left his house; nor have i yet been able to summon the necessary courage to inform captain marston that we are really married. i wish that he knew it. i am sure that, had he been acquainted with the fact, he would never have commissioned me, his own wife, to act the part which he meant that i should act during your imprisonment at the old manor house and at the hut." "i would tell him for you myself, unhesitatingly," remarked john alvan, "but the information would come most properly from you." after some further conversation upon the subject, young coe asked-- "do you still advise me, madam, to accept this position which is offered to me? i do not mean absolutely to accept it, but seem to accept it. i know now that you are really my friend, and have full faith in you." "i certainly do," answered the lady. "your refusal to do so must eventuate in your death. they have gone too far to set you free, even under the most solemn pledges. as the most of these men would not be faithful to any pledge made to you, so they would not trust in any pledges made by you to them, under the circumstances. whereas, by seeming to accept the offer, you will, in the ordinary course of things, have many chances of making your escape." "yet," remarked the young man, "if they were to undertake, for instance, to capture a merchant vessel, i would die rather than give assistance in the commission of such a crime." "of course," answered ada, "but the `chapter of accidents' may make unnecessary your placing yourself in antagonism to the brig's crew on that question. we will hope so." "have they ever really made such captures?" asked young coe. "many such," replied ada. "they are pirates in the full meaning of the word." "in this business they must have committed murders," said john. "there is not a man in the brig, except yourself," answered ada, "who is not responsible for the shedding of human blood." "dear madam," said john, pityingly, "what a terrible life you must have led among such men." "i have often been able to save bloodshed," said ada. "most of the captures made by the _falcon_ have been made without the taking of human life. when life has been taken it has been mostly in cases where a fight has followed a refusal on the part of a merchant vessel to surrender. i have never known a case where captain marston has allowed any one to be hurt after surrender. indeed, i think at heart he is sick of the business in which he is engaged. afton, however, and too many of the crew with him, appear to take pleasure in acts of cruelty." the conversation between mrs marston and young coe here closed, and the latter returned upon deck. he expressed to the captain and the ship's company his acceptance provisionally of the post offered to him, it being understood that he reserved to himself the right to resign it whenever he thought proper to do so. mr afton loudly pronounced his maledictions against such "half-way" courses; and there were at first some dark scowls seen among the men. "i welcome you into our gallant service, captain coe," said captain marston, with much cordiality in his manner, "and am sure that no one member could be a greater addition to our company. as to the terms which captain coe makes," continued the pirate chief, addressing the men, "no one can object to them; any man has the right to resign at any time any office which he holds among us. the main thing is that captain coe is now a member of our band, and we all know how forcibly, in an instance of this kind, applies the old adage, `in for a penny, in for a pound!' shipmates welcome our new comrade." these remarks of captain marston, intended to counteract what had been said by afton, and to satisfy the crew with regard to the reservation made by coe, were well-timed, and their new comrade was welcomed with loud cheers. the company of marines was at once formed, and "captain" coe, as they called him, immediately commenced the performance of his new office, by taking his men through such a preparatory drill as the short remaining time of daylight would allow. it was his determination to make himself as popular as he could among those who were placed under his command, with the view of using his influence for such good purposes as might hereafter present themselves. he was eminently successful in his endeavours to obtain popularity, his men already entertaining great admiration of his courage and resolute demeanour. the _sea-bird_ continued for some days to run a southerly course, impelled by a moderate breeze from the west. her prow was then turned towards the south-east, it being the intention of captain marston to get into the track of vessels trading between the west indies and the spanish main, and the different european ports. while on this course certain changes were made in the appearance of the brig. the white stripe along her bends, just below the guards, was covered with a strip of black canvas; like strips, on which were painted the words the _falcon_, were placed on each of her bows, and on her stern, over the name the _sea-bird_, and the carved image of one bird was substituted for that of another as her figure-head. other alterations were made in her rigging and elsewhere, so that the vessel's appearance was almost entirely changed. story two, chapter ten. the chase. the western breeze is fresh and free; before its power the vessels fleet, and, bounding o'er the flashing waves, like lovers haste to meet. _isobel--a ballad_. and sweep through the deep, while the stormy tempests blow; while the battle rages loud and long, and the stormy tempests blow. _mariners of england_. by each gun a lighted brand, in a bold, determined hand. _battle of the baltic_. day after day the wind continued to blow mildly from the west, and the brig still made regular but slow progress before it, on her south-eastwardly course. one morning, before sunrise, a strange sail was espied upon the larboard bow. it was during mr afton's watch that this discovery was made. the second-lieutenant pronounced the stranger to be a merchant ship. this fact, with the opinion of the officer of the watch, being communicated to the commander of the brig, who was still in his hammock, and whom we must now call captain vance, orders were given by him to crowd all sail on the _falcon_, and to pursue the stranger ship. hour after hour passed away, and still the pirate vessel continued to gain on the chase, which had in the meanwhile been discovered to be a large and heavily-laden ship. mile after mile the brig gained while the wind lasted; but towards two o'clock the light breeze, which had been blowing from the same point so many days, began to die away, and by noon there was an absolute calm. the brig was at this time still many miles distant from the ship. for more than an hour each vessel remained, except as affected by that unceasing swell (in this instance scarcely perceptible) which never allows the water to be perfectly tranquil, as motionless as-- "a painted ship upon a painted ocean." between one and two o'clock, clouds, in masses at first comparatively light, but which grew dense and denser, began to move overhead from the east towards the west; these were evidently impelled by a wind travelling in the same direction, and light flaws of which occasionally made faint shadows over the ocean by slightly stirring its waters, and sometimes gave a soft pulsation to the sails of the two vessels. shortly after two o'clock, lightning flashes gleamed in rather quick succession, from below the eastern horizon; but no thunder was heard. at length a small portion of densely black cloud showed itself in the same direction, above the line dividing the ocean and sky. this cloud rapidly rose, spreading itself as it ascended, while flashes of lightning, followed, after fast-diminishing intervals, by grand and grander thunder-burst, flamed forth more and more frequently, from the dark and threatening mass of vapour. soon blasts of wind, heavily laden with moisture, and each more powerful than that which preceded it, came with rapidly decreasing lulls, from the west, until the breeze, having at length become continuous, had grown almost to a storm. both vessels had prepared for this increased force of the wind by shortening sail. the chase, however, urged by the necessity of escaping as well from the brig which pursued her as from the storm, still carried all the canvas which she could bear under the heavy pressure of the wind, almost directly before which both vessels were now steering an east-north-east course. still the brig, built after the baltimore clipper model, so famed for fleetness, continued to gain rapidly upon the ship. "suppose, captain," said afton, addressing marston, "we range the `long tom' to bear upon her, and give her a shot?" "there is no chance of hitting her," answered the captain, "with the brig beginning to pitch in the way she is now; it will be but waste of powder. besides, the distance is too great." "if we wait," objected the second-lieutenant (so-called), "until we get within range of her two cannon, she will have the advantage of us in the number of her guns. if we fire at her from a distance, on the contrary, her cannon will be of no use to her." the intelligent reader, of course, already understands that the ship pursued was the _duchess_, which, with her passengers and captain, was introduced to his attention in a previous chapter. "in the present condition of the weather," replied the captain to the objections of his second officer, "we shall have to lose the advantage of the longer range of our gun, or lose our hoped-for prize. at the rate at which we are now gaining on her, it will be nearly sunset when we overtake her. the sky is already darkened by clouds, and if the rain--which is threatening to fall every moment--should continue into the night, we may lose sight of her altogether, and she may make her escape in the darkness. if she offers to resist, therefore, we shall have to fight at close quarters." "i hope that she may be worth the trouble she is likely to give us," muttered afton, with his usual maledictions. "and i hope, afton," retorted the captain, with a jesting smile, "that you have no intention of getting nervous about the matter?" "a pretty time of day," rejoined afton, "for anybody to be doubting my courage. you know well enough that i was only wishing that we should make a good haul in capturing her." "we cannot tell what she is worth," said the captain, "until we get on board of her. this we know--that she is a large ship, and appears to be well laden. others might give up the hope of capturing her on account of the state of the weather; i never give up what i undertake." "it is very evident," said lieutenant seacome, "from the manner in which she is handled, that the man who has charge of her is a thorough seaman." "yes," assented the captain. "and there is something about the man's movements, as i note him through the telescope, which convinces me that he will make a fight of it before he yields. captain coe, you must see to it that your men are ready with all their side-arms. they evidently have men enough to manage both their cannon; and they will, therefore, have the advantage of us, unless we board them, or lay so closely alongside of them that our small-arms will tell. i am determined to board, however, if it be possible to do so in such a sea." "my men are prepared to act at a minute's notice," said the captain of marines. young coe had made much progress in the last few days in perfecting his men in their drill. he had already gained their confidence in his capacity for command, his courage and skill, and his possession of all his faculties in moments of danger. notwithstanding the language in which he had so promptly answered captain vance's (as we must call him now) inquiry, he entertained not the slightest intention of taking any part in the commission of crime; he was determined, on the contrary, to use his influence with his men to prevent it. for the manner in which he should carry out this latter determination he was compelled to trust to contingencies. on board the pirate-brig every preparation was made for a conflict. in the meantime the hours advanced, and at length the two vessels were within short cannon range of each other. it still wanted more than an hour to sunset, and notwithstanding the dense clouds which still covered the sky (the rain which had fallen heavily for a while had soon ceased) the daylight was still clear enough to distinguish objects on board of one ship from the other, whenever the upheaving and subsidence of the waves allowed the deck of the lower to be seen from that of the higher. as the brig overhauled the chase, captain vance directed his helmsman to steer to the larboard of the chase, on a line as near as it was safe to approach her; by this course he would not only take the weather-guage of the ship, but would also make his position more convenient to "speak" her. "mr bowsprit," said the captain to the officer who had charge of the cannon, "fire a shot across her bows. that is the best way to open the conversation." the shot was immediately fired; and the reverberation was deafening, in the damp, heavy atmosphere. the vessels were now not more than a hundred yards apart; so near were they to each other, that the shadow of the brig--the outlines of which were defined clearly by the light which came from the western sky, where the clouds were somewhat broken--fell almost aboard the ship. the shot brought immediately a hail from the deck of the _duchess_. "brig ahoy!" came through a speaking trumpet in stentorian tones from captain johnson. "ay, ay," was the answer. "who are you, and what do you want?" was the retort from the deck of the ship. "the _falcon_, free rover," replied captain vance, "and we want you to surrender." "we will never surrender to pirates," answered captain johnson. "if you surrender without resistance, we will spare the lives of all on board," said the captain of the _falcon_. "i would rather sink the ship," replied the captain of the _duchess_. "woe be to you then," exclaimed captain vance. "your blood and that of those under your control be upon your own head." all this conversation between the vessels had been carried on through speaking-trumpets. "mr seacome," said captain vance to his first lieutenant, "display the flag." the pirate flag of those days, having a black ground with white skull and cross-bones displayed upon it, was immediately run up to the main mast-head of the brig. the gale still continued to blow with great force, and the waves were running higher and higher. though i have said that the vessels were about a hundred yards apart, it is not to be supposed that there was any regularity in the distance between them. now one vessel would be far below, then far above the other, as she sank into the trough of a sea, or rose upon the crest of a wave. now the surging waters would drive them farther apart, and now closer together. meanwhile, near and far over the sea, the fiercely-labouring winds and billows loudly roared in wild unison their stern and complaining songs. "had we not better, captain," asked seacome, "keep as near as we can to the ship until this gale has fallen, and then make the assault? we could scarcely board in such a wind as this, even should she surrender." john coe wished sincerely that this proposition should be adopted. only in case of boarding the ship could he hope to carry out his plans; and it did not seem to him possible that boarding could be done in such a state of the weather. should muskets be used, while the vessels were thus running side by side, his men--acting under his orders too--would, like the rest of the pirate-brig's crew, do all the damage they could to those on board the ship; and he would have no means of preventing them. "it is not the wind that is in our way," answered captain vance to mr seacome, "so much as the waves; and seas will run higher and higher while this gale continues. our best chance is now. mr bowsprit," he exclaimed, turning to that officer, "have you reloaded your gun?" "ay, ay, sir," was the answer. "then fire into them," said the captain, "and do them all the damage you can." the long tom again pealed a savage note. but the only damage done to the _duchess_ was a small hole made through one of her sails. the shot was immediately returned; it was fired by captain johnson's own hand. the ball passed through the guards and swept across the deck of the _falcon_, killing one man, and wounding two more by the splinters which it tore from the timbers through which it had forced its way. the loud peal of the cannon had not died away, when another shot from the _duchess_ came almost upon its track, again killing one and wounding two more. "this will never do, mr bowsprit," said captain vance. "is your gun loaded again?" "yes, sir," was the reply. "let me manage her this time," said the captain. his shot was well aimed; it struck the guards of the _duchess_, scattering the splinters far and wide. "i'll guarantee that did them some damage," remarked captain vance. scarcely had he spoken, when two cannon-shots came in quick succession from the _duchess_. the one struck the deck of the _falcon_, tearing up the splinters; the other again struck the guards, scattering fragments of timber. one sailor was killed directly beside captain vance; three others were slightly wounded. "furies!" exclaimed the pirate chief, "that fellow knows his business. but this will never do. give them a volley of musketry." the loud roar of the long tom, and the rattling peal of the muskets immediately blended into one tremendous sound. that sound was instantly echoed from on board the ship; two cannon-shots and a dozen musket-loads again poured devastation upon the deck of the brig. "we must come to close quarters," exclaimed the pirate chief; "we are fast losing the advantage of superior numbers. the terrible skill of that devil with his cannon is destroying our superiority in that respect. give me a loaded musket." he waited until a partial lifting of the smoke-cloud gave him a glimpse of the stout, manly figure of captain johnson, then, in an instant, taking aim, he fired. the ceaseless motion of the vessels destroyed the effect of his aim; and the man who was fired at escaped unharmed. "pistols and cutlasses!" exclaimed vance, much excited. "prepare to board. forward with your men, captain coe. helmsman, put us alongside of that vessel at once." "that's the way to talk," said afton. "we'll give the whelps no mercy now." "we may sink both vessels by collision," said seacome, "in such a sea as this." "then let them sink," cried the pirate chief, all of whose evil passions were now aroused. "lay us aboard quickly, helmsman." the helmsman did his work skilfully; the starboard-bow of the brig was brought to bear gradually towards the larboard bow of the ship; and the two vessels approached each other in such a manner that their sides when they touched formed, at the point of contact, a very acute angle. the guards of the ship were above those of the brig; yet grappling-irons were cast from the latter and the vessels were made fast together. but the independent rolling and pitching of each of them, which caused them sometimes to "yaw" asunder, sometimes to come together with a crash that sounded like thunder, made the passage from one to the other very dangerous. story two, chapter eleven. the boarding attack. together they came with a crashing and rending, while the sounds of the battle and tempest were blending. _the lost ship_. we will be true to you, most noble sir. _avator_. oh, spare my daughter! take my wealth--i care not; but spare my daughter. _old play_. villain, forbear! throw down your arms--surrender. _the assault_. the last fire from the _falcon_ had made sad havoc among the crew of the merchant vessel; two men were killed and three badly wounded by it. hence it was that, when the pirates were thronging the brig's side, preparing to spring on board the ship, captain johnson had but nine men to aid him in resisting the assault, the tenth being at the wheel. the odds were fearfully against him, being more than three to one; the pirate chief, leaving ten men to take care of the brig, had still thirty-one men, besides those who had been placed _hors de combat_, with whom to board the ship. while john coe was standing by the starboard guards of the brig, prepared to spring on board of the ship, with every nerve wrought up to its highest tension, he ejaculated prayers to the almighty to guard him from sin and guide him to goodness in this terrible crisis of his fate. just as the vessels were coming together, he felt his arm touched, and turning, saw ada by his side. "for heaven's sake, madam," he said, in low but earnest tones, "what are you doing here? do go into the cabin and seek out its safest corner. you are almost certain to lose your life here. this is no place for a helpless woman." "how can i stay there," she said, "while these horrible scenes are taking place? i am inured to danger, and put no value on my life. besides, i feel impelled by a power within me, and which i cannot resist, to take part in the scenes about to occur on board of that ship. i put myself by your side, both because my husband would drive me away from his, and because, of all who are about to board that vessel, you alone have no evil in your heart, but are seeking to prevent it; and i wish to aid you in that good work. see! i also am armed." she showed a cutlass in her hand, and pointed to two double-barrelled pistols in a belt round her waist. "keep closely by my side, then," said john, seeing her determination. "i will do all that i can to protect you." "thank you," she replied. john turned towards his other side; there, near to him, stood billy bowsprit. "bowsprit," he said, in a low voice, "keep near to me; and do not forget your pledge to give all the aid in your power to prevent, to such extent as we can, the shedding of innocent blood." "mr coe," answered billy, earnestly and emphatically, yet in a whisper, "i am with you, heart and hand, i am yours in life and death." "and see, too," said coe, in the same low tones, "that the five men of my band, who are with us, keep near to us, and that you and they follow me wherever i go." "they are here, sir," whispered billy, "just behind you and me. every man of them can be relied on; they are all devoted to you." "and you and they," replied john, still in the same undertones, "may depend upon my fulfilling my promise, should i escape with life and freedom from the perils of this night." thus the thirty men of the _falcon's_ crew detailed for the boarding-party, stood by the guards of the brig upon that side of her towards the ship, waiting for the moment when the upheaving and subsidence of the waters should uplift the former and depress the latter, that they might seize the opportunity to leap down upon the deck of the _duchess_. captain johnson was also waiting for the same moment. he had stationed eight men each with a cutlass in his right hand and a pistol in his left, in a position to meet the pirates should they gain his deck. he had so carefully balanced and trained his two guns that, when they should be fired, the balls would come together at a short distance from the muzzles of the cannon. by one of these guns stood captain johnson himself, by the other one of his mates, upon whose coolness he could thoroughly depend. each of these two resolute men held a lighted match in his hand. by this time the sun had been half an hour below the horizon, and the short twilight of that southern latitude was fast darkening into a night of storm and of unusual gloom; for although there was one clear spot in the western sky, all the rest of the face of heaven was veiled in heavy clouds. in his anxiety to gain as soon as possible the deck of the ship, captain vance had not noted all the dispositions made on board the _duchess_; his attention had been given mainly to the ordering of his own men, and to the eight men arranged for the reception of his assaulting party. the critical moment, upon the results of which so much of vital importance to the combatants depended, arrived. the brig rose high upon the summit of a huge billow, while the merchant ship descended into the valley between that and another monster wave. at that instant the pirates sprung towards the deck of the _duchess_, the eight men of the latter, who had been placed to meet this assault, fired their pistols, and captain johnson and his mate applied the matches to the cannon. three of the pirates fell upon the ship's deck, two killed and one mortally wounded by the pistol-shots of their enemies; five made the leap too late, of whom two were crushed between the vessels, and fell into the sea, and three struck against the guards of the now rising ship, and were thrown back with violence upon their own deck. captain vance himself received a pistol-shot through the brain at the moment when he was about to spring from the guards of the _falcon_ to the deck of the _duchess_; he disappeared between the two vessels and sunk into the sea. john coe--to avoid confronting the eight defenders of the ship--had taken his station with ada, billy bowsprit, and the rest of the small party devoted to him, on the extreme left of the boarding-line of pirates. the next officer on his right was lieutenant afton, who was separated from him, however, by several men. at the extreme right of the whole line had been captain vance; lieutenant seacome being left in charge of the brig. thus, when young coe, holding ada by the hand, alighted on the deck of the _duchess_, he found the second-lieutenant of the _falcon_--with a party of five men under his immediate command--between himself and the defenders of the ship. he saw the wretch afton, ever intent upon spoil--after making, with all the assaulting party to his right, a rush against the ship's crew, which forced the latter to give back a space-- detach himself with four men from the rest of the pirates, and, crossing the deck, hurry along the starboard side of the ship towards the entrance to the cabin. it had been the first intention of coe to throw himself, with his small force, between the contending parties, and to insist upon the pirates retiring to the brig; or, in case of their refusal to do so, to take sides against them in the fight. but, seeing that the odds against the ship's crew was now not so great, captain johnson and his mate having joined them, he determined, with his followers, to pursue afton, and to prevent such mischief as he might be bent upon. captain johnson, when he saw so many of the pirate crew hastening towards the cabin, was also anxious to follow them; but he was too hard pressed by his enemies to allow him to do so. he hoped, moreover, that the tenants of the cabin had had the forethought to barricade the door, in which case the pirates might be prevented from breaking in upon mr durocher and his family until he could overpower the force immediately before him, and then, turning upon those who had gone towards the cabin, might thus be able to overcome his enemies in detail. the door of the cabin had been barricaded by mr durocher, as well as he could do so, with the aid of his daughter and the quadroon girl, but the fastenings scarcely withstood for one moment the violent assault of afton and his men. they passed in without further opposition--the illness of mr durocher preventing him from offering even a moment's resistance. an instant of silence ensued, and then, above the noise of conflict without arose the cries of distress from the cabin--the shrieks of women! that was the cry most agonising to young coe. "here, my brave fellows!" he shouted, "follow me, and remember your own mothers and sisters at home!" he dashed off down the deck, past the assailants and assailed still struggling there, and, followed by ada and his men, sprung into the cabin to confront afton and his men in their fiendish scheme. afton, having penetrated to the state-rooms, had seized miss durocher, and was trying to drag her forth, preparatory to removing her to the brig. "unhand that lady, villain!" shouted coe. "villain yourself?" roared afton. "who made you my master, i should like to know?" afton was a strong man, but young coe was both stronger and more active, and when he was aroused and inflamed by a righteous anger the pirate was but a child in his hands. he said not another word, but releasing the lady from the grasp of the ruffian by a sudden and dexterous exertion, he seized the pirate with both hands and swung him with tremendous force through the state-room doorway into the saloon. so violently did the latter strike the floor, that he lay at once without sense or motion. one of afton's men, drawing a pistol, had pointed it at the head of the infuriated rescuer; but ere he could pull the trigger, ada, who already had a pistol in her hand, fired, and broke his right arm, which fell powerless to his side. he stooped to pick up the weapon which he had dropped with the hand of his uninjured arm, but ada drew another pistol from her belt and presented it at his head. "if you attempt to take up that weapon again, joe," she said, with firmness of purpose expressed in her tones, "you are a dead man." the man yielded at once, and stood motionless and silent before the pistol which she continued to hold with the muzzle towards him. at the same time when these scenes were occurring in the state-room, others were taking place in the saloon. "unhand that gentleman," said bowsprit, to two men who held the sick mr durocher prisoner. "we are acting under the orders of the second-lieutenant," replied one of the men. "point your pistols at those men," said bowsprit, addressing those under his command, himself presenting at them a weapon in each hand. his orders were at once obeyed. "we have pistols, too," gruffly said one of the men who held mr durocher. "now," said billy, "release your prisoner at once, or i'll warrant you'll never disobey orders again." at this moment the body of afton came rushing head-foremost out of the state-room. seeing the condition of their officer, the two men unhanded mr durocher, and sullenly threw their weapons upon the floor. the fourth of the men who had accompanied afton, and who had stood at the state-room door through all these scenes, apparently stupefied by surprise, quietly handed his pistols and cutlass to bowsprit. story two, chapter twelve. the fate of the falcon. sir, i thank you-- my heart is full of thanks to you. _the dream_. *john*. surrender, sirs. *isaac*. never; we die first. _old play_. full many a fathom deep they rushed down--down the dark abyss. _ballad_. mr durocher, with the vivacity and warm-heartedness of a frenchman, embraced young coe, calling him his preserver, and overwhelming him with thanks. "thank only god, my dear sir," replied the deliverer. "i am not doing even all my duty. how many lives may be lost on deck while i am delaying here! mr bowsprit," he continued, addressing that individual, "bind the hands of your prisoners at once, and then come, with your men, upon deck with me." through the open door of the state-room he could see ada, still pointing her pistol at joe, whose right arm hung loosely at his side. "madam," asked john, "is that man's arm broken?" "yes," she answered; "i broke it with a pistol-shot; but i understand a little of surgery, and can easily set it if i can get a few splinters of wood." mr durocher had hastened to his daughter and was holding her in his embrace, when hearing the word madam addressed to a person in male attire, he said-- "from this gentleman calling you madam, i suppose that you are a woman, and understand those sudden sicknesses caused by excited feelings, and peculiar to women?" "i am a woman," answered ada, blushing; "and i understand you. i see that your daughter has fainted. i will attend to her. have you any salts?" she continued, addressing celeste. the poor quadroon girl was herself near to the point of swooning; but aroused herself when thus addressed, and hastened to bring the restoratives asked for. while she was searching for these among the vials and bottles of the medicine-case, mr durocher laid his daughter upon the bed. he then turned to ada, and said-- "you need not trouble yourself with that man any more. let him come into my state-room adjoining this, and lie upon my bed. i understand something of surgery myself; i also have the materials for making splinters, and will dress his wound." meantime, in the saloon, the hands of the prisoners were bound, even those of afton. leaving one of his men to guard the prisoners, coe and the rest hastened upon deck. scarcely five minutes had elapsed since he had left the deck--so many incidents may occur in a brief period of time, when the struggle is one of life and death. the man who had been placed at the helm by captain johnson still kept his post. through all the excitement and confusion, through the uproar and perils of the storm and the battle, that sturdy and brave seaman had, with unflinching patience and fidelity, and by a skilful management of the helm, watched for and warded off the effect of every huge wave which had threatened the safety of this ship. when the two vessels had come together, he had, by good guidance, broken to a great extent the force of the collision. when he had seen his comrades pressed by vastly superior numbers, and knew that his own safety depended on their successful defence--when he had seen the pirates hurry into the cabin where were only the sickly old man and the two helpless females--he had firmly maintained his post, steadily and faithfully performing the duties which had been assigned to him. he knew that upon him depended the safety of all on board; that the slightest neglect on his part, the slightest failure of hand or eye, might allow the ship to broach to and be swamped in the tremendous seas which were now running. fidelity to duty, in instances of this kind, exhibits the purest type of heroism of character. and such instances are very common in ordinary life, among all classes, and especially among the humblest. there is seldom any genuine heroism in mere fighting; when man's passions are stirred--whether by feelings right or wrong--and his animal nature thoroughly roused, fighting is an absolute enjoyment to him; and in battle there is the additional incentive of glory to urge him to acts of valour. but, too often, in the apparent stillness of quiet life, there are duties which are discharged amid ceaseless temptations to neglect them. these nobody notes as worthy of especial honour; because they occur every day, every hour. many persons cross the atlantic to see niagara, and they talk of its grandeur and sublimity--and justly do they do so; yet who speaks of, or even notes the fact, which all must acknowledge, that the sky, which by day and by night bends over the head of every man, woman, and child in every part of the world, is a thousand times grander and more sublime than even the wonderful cataract? a blessed truth it is to the humble disciples of humble duty, that, though no earthly being observes them with praise, god sees them. there was yet a faint glimmer of daylight when john coe came upon the deck of the ship. in that dim light the fight was still going on. it had commenced with twelve men from the _falcon_ on the one side, and ten men belonging to the _duchess_ on the other. so nearly were the individuals of the contending parties balanced in personal strength and prowess, that the success of the pirates had been very nearly in exact proportion to their superiority of number. the loss was of two men upon each side, and the defenders of the ship had been driven back to a position very near to the quarter-deck; but of the pirates one was wounded and one was killed, while of the defenders two only were wounded. both of the parties were fighting with cutlasses only; the pistols had all been fired in the beginning of the engagement, and there had since been no opportunity of reloading them. coe, with his small force, threw himself between the contending ranks, flashing his cutlass right and left, and striking upwards the clashing weapons. "hold your hands," he cried, in a loud voice. "my party is a small one; but we are enough to settle this contest at once in favour of the side into whose support we may throw ourselves." the pirates at once dropped their points and fell back; they, of course, felt convinced that a reinforcement had come to their help. captain johnson and his men, however, naturally looking upon the new comers as enemies, and supposing that coe's mode of dealing with existing affairs was a _ruse_ to take them at disadvantage, were not disposed to cease fighting so readily. still, captain johnson reflected that it would be well to hear what proposition was to be made. he, therefore, dropped his point and retired a step or two, and ordered his men to cease fighting and to fall back. his command was immediately obeyed. "mr brown," said coe, addressing bowsprit, as soon as he saw that the fighting was suspended, "you and your men are supplied with two pistols apiece, i believe?" "yes, sir," answered billy. "are they all loaded?" asked coe. "all loaded," was the echoed answer. "then draw, each of you, one in each hand," said our hero, "and have each pistol ready for instant use. but keep your cutlasses suspended by the cord from the right wrist." coe's order was instantly obeyed; and he himself at the moment prepared his weapons as he had commanded the others to prepare theirs. "gentlemen pirates," he said, sarcastically, addressing those of the boarding-party who had been engaged in the fight, "you will remember that when i accepted the high and distinguished office of captain of marines on board of the brig _falcon_, the free rover, i did so provisionally, and on the express condition that i retained the right of resigning whenever i should think proper to do so. i exercise that reserved right now. i resign the honourable post so flatteringly offered to me; and i am, therefore, no longer a member of the gallant band composing the crew of the brig _falcon_." "what's the meaning of all this fine talk?" asked a gruff-looking pirate. "what have we got to do with your affairs at this time?" "it means that i never have been, and never have intended to be, a pirate," answered the captain; "i had rather die a thousand deaths than be one of your kind. i was taken prisoner by deceit, and was then entirely in your power; yet, even in such circumstances, my first impulse was to defy your whole band and thus to bring on my own death rather than to seem to become a member of your ship's company. i was induced to act as i have done, partly by the advice of a friend whom circumstances had forced to remain among you, but mainly by the conviction that the ruler of events would not have allowed me to be taken prisoner by you merely for the purpose of permitting my death. i hoped not only that i might thus be able to make my escape, but that i might prevent some of the evil which you are accustomed to do in your vocation, and might also find amongst your number some whom i could induce to become again honest men. i see a good prospect of success in all these objects." "what's the use of all this argufying?" said the sailor who had before spoken, and who was boatswain of the _falcon_. "tell us what do you mean? what are you going to do?" "what i mean is this," answered coe. "lay down your arms at once and surrender. you have no chance of defending yourselves successfully against such odds as will now be opposed to you." "you don't mean to say," said the boatswain, "that leftenant bowsprit and them others there have turned agin us?" "we are all," answered bowsprit, "pledged to stand by mr coe for life or death." "as to them other fellows there," said the boatswain, "i never had much faith in them; but i didn't think, leftenant, that you would ever desert us." "i am determined," replied bowsprit, "to live hereafter, and to die, an honest man." "and to get yourself hanged," sneered the sailor. "i had rather things should come to that," said bowsprit, "than ever to be a pirate again." "come," said coe; "you must decide quickly. do you surrender?" "never," answered the boatswain. "we can hold out until old bully afton comes from the cabin--confound him, he's always after the gals and the rhino--we shall then be equal to you. never say `die'--heh, boys?" the pirates answered him by cheers, mingled with oaths, swearing that they would rather die where they stood like men, than to be hanged like dogs. "you need not expect help from afton or his men," said the resolute coe, addressing the pirates; "i have them all bound in the cabin." "mr coe," said bowsprit, who did not like to take a part in consigning any of his old comrades to the gallows, "suppose we allow them to escape to the _falcon_?" that question was never answered. the reference made by bill bowsprit to the brig caused most of the pirates, and the boatswain among the number, to turn their faces towards the vessel. what they saw determined them to immediate action. most men come to a resolution very speedily when a sudden emergency leaves them but a brief time for doing so. when the two cannon were fired by captain johnson and one of his mates at the very moment when the pirates boarded the _duchess_, the effect of the rebound of the guns upon one vessel and of the striking of the shot upon the other had a violent tendency to drive the ship and the brig apart. the hold of the grappling-irons and other fastenings which kept the two vessels together was therefore, much weakened by the shock. the violent dashing against each other of the ship and the brig had not only carried away a considerable part of the upper-works, but threatened, if continued much longer, to dash in the very sides of the two vessels; of course, this ceaseless motion tended to weaken more and more the bonds which held the ship and the brig together. at the very moment when the boatswain and others of the pirates looked towards the brig, these fastenings gave way, and the two vessels were about to part. "come, boys! quick!" cried the boatswain, rushing towards the guards of the ship. he was immediately followed by all of his men who were left alive, except the one who lay wounded upon the ship's deck. the next instant they sprang from the broken guards of the _duchess_ towards the deck of the _falcon_; in the confusion and hurry three of them missed the leap, fell into the sea and were drowned. at the same time the vessels parted. when the boatswain gained the brig, he turned round to those whom he left on the deck of the ship, shook his fist, and exclaimed, in a voice that was heard above the sound of the wind and the sea: "look out for the long tom!" "we should not have allowed them to escape," said john coe to captain johnson. "it is better as it is," said the captain. "we have escaped from a fate so terrible, that all minor perils are but as trifles in comparison. i know not who you are, young gentleman; but your appearance and action among us have been so wonderful that it almost seems as if you were an angel sent from heaven to rescue us." "you do me too much honour," said the young man. "but i will explain to you everything when we have leisure. at present, there are the wounded to be attended to." "true," replied the captain. then turning to his men, he added, "bring lights, some of you, and remove the wounded below." by this time the vessels were some twenty yards apart. "see!" exclaimed billy bowsprit, "they are loading the cannon on board the _falcon_." only dimly through the night shadows could the deck of the brig be seen; for now the last vestige of daylight had departed. some of the men who belonged to the _duchess_ were enabled to assist in loading the two cannon; for captain johnson had expressed his determination that, if a shot was fired from the pirate-brig, he would, as before, return them two for one. "the two shots which i fired at the moment of their boarding us," he said to coe, "made a good-sized hole in their hull just above the water-mark; and they must have taken in considerable water through it, during the tossing and pitching of the brig. i will make another hole in their timbers if they fire at me again." even while he spoke a shot came from the _falcon_. it was fired, probably, by the skilful hand of seacome; for it again carried away a part of the guards. fortunately, no one was injured. captain johnson quickly responded with his two guns. his object was to strike the enemy's hull, near where his last two shots had struck; and he probably did so, for, in a few moments afterwards--by the light of the lamps on board the _falcon_--men were seen hurrying to and fro in apparently great excitement. loud tones were also heard, seemingly giving orders. all who were on the deck of the _duchess_ stood still, listening and watching. "your shot must have done them serious damage," said coe, at length, to captain johnson; "the excitement seems to increase." "it seems to me," said billy bowsprit, who was watching things sharply, "the _falcon_ is settling in the water." upon the background of the sky, the spectators on board the _duchess_ could see the masts of the brig slowly bend forward; still slowly for a while they moved onward in the same direction, sinking, sinking from the horizontal line in the sky which they had formerly touched; and then their motion was gradually accelerated. "see!" exclaimed bowsprit, "her bows are going under, as sure as my name is william." that instant, a wild, despairing and mingled cry arose from the deck of the _falcon_; the next moment that gallant craft plunged head-foremost into the sea and disappeared. "god have mercy on their souls!" exclaimed captain johnson. "the best among them can be but little prepared to enter the other world." the captain of the _duchess_ then ordered a thorough examination to be made of the damage done to his ship. for many feet along the larboard beam and larboard bow the guards were almost entirely torn away. from the fact that the ship was also leaking, it was evident that the planks had been started somewhat where the larboard side of the _duchess_ had been beaten against by the starboard of the _falcon_; a single pump kept regularly at work easily balanced the effects of this leak. a part of this labour was performed by some of billy bowsprit's men, all of whom-- at the suggestion of coe--reported themselves to captain johnson for duty as a part of his crew. afton and three of his men who were unwounded were put in irons and removed to safe keeping in the forward part of the ship; and the man whose arm had been broken by ada marston's shot was placed with the rest of the wounded in the sailor's quarters, where they were all made as comfortable as circumstances would allow. after these tasks had been attended to, captain johnson read the "funeral service at sea" over the bodies of the dead, which, enshrouded and with weights attached to them, were launched into the ocean. the decks were then scrubbed by the light of lanterns, the watch set for the night, and all made secure. these duties being performed, captain johnson, coe, and bowsprit went down into the cabin, to look after the condition of things there. they found louise recovered from her swoon, but still very pale and nervous. she sat beside the sofa, on which lay her father, very ill from the shock of his recent terrible excitement. the quadroon girl was crouched upon the floor at the feet of her mistress; she also was very pale, and her eyes still had a wild and alarmed look. ada, too, sat upon the floor, at a little distance from the others, her head against the seat of a chair, and her face hidden in her hands. she had been upon deck and had seen the brig sink in the ocean. she had learned of her husband's death; that she was weeping proved that she was a woman. there was not much rest for captain johnson that night; the leaky condition of his ship, and the still strong gale and high-rolling waves kept him on the alert. billy bowsprit, who was a thorough seaman, insisted upon watching with the captain. coe was assigned a berth in one of the state-rooms forward of the saloon. knowing that he could be of no farther use, he consented to retire for the night. being much fatigued, he soon fell asleep, in dreams to recall, in forms more or less distorted, all the incidents of the day; yet amid all the scenes which his memory presented to his imagination, bent over him the soft, appealing eyes, the pale and beautiful face of louise durocher. story two, chapter thirteen. gathered ends. melting and mingling into one two kindred souls. _anon_. and so his life was gently exhaled in peace. _anon_. hail, wedded love! _paradise lost_. that's the very moral on't. _nym_. the gale continued blowing all that night, all the next day, and for two or three days following. the injured condition of the ship made it unsafe for her to contend against the force of so strong a wind; and she was, therefore, kept directly before it. while the _duchess_ was thus running before the wind, two of the wounded pirates and three of the wounded of the ship's crew died, and were committed to the deep. the man whose arm had been broken by ada's pistol-shot, and the other two of the wounded men belonging to the ship's company, recovered before the arrival of the vessel in port. a consultation was held in mr durocher's state-room, on the day after the fight, between mr durocher himself, captain johnson, and john coe, to which billy bowsprit was also admitted, and in which it was determined that as soon as the gale should abate, the ship should be steered for the nearest port in the united states. this determination was formed, that the ship might receive the necessary repairs, and that the captured pirates might be surrendered to the government whose citizens they were. on the fourth day after the fight the wind from the west had so abated that the course of the ship was changed, and she was headed towards the west. on the fifth day a fresh wind from the north arose; and, impelled by it, the _duchess_ made good progress for the american coast. meanwhile, the gallant young marylander had become intimately acquainted with mr durocher and his daughter. he told to them the singular history of his connection with the pirates, of which ada had already given them some particulars. the warm-hearted old french gentleman became much attached to the brave fellow, upon whom he could not look, he said, without remembering the awful horror from which he had delivered his daughter and himself. besides, he esteemed him as an impersonation of courage and genius, because, in circumstances in which, according to ordinary apprehension, it seemed impossible to avoid being forced to the commission of crime, he had not only overcome his enemies, saving the penitent, and destroying the hopelessly guilty, but had also escaped from all the difficulties which had surrounded him, with his own hands unstained by human blood. the fair and gentle louise, too, was not insensible to the merits of her deliverer; her fervid feelings recognised in him a personification of the knights of old; and, with the spirit of self-sacrifice which greatly influences the tender and amiable of her sex, she longed to devote the services of her life to him in requital for her salvation from a horrible doom. it must be confessed that "the deliverer" was not unimpressible nor unimpressed. fixed for ever in his memory was the image of that young and loving girl, as he first beheld her when she lay pale, senseless, and perfectly helpless in the power of the pirate. and when he saw her afterwards, fully awakened to life, and her intelligent and enthusiastic mind and kind and loving heart expressing themselves in every glance of her soft blue eyes, in every flush that tinged her fair cheeks, in every expression of her beautiful lips, and in every musical sentence that issued from between them, he could scarcely realise that the bright form, clad in white robes, expressive of purity, and the shining face, surrounded by a halo of golden hair, belonged not to an angelic presence. indeed, these two young hearts required but an uttered word to cause the fountain of mutual love, like the waters of horeb brought forth by the touch of the prophet's wand, to pour out for each other its treasures of tenderness. and that word was at length spoken, with the entire approbation of mr durocher, whose friendship and fatherly regard for the young man was almost as great as his daughter's love. the merchant's health, already weak, had received a terrible shock from the agony which his heart experienced on the evening of the assault of the pirates, a shock from the effects of which he never recovered, and when the _duchess_ entered charleston harbour, three weeks after that dreadful evening, he had to be carried on a bed from the boat to the rooms engaged for his party at the hotel. to this house, ada marston and john coe accompanied him. immediately on arriving at charleston, john wrote to his parents, informing them of all the remarkable adventures which had befallen him, and mentioning the state of affairs between louise and himself. in due course he received letters from his father and mother, stating the great happiness of all the family at hearing of his safety, and expressing the full and joyous consent of mr and mrs coe to the engagement of their son with miss durocher. these letters gave great satisfaction to mr durocher. he learned from them that his child was about to enter a family by whom she would be received and cherished as indeed a daughter and sister. as his health was rapidly failing, and he felt that death was near at hand, he expressed an earnest desire that the marriage ceremony between john and louise should not be postponed; he wished, before his departure, to see his daughter in the lawful care of a protector in whose honourable character and sincere love for her he himself had perfect faith. his will was law under the circumstances; and, on the second day after the receipt of the letters from millmont, john alvan coe and louise durocher were united for life, at the bedside of the bride's dying father, by a minister of the church to which all the parties belonged. mr durocher survived his daughter's marriage but two weeks. his sick-bed was waited on by two attentive and affectionate children, and his last days were soothed by the knowledge that he had done all that could be done to secure for his beloved child a happy life. a few days after the death of mr durocher, john coe and his wife left charleston, and arrived in due course of time at the young husband's old home at millmont--but a little more than two months after he had disappeared from the latter place in a manner apparently so mysterious. in less than a year john realised the amount of his wife's fortune, with a part of which a large estate was purchased in one of the upper counties of maryland. upon this estate a handsome building was erected, to which he removed his family in the second year of his marriage. his descendants, distinguished, like their ancestors, for intellect and energy, still occupy that mansion. a few words must be allowed with regard to our other characters. afton and the four pirates taken prisoners with him, were tried, a few months after their capture, before one of the united states courts, in baltimore, to which port their vessel had belonged. they were all found guilty and sentenced to be hanged. two of them died in prison before the day appointed for their execution, the other three--of whom the ruffian afton was one--suffered the extreme penalty of the law. john coe kept his promise to billy bowsprit and the five repentant pirates. his father's influence, and that of all his father's friends, was used to obtain their pardon; and when it was made clearly apparent that but for their help the result of the fight between the _duchess_ and the _falcon_ would have been entirely different, that pardon was readily granted. perhaps the reader has some desire to know what was the future fortune of ada. she accompanied coe and his wife from charleston to maryland. here a fresh grief awaited her. her father, in alarm at hearing of the safety and early return of young coe, and in dread of the consequences of the exposure which must ensue, had hastily and rashly taken his own life. by the death of her father without a will, she became heir to one half of his wealth, there being but one other child of mr ashleigh, a grown son, to divide his property with her. she thus became an heiress; and several young gentlemen in the neighbourhood of drum point and elsewhere were quite willing, on account of her riches and her great beauty, to forget that she was the daughter of a receiver of smuggled goods and the widow of a pirate, and made her a tender of their hands. ada, however, politely declined all these disinterested offers. about a year and a half after the death of her first husband she was married to billy bowsprit. billy had been the only person on board the brig who had invariably treated her with kindness and respect; he had been her champion on all occasions, and she knew that he was devoted to her. moreover, he could not upbraid her for having been the wife of a pirate. mr and mrs brown (to give them their right title) wished to be away from the neighbourhood of those who were acquainted with their antecedents. the lady's portion of her father's estate was, therefore, soon after her marriage, converted into funds, with which a large plantation was purchased in mississippi. to this they removed, where they prospered, and some of their descendants still flourish in that state. the end. http://www.freeliterature.org (scans generously made available by the internet archive - oxford bodleian library) the trappers of arkansas or the loyal heart by gustave aimard author of "smuggler chief," "strong hand," "prairie flower," etc. london ward and lock, , fleet street london mdccclxiv preface. the publication of the present volume of gustave aimard's works renders the series complete. it takes its place as the first of all: and it is succeeded by the "border rifles," "freebooters," and "white scalper." in exciting scenes and perilous adventures, this work, if possible, surpasses all those which have as yet been offered to the english reader. moreover it enables the development of aimard's literary talent to be distinctly traced. the critic will discover, that, at first, gustave aimard's brain so teemed with incidents, that he paid slight attention to plot, and hence this volume--as is indeed generally the case with works relative to indian life and character--consists rather of a succession of exciting adventures than of a regularly developed drama. this fault our author has corrected in his later works: his hand, at first better suited to wield the bowie knife than the pen, has regained its pliancy; and the ever increasing encouragement bestowed on his stories in england, is a gratifying proof that his efforts after artistic improvement have been fully appreciated. l.w. contents. prologue. i. hermosillo ii. the hacienda del milagro iii. the sentence iv. the mother part i. i. the prairie ii. the hunters iii. the trail iv. the travellers v. the comanches vi. the preserver vii. the surprise viii. indian vengeance ix. the phantom x. the entrenched camp xi. the bargain xii. psychological xiii. the bee-hunt xiv. black elk xv. the beavers xvi. treachery xvii. eagle head xviii. nÔ eusebio xix. the council of the great chiefs xx. the torture part ii. i. loyal heart ii. the pirates iii. devotedness iv. the doctor v. the alliance vi. the last assault vii. the battle viii. the cavern of verdigris ix. diplomacy x. love xi. the prisoners xii. a ruse de guerre xiii. the law of the prairies xiv. the chastisement xv. the pardon epilogue chapter i. hermosillo. the traveller who for the first time lands in the southern provinces of america involuntarily feels an undefinable sadness. in fact, the history of the new world is nothing but a lamentable martyrology, in which fanaticism and cupidity continually go hand in hand. the search for gold was the origin of the discovery of the new world; that gold once found, america became for its conquerors merely a storehouse, whither greedy adventurers came, a poniard in one hand and a crucifix in the other, to gather an ample harvest of the so ardently coveted metal, after which they returned to their own countries to make a display of their riches, and provoke fresh emigrations, by the boundless luxury they indulged in. it is to this continual displacement that must be attributed, in america, the absence of those grand monuments, the foundation stones as it were of every colony which plants itself in a new country with a view of becoming perpetuated. if you traverse at the present day this vast continent, which, during three centuries, has been in the peaceable possession of the spaniards,--you only meet here and there, and at long distances apart, with a few nameless ruins to attest their passage; whilst the monuments erected many ages before the discovery, by the aztecs and the incas, are still standing in their majestic simplicity, as an imperishable evidence of their presence in the country and of their efforts to attain civilization. alas! what has resulted from those glorious conquests, so envied by the whole of europe, in which the blood of the executioner was mingled with that of the victims, to the profit of that other nation, at that time so proud of its valiant captains, of its fertile territories, and of its commerce which embraced the entire world? time has held on his march, and southern america is at this hour expiating the crimes of which she was the instigation. torn by factions which contend for an ephemeral power; oppressed by ruinous oligarchies; deserted by the strangers who have fattened upon her substance, she is sinking slowly beneath the weight of her own inertia, without having the strength to lift the leaden winding sheet which stifles her, and is destined never to awaken again till the day when a new race, unstained by homicide, and governed by laws framed after those of god, shall bring to her the labour and liberty which are the life of nations. in a word, the hispano-american race has perpetuated itself in the domains bequeathed to it, by its ancestors, without extending their boundaries; its heroism was extinguished in the tomb of charles v, and it has preserved nothing of the mother country but its hospitable customs, its religious intolerance, its monks, its guitarreros, and its mendicants armed with muskets. of all the states that form the vast mexican confederation, that of sonora is the only one which, by its conflicts with the indian tribes that surround it, and a continual intercourse with these races, has preserved a distinctive physiognomy. the manners of its inhabitants have a certain wild character, which distinguishes them, at the first glance, from those of the interior provinces. the rio gila may be considered the northern limit of this state: on the east and west it is bounded by the sierra madre and the gulf of california. the sierra madre beyond durango divides into two chains; the principal continues the grand direction from north to south; the other tends towards the west, running along, in the rear of the states of durango and guadalajara, all the regions which terminate at the pacific. this branch of the cordilleras forms the southern limits of sonora. nature seems to have taken a delight in lavishing her benefits upon this country. the climate is clear, temperate, salubrious; gold, silver, the most fertile soil, the most delicious fruits, and medicinal herbs abound; there are to be found the most efficacious balms, insects the most useful for dyeing, the rarest marbles, the most precious stones, as well as game and fish of all sorts. but in the vast solitudes of the rio gila and the sierra madre, the independent indians, the comanches, pawnees, pimas, opatas, and apaches, have declared a rude war against the white race, and in their implacable and incessant incursions, make them pay dearly for the possession of all those riches of which their ancestors despoiled the natives, and which they incessantly endeavour to recover again without ceasing. the three principal cities of the sonora are guaymas, hermosillo, and arispe. hermosillo, anciently pitic, and which the expedition of the count de raouset boulbon has rendered famous, is the _entrepôt_ of the mexican commerce of the pacific, and numbers more than nine thousand inhabitants. this city, built upon a plateau which sinks towards the north, in a gentle declivity to the sea, leans and shelters itself against a hill named el cerro de la campana (mountain of the bell), whose summit is crowned with enormous blocks of stone, which, when struck, render a clear metallic sound. in other respects, like its other american sisters, this ciudad is dirty, built of pisé bricks, and presents to the astonished eyes of the traveller a mixture of ruins, negligence, and desolation which saddens the soul. on the day in which this story commences, that is to say, the th january, , between three and four o'clock in the afternoon, a time when the ordinary population are taking the _siesta_ in the most retired apartments of their dwellings, the city of hermosillo, generally so calm and quiet, presented an unusual aspect. a vast number of leperos, gambusinos, contrabandists, and, above all, of rateros, were crowded together, with cries, menaces, and wild howlings, in the calle del rosario (street of the rosary). a few spanish soldiers,--at that period mexico had not shaken off the yoke of the mother country,--were endeavouring in vain to re-establish order and disperse the crowd, by striking heavily, right and left, with the shafts of their lances, all the individuals who came in their way. but the tumult, far from diminishing, on the contrary rapidly increased; the hiaquis indians, in particular, mingled with the crowd, yelled and gesticulated in a truly frightful manner. the windows of the houses were filled with the heads of men and women, who, with looks directed towards the cerro de la campana, from the foot of which arose thick clouds of smoke in large volumes towards the heavens, seemed to be in expectation of some extraordinary event. all at once loud cries were heard; the crowd divided in two, like an overripe pomegranate, everyone throwing himself on one side or the other, with marks of the greatest terror; and a young man, or a boy rather, for he was scarcely sixteen, appeared, borne along like a whirlwind by the furious gallop of a half wild horse. "stop him!" cried some. "lasso him!" cried others. "_válgame dios!_" the women murmured, crossing themselves. "it is the demon himself." but everyone, instead of stopping him, got out of his way as quickly as he could; the bold boy continued his rapid course, with a jeering smile upon his lips, his face inflamed, his eye sparkling, and distributing, right and left, smart blows with his _chicote_ on all who ventured too near him, or whose unfortunate destiny prevented them from getting out of his way as fast as they would have wished. "eh! eh! _caspita!_" (said, as the boy jostled him in passing, a _vaquero_ with a stupid countenance and athletic limbs,) "devil take the madman, he nearly knocked me down! eh! but," he added, after having cast a glance at the young man, "if i mistake not, that is rafaël, my neighbour's son! wait a moment, _picaro!_" while speaking this aside between his teeth, the vaquero unrolled the lasso which he wore fastened to his belt, and set off running in the direction of the horseman. the crowd, who understood his intention, applauded with enthusiasm. "bravo, bravo!" they cried. "don't miss him, cornejo!" some vaqueros encouragingly shouted, clapping their hands. cornejo, since we know the name of this interesting personage, gained insensibly upon the boy, before whom obstacles multiplied more and more. warned of the perils which threatened him, by the cries of the spectators, the horseman turned his head. then he saw the vaquero. a livid paleness covered his countenance; he felt that he was lost. "let me escape, cornejo," he cried, choking with tears. "no, no!" the crowd howled; "lasso him! lasso him!" the populace took great interest in this manhunt; they feared to find themselves cheated of a spectacle which gave them much satisfaction. "surrender," the giant replied; "or else, i warn you, i will lasso you like a ciboto." "i will not surrender," the boy said resolutely. the two speakers still held on their way, the one on foot, the other on horseback. the crowd followed, howling with pleasure. the masses are thus everywhere--barbarous and without pity. "leave me, i say," the boy resumed, "or i swear by the blessed souls of purgatory, that evil will befall you!" the vaquero sneered, and whirled his lasso round his head. "be warned, rafaël," he said; "for the last time, will you surrender?" "no! a thousand times no!" the boy cried, passionately. "by the grace of god, then!" said the vaquero. the lasso whizzed and flew through the air. but a strange thing happened at the same moment. rafaël stopped his horse short, as if it had been changed into a block of granite; and, springing from the saddle, he bounded like a tiger upon the giant, whom the shock bore down upon the sand; and before anybody could oppose him, he plunged into his throat the knife which all mexicans wear in their belts. a long stream of blood spouted into the face of the boy, the vaquero writhed about for a few seconds, and then remained motionless. he was dead! the crowd uttered a cry of horror and fear. quick as lightning, the boy had regained his saddle, and recommenced his desperate course, brandishing his knife, and laughing with the grin of a demon. when, after the first moment of stupor had passed, the people turned to pursue the murderer, he had disappeared. no one could tell which way he had gone. as is generally the case under such circumstances, the juez de letras (criminal judge), accompanied by a crowd of ragged alguaciles, arrived on the spot where the murder had been committed when it was too late. the juez de letras, don inigo tormentes albaceyte, was a man of some fifty years of age, short and stout, with an apoplectic face, who took snuff out of a gold box enriched with diamonds, and concealed under an apparent _bonhomie_ a profound avarice backed by excessive cunning and a coolness which nothing could move. contrary to what might have been expected, the worthy magistrate did not appear the least in the world disconcerted by the flight of the assassin; he shook his head two or three times, cast a glance round the crowd, and winked his little grey eye,-- "poor cornejo!" he said, stuffing his nose philosophically with snuff: "this was sure to happen to him some day or other." "yes," said a lepero, "he was neatly killed!" "that is what i was thinking," the judge replied; "he who gave this blow knew what he was about; the fellow is a practised hand." "humph!" the lepero replied, with a shrug of his shoulders, "he is a boy." "bah!" the judge said, with feigned astonishment, and casting an under-glance at the speaker; "a boy!" "little more," the lepero added, proud of being thus listened to; "it was rafaël, don ramón's eldest son." "ah! ah! ah!" the judge said, with a secret satisfaction. "but no," he went on, "that is not possible; rafaël is but sixteen at most; he would never have been so foolish as to quarrel with cornejo, who, by only grasping his arm, could have disabled him." "nevertheless, it was as i tell your excellency,--we all saw it. rafaël had been playing at _monte_, at don aguillar's, and it appears that luck was not favourable to him; he lost all the money he had; he then flew into a rage, and to avenge himself, set fire to the house." "caspita!" said the judge. "it was just as i have the honour to tell your excellency; look, the smoke may yet be seen, though the house is in ashes." "well, it seems so," the judge said, turning his eyes to the point indicated by the lepero. "and, then----" "then," the other continued, "he naturally wished to escape. cornejo endeavoured to stop him." "he was right!" "well, he was wrong, i think; for rafaël killed him!" "that's true! that's true!" said the judge; "but be satisfied, my good people, justice will avenge him." this promise was received by all present with a smile of doubt. the magistrate, without concerning himself about the impression produced by his words, ordered his acolytes, who had already examined and plundered the defunct, to take the body away, and transport it to the porch of the nearest church, and then returned to his residence, rubbing his hands with a satisfied air. the judge put on a travelling dress, placed a brace of pistols in his belt, fastened a long sword to his side, and, after taking a light dinner, went out. ten alguaciles, armed to the teeth, and mounted on strong horses, waited for him at the door; a domestic held the bridle of a magnificent black horse, which pawed the ground and champed the bit impatiently. don inigo placed himself in the saddle, headed his men, and the troop went off at a gentle trot. "eh! eh!" said the curious, who were stationed around upon the doorsteps. "the juez albaceyte is going to don ramón garillas's; we shall hear some news tomorrow." "caspita!" others replied; "his picaro of a son has fairly earned the cord that is to hang him!" "humph!" said a lepero, with a smile of regret; "that would be unfortunate! the lad promises so well! by my word, the _cuchillada_ he gave cornejo was magnificent. the poor devil was neatly killed." in the meantime, the judge continued his journey, returning with punctuality all the salutations with which he was overwhelmed on his way. he was soon in the country. then pulling his cloak tighter round him, he asked,-- "are the arms all loaded?" "yes, excellency," the chief of the alguaciles replied. "that's well. to the hacienda of don ramón garillas, then; and at a smart pace; we must endeavour to get there before nightfall." the party set off at a gallop. chapter ii. the hacienda del milagro. the environs of hermosillo are a thorough desert. the road which leads from that city to the hacienda del milagro (farm of the miracle) is one of the dullest and most arid possible. nothing is to be seen but, at rare intervals, ironwood, gum, and peru trees, with red and spicy clusters, nopales, and cactuses, the only trees that can possibly grow in a soil calcined by the incandescent rays of a perpendicular sun. at distances are visible, as if in bitter derision, the long poles of cisterns, with a leathern bucket, twisted and shrivelled, at one extremity, and at the other stones fastened by straps; but the cisterns are dry, and the bottom of them is merely a black slimy crust, in which myriads of unclean animals disport; whirlwinds of a fine and impalpable dust, raised by the least breath of wind, choke the panting traveller, and under every blade of dried grass the grasshoppers call with fury for the beneficent night dews. when, however, with great labour, the traveller has covered six leagues of this burning solitude, the eye reposes with delight upon a splendid oasis, which appears all at once to rise from the bosom of the sands. this eden is the hacienda del milagro. at the time our history took place, this hacienda, one of the richest and largest in the province, was composed of a two storied house, built of _tapia_ and _adobes_, with a terrace roof of reeds, covered with beaten earth. access to the hacienda was gained by passing through an immense court, the entrance of which shaped like an arched portico, was furnished with strong folding gates, and a postern on one side. pour chambers completed the front; the windows had gratings of gilded iron, and shutters inside; they were glazed, an almost unheard-of luxury in that country at that time; on the four sides of the court, or patio, were the apartments for the peons and children, &c. the ground floor of the principal house was composed of three apartments; a kind of grand vestibule furnished with antique fauteuils and canopies covered with stamped cordovan leather, with a large nopal table and some stools; upon the walls hung, in gilded frames, several old full-length portraits, representing the members of the family; while the beams of the ceiling, left in relief, were decorated with a profusion of carvings. two folding doors opened into the saloon; the side in front of the patio was raised about a foot above the rest of the floor; it was covered by a carpet, and contained a row of curiously carved low stools ornamented with, crimson velvet, and cushions for the feet; there was also a little square table, eighteen inches high, serving as a work table. this portion of the saloon is reserved for the ladies, who there sit cross-legged, in the moorish fashion; on the other side of the saloon were chairs covered with the same stuff as the stools and the cushions. facing the entrance of the saloon was the principal bedchamber, with an alcove at the back of a daïs, upon which stood a bed of ceremony, ornamented with an infinity of gildings and brocade curtains, with tassels and fringes of gold and silver; the sheets and pillowcases were of the most beautiful linen, bordered with wide lace. behind the principal house was a second patio, in which were the kitchens and the corral; beyond this court was an immense garden, surrounded by walls, and more than a hundred perches in length, laid out in the english fashion, and containing the most remarkable exotic plants and trees. it was holiday time at the hacienda. it was the period of the matanza del ganado (slaughtering of cattle). the peons had formed, at a few paces from the hacienda, an enclosure, in which, after driving the beasts, they separated the lean from the fat, which they drove out, one by one, from the enclosure. a vaquero, armed with a sharp instrument in the form of a crescent, furnished with points placed at the distance of a foot apart, and who was concealed behind the door of the enclosure, cut, with great address, the hamstrings of the poor beasts, as they passed before him. if by chance he missed a stroke, which he rarely did, a second vaquero, mounted on horseback, galloped after the animal, threw the lasso round its horns, and held it till the first had succeeded in cutting its hamstrings. carelessly leaning against the portico of the hacienda, a man of about forty years of age, clothed in the rich costume of a gentleman farmer, his shoulders covered by a zarapé of brilliant colours, and his head protected from the rays of the setting sun by a fine hat of panama straw, worth at least five hundred piastres, seemed to be presiding over this scene while enjoying a husk cigarette. he was a gentleman of lofty bearing, slightly built, but perfectly well-proportioned, and his features well defined with firm and marked lines, denoted loyalty, courage, and, above all, an inflexible will. his large black eyes, shaded by thick eyebrows, displayed indescribable mildness; but when any contradictory chance spread a red glow over his embrowned complexion, his glance assumed a fixity and a force which few could support, and which made even the bravest hesitate and tremble. his small hands and feet, and more than all, the aristocratic stamp impressed upon his person, denoted, at the first glance, that this man was of pure and noble castilian race. in fact, this personage was don ramón garillas de saavedra, the proprietor of the hacienda del milagro, which we have just described. don ramón garillas was descended from a spanish family, the head of which had been one of the principal lieutenants of cortez, and had settled in mexico after the miraculous conquest of that clever adventurer. enjoying a princely fortune, but unnoticed by the spanish authorities, on account of his marriage with a woman of mixed aztec blood, he had given himself up entirely to the cultivation of his land, and the amelioration of his vast domains. after seventeen years of marriage, he found himself the head of a large family, composed of six boys and three girls, in all nine children, of whom rafaël--he whom we have seen so deftly kill the vaquero--was the eldest. the marriage of don ramón and doña jesuita had been merely a marriage of convenience, contracted solely with a view to fortune, but which, notwithstanding, had rendered them comparatively happy; we say comparatively, because, as the girl only left her convent to be married, no love had ever existed between them, but its place had been almost as well occupied by a tender and sincere affection. doña jesuita passed her time in the cares necessitated by her children, surrounded by her indian women. on his side, her husband, completely absorbed by the duties of his life as a gentleman farmer, was almost always with his vaqueros, his peons, and his huntsmen, only seeing his wife for a few minutes at the hours of meals, and sometimes remaining months together absent in hunting excursions on the banks of the rio gila. nevertheless, we are bound to add that, whether absent or present, don ramón took the greatest care that nothing should be wanting for his wife's comfort; and in order that her least caprices might be satisfied, he spared neither money nor trouble to procure her all she appeared to desire. doña jesuita was endowed with extraordinary beauty and angelic mildness; she appeared to have accepted, if not with joy, at least without any great pain, the kind of life to which her husband bad obliged her to submit; but in the depth of her large black languishing eye, in the paleness of her countenance, and, above all, in the shade of sadness which continually obscured her beautiful white brow, it was easy to divine that an ardent soul abode within that seducing statue, and that the heart, which was ignorant of itself, had turned all its feelings upon her children, whom she adored with all the virginal strength of maternal love, the most beautiful and the most holy of all loves. as for don ramón, always good and anxious for his wife, whom he had never taken the pains to study, he had a right to believe her the happiest creature in the world, which, in fact, she became as soon as god made her a mother. it was some minutes after sunset; the sky, by degrees, lost its purple tint, and grew rapidly darker; a few stars began to sparkle in the celestial vault, and the evening wind arose with a force that presaged for the night, one of those terrible storms which so often burst over these regions of the sun. the mayoral, after having caused the rest of the ganado to be carefully shut up in the enclosure, assembled the vaqueros and the peons, and all directed their steps towards the hacienda, where the supper bell announced to them that the hour of rest was at length arrived. as the major-domo passed the last, with a bow, before his master, the latter asked him: "well, nô eusebio, how many heads do we count this year?" "four hundred and fifty _mi amo_--my master," replied the mayoral, a tall, thin, wizened man, with a grayish head, and a countenance tanned like a piece of leather, stopping his horse and taking off his hat; "that is to say, seventy-five head more than last year. our neighbours the jaguars and the apaches have not done us any great damage this season." "thanks to you, nô eusebio," don ramón replied; "your vigilance has been great; i must find means to recompense you for it." "my best recompense is the kind remark your lordship has just addressed to me," the mayoral, whose rough visage was lit up by a smile of satisfaction, replied. "ought i not to watch over everything that belongs to you with the same zeal as if it were my own?" "thanks," the gentleman remarked with emotion, and shook his servant's hand. "i know how truly you are devoted to me. "for life and to death, my master! my mother nourished you with her milk; i belong to you and your family." "come, come, nô eusebio," the hacendero said, gaily; "supper is ready; the señora is by this time at table; we must not keep her waiting." upon this, both entered the patio, and nô eusebio, as don ramón had named him, prepared, as was his custom every evening, to close the gates. in the meantime, don ramón entered the dining hall of the hacienda, where all the vaqueros and peons were assembled. this hall was furnished with an immense table, which occupied the entire centre; around this table there were wooden forms covered with leather, and two carved armchairs, intended for don ramón and the señora. behind these chairs, an ivory crucifix, four feet high, hung against the wall, between two pictures, representing, the one, "jesus in the garden of olives," the other the "sermon on the mount." here and there, on the whitewashed walls, grinned the heads of jaguars, buffaloes, and elks, killed in the chase by the hacendero. the table was abundantly supplied with lahua, or thick soup made of the flour of maize boiled with meat, with puchero, or olla podrida, and with pepian; at regular distances there were bottles of mezcal, and decanters of water. at a sign from the hacendero the repast commenced. the storm, which had threatened for some time past, now broke forth with fury. the rain fell in torrents; at every second vivid flashes of lightning dimmed the lights of the hall, preceding awful claps of thunder. towards the end of the repast, the hurricane acquired such violence, that the tumult of the conspiring elements drowned the hum of conversation. the thunder peals clashed with frightful force, a whirlwind filled the hall, after dashing in a window, and extinguished all the lights; the assembly crossed themselves with terror. at that moment, the bell placed at the gate of the hacienda resounded with a convulsive noise, and a voice, which had nothing human in it, cried twice distinctly,-- "help! help!" "sangre de cristo!" don ramón cried, as he rushed out of the hall, "somebody is being murdered on the plain." two pistol shots resounded at almost the same moment, a cry of agony rung through the air, and all relapsed into sinister darkness. all at once, a pale flash of lightning furrowed the obscurity, the thunder burst with a horrible crash, and don ramón reappeared in the hall, bearing a fainting man in his arms. the stranger was placed in a seat, and all crowded round him. there was nothing extraordinary in either the countenance or the appearance of this man, and yet, on perceiving him, rafaël, the eldest son of don ramón, could not repress a gesture of terror, and his face became lividly pale. "o!" he murmured, in a low voice, "it is the juez de letras!" it was, indeed, the worthy judge, whom we saw leave hermosillo with such a brilliant equipage. his long hair, soaked with rain, fell upon his breast, his clothes were in disorder, spotted with blood, and torn in many places. his right hand convulsively clasped the stock of a discharged pistol. don ramón had likewise recognized the juez de letras, and had unconsciously darted a glance at his son, which the latter could not support. thanks to the intelligent care that was bestowed upon him by doña jesuita and her women, he breathed a deep sigh, opened his haggard eyes, which he rolled round upon the assembly, without at first seeing anything, and by degrees recovered his senses. all at once a deep flush covered his brow, which had been so pale a minute before, and his eye sparkled. directing a look towards don rafaël which nailed him to the floor, a prey to invincible terror, he rose painfully, and advancing towards the young man, who saw his approach without daring to seek to avoid him, he placed his hand roughly on his shoulder, and turning towards the peons, who were terrified at this strange scene, of which they comprehended nothing, he said solemnly,-- "i, don inigo tormentes albaceyte, juez de letras of the city of hermosillo, arrest this man, accused of assassination, in the king's name!" "mercy!" cried rafaël, falling on his knees, and clasping his hands with despair. "woe! woe!" the poor mother exclaimed, as she sank back fainting in her chair. chapter iii. the sentence. on the morrow the sun rose splendidly on the horizon. the storm of the night had completely cleared the sky, which was one of deep blue; the birds warbled gaily, concealed beneath the leaves, and all nature seemed to have resumed its accustomed festive air. the bell sounded joyously at the hacienda del milagro; the peons began to disperse in all directions, some leading horses to the pasturage, others driving cattle to the artificial prairies, others again wending their way to the fields, whilst the rest were employed in the patio in milking the cows and repairing the damages done by the hurricane. the only traces left of the tempest of the preceding night were two magnificent jaguars stretched dead before the gate of the hacienda, not far from the carcass of a half-devoured horse. nô eusebio, who was walking about in the patio, carefully overlooking the occupations of all, ordered the rich trappings of the horse to be taken off and cleaned, and the jaguars to be skinned; all of which was done in the shortest time possible. nô eusebio was, however, very uneasy; don ramón, generally the first person stirring in the hacienda, had not yet appeared. on the preceding evening, after the terrible accusation brought by the juez de letras against the eldest son of the hacendero, the latter had ordered his servants to retire, and after having himself, in spite of the tears and prayers of his wife, firmly bound his son, he led don inigo albaceyte into a retired apartment of the farm, where they both remained in private till a far advanced hour of the night. what had passed in that conversation, in which the fate of don rafaël was decided, nobody knew--nô eusebio no more than the others. then, after having conducted don inigo to a chamber he had had prepared for him, and having wished him good night, don ramón proceeded to rejoin his son, with whom the poor mother was still weeping: without pronouncing a word, he took the boy in his arms, and carried him into his bedroom, where he laid him on the ground near his bed; then the hacendero shut and locked the door, went to bed, with two pistols under his pillow. the night passed away thus, the father and son darting at each other through the darkness the looks of wild beasts, and the poor mother on her knees on the sill of that chamber, which she was forbidden to enter, weeping silently for her first-born, who, as she had a terrible presentiment, was about to be ravished from her for ever. "hum!" the mayoral murmured to himself, biting, without thinking of doing so, the end of his extinguished cigarette, "what will be the end of all this? don ramón is not a man to pardon, he will not compromise his honour. will he abandon his son to the hands of justice! oh no! but, in that case what will he do?" the worthy mayoral had arrived at this point in his reflections, when don inigo albaceyte and don ramón appeared in the patio. the countenances of the two men were stern; that of the hacendero, in particular, was dark as night. "nô eusebio," don ramón said in a sharp tone, "have a horse saddled, and prepare an escort of four men to conduct this cavalier to hermosillo." the mayoral bowed respectfully, and immediately gave the necessary orders. "i thank you a thousand times," continued don ramón, addressing the judge; "you have saved the honour of my house." "do not be so grateful, señor," don inigo replied; "i swear to you that when i left the city yesterday, i had no intention of making myself agreeable to you." the hacendero only replied by a gesture. "put yourself in my place; i am criminal judge above everything; a man is murdered--a worthless fellow, i admit--but a man, although of the worst kind; the assassin is known, he traverses the city at full gallop, in open daylight, in the sight of everybody, with incredible effrontery. what could i do?--set off in pursuit of him. i did not hesitate." "that is true," don ramón murmured, holding down his head. "and evil have been the consequences to me. the scoundrels who accompanied me abandoned me, like cowards, in the height of the storm, and took shelter i know not where; and then, to crown my troubles, two jaguars, magnificent animals, by the bye, rushed in pursuit of me; they pressed me so hard that i came and fell at your door like a mass. it is true i killed one of them, but the other was very nearly snapping me up, when you came to my assistance. could i, after that, arrest the son of the man who had saved my life at the peril of his own? that would have been acting with the blackest ingratitude." "thanks, once more." "no thanks; we are quits, that is all. i say nothing of some thousands of piastres you have given me; they will serve to stop the mouths of my lynxes. only, let me beg of you, don ramón, keep a sharp eye upon your son; if he should fall a second time into my hands, i don't know how i could save him." "be at ease, in that respect, don inigo; my son will never fall into your hands again." "the hacendero pronounced these words in so solemn and melancholy a tone, that the judge started at hearing them, and turned round saying,-- "take care what you are about to do!" "oh, fear nothing," replied don ramón; "only, as i am not willing that my son should mount a scaffold, and drag my name in the mud, i must endeavour to prevent him." at that moment the horse was led out, and the juez de letras mounted. "well, adieu, don ramón," he said in an indulgent voice; "be prudent, this young man may still reform; he is hot blooded, that is all." "adieu, don inigo albaceyte," the hacendero replied, in so dry a tone that it admitted of no reply. the judge shook his head, and clapping spurs to his horse, he set off at full trot, followed by his escort, after having made the farmer a farewell gesture. the latter looked after him, as long as he could see him, and then re-entered the house with long and hasty strides. "nô eusebio," he said to the mayoral, "ring the bell to call together all the peons, as well as the other servants of the hacienda." the mayoral, after having looked at his master with astonishment, hastened to execute the order he had received. "what does all this mean?" he said to himself. at the sound of the bell, the men employed on the farm ran to answer it in haste, not knowing to what cause they should attribute this extraordinary summons. they were soon all collected together in the great hall, which served as a refectory. the completest silence reigned among them. a secret pang pressed on their hearts,--they had the presentiment of a terrible event. after a few minutes of expectation, doña jesuita entered, surrounded by her children, with the exception of rafaël, and proceeded to take her place upon a platform, prepared at one end of the hall. her countenance was pale, and her eyes proclaimed that she had been weeping. don ramón appeared. he was clothed in a complete suit of black velvet without lace; a heavy gold chain hung round his neck, a broad leafed hat of black felt, ornamented with an eagle's feather, covered his head, a long sword, with a hilt of polished steel, hung by his side. his brow was marked with wrinkles, his eyebrows were closely knitted above his black eyes, which appeared to dart lightning. a shudder of terror pervaded the ranks of the assembly--don ramón garillas had put on the robe of justice. justice was then about to be done? but upon whom? when don ramón had taken his place on the right hand of his wife, he made a sign. the mayoral went out, and returned a minute after, followed by rafaël. the young man was bareheaded, and had his hands tied behind his back. with his eyes cast down, and a pale face, he placed himself before his father, whom he saluted respectfully. at the period at which our history passes, in those countries remote from towns and exposed to the continual incursions of the indians, the heads of families preserved, in all its purity, that patriarchal authority which the efforts of our depraved civilization have a tendency to lessen, and, at length, to destroy. a father was sovereign in his own house, his judgments were without appeal, and executed without murmurs or resistance. the people of the farm were acquainted with the firm character and implacable will of their master; they knew that he never pardoned, that his honour was dearer to him than life; it was then with a sense of undefinable fear that they prepared to witness the terrible drama which was about to be performed before them between the father and the son. don ramón arose, cast a dark glance round upon the assembly, and threw his hat at his feet: "listen all to me," he said in a sharp but most distinct voice; "i am of an old christian race, whose ancestors have never done wrong; honour has always in my house been considered as the first of earthly goods; that honour which my ancestors transmitted to me intact, and which i have endeavoured to preserve pure, my first-born son, the inheritor of my name, has sullied by an indelible stain. yesterday, at hermosillo, in consequence of a tavern quarrel, he set fire to a house, at the risk of burning down the whole city, and when a man endeavoured to prevent his escape, he killed him with a poniard stroke. what can be thought of a boy who, at so tender an age, is endowed with the instincts of a wild beast? justice must be done, and, by god's help, i will do it severely." after these words, don ramón crossed his arms upon his breast, and appeared to reflect. no one durst hazard a word in favour of the accused; all heads were bent down, all hearts were palpitating. rafaël was beloved by his father's servants on account of his intrepidity, which yielded to no obstacles, for his skill in managing a horse, and in the use of all arms, and more than all, for the frankness and kindness which formed the most striking features of his character. in this country particularly, where the life of a man is reckoned of so little value, everyone was inwardly disposed to excuse the youth, and to see nothing in the action he had committed but the result of warmth of blood and hasty passion. doña jesuita arose; without a murmur she had always bent to the will of her husband, whom for many years she had been accustomed to respect; the mere idea of resisting him terrified her, and sent a cold shudder through her veins; but all the loving powers of her soul were concentrated in her heart. she adored her children, rafaël in particular, whose indomitable character stood more in need than the others, of the watchful cares of a mother. "sir," she said to her husband, in a voice choked with tears, "remember that rafaël is your first-born; that his fault, however serious it might be, ought not to be inexcusable in your eyes, as you are his father; and that i--i--" she continued, falling on her knees, clasping her hands and sobbing, "i implore your pity! pardon, sir! pardon for your son!" "don ramón coldly raised his wife, whose face was inundated with tears, and after obliging her to resume her place in her chair, he said,-- "it is particularly as a father, that my heart ought to be without pity! rafaël is an assassin and an incendiary; he is no longer my son!" "what do you mean to do?" doña jesuita cried, in accents of terror. "what does that concern you, madam?" don ramón replied harshly; "the care of my honour concerns me alone. sufficient for you to know that this fault is the last your son will commit." "oh!" she said with terror, "will you then become his executioner?" "i am his judge," the implacable gentleman replied in a terrible voice. "nô eusebio, get two horses ready." "my god! my god!" the poor mother cried, rushing towards her son, whom she folded closely in her arms, "will no one come to my succour?" all present were moved; don ramón himself could not restrain a tear. "oh!" she cried with a wild joy, "he is saved! god has softened the heart of this inflexible man!" "you are mistaken, madam," don ramón interrupted, pushing her roughly back, "your son is no longer mine, he belongs to my justice!" then fixing on his son a look cold as a steel blade, he said in a voice so stern that in spite of himself it made the young man start. "don rafaël, from this instant you no longer form a part of this society, which your crimes have horrified; it is with wild beasts that i condemn you to live and die." at this terrible sentence, doña jesuita took a few steps towards her son, but, tottering, she fell prostrate--she had fainted. up to this moment rafaël had, with a great effort, suppressed in his heart the emotions which agitated him, but at this last accident he could no longer restrain himself; he sprang towards his mother, burst into tears, and uttered a piercing cry: "my mother! my mother!" "come this way," said don ramón, laying his hand upon his shoulder. the boy stopped, staggering like a drunken man. "look, sir! pray look!" he cried, with a heartbroken sob; "my mother is dying!" "it is you who have killed her!" the hacendero replied coldly. rafaël turned round as if a serpent had stung him; he darted at his father a look of strange expression, and, with clenched teeth and a livid brow said to him, "kill me, sir; for i swear to you that in the same manner as you have been pitiless to my mother and me, if i live i will be hereafter pitiless to you!" don ramón cast upon him a look of contempt. "come on!" he said. "come on, then!" the boy repeated in a firm tone. doña jesuita, who was beginning to recover her senses, perceived the departure of her son, as if in a dream. "rafaël! rafaël!" she shrieked. the young man hesitated for a second; then, with a bound, he sprang towards her, kissed her with wild tenderness, and rejoining his father, said-- "now i can die! i have bidden adieu to my mother!" and they went out. the household, deeply moved by this scene, separated without communicating their impressions to each other, but all penetrated with sincere grief. under the caresses of her son, the poor mother had again lost all consciousness. chapter iv. the mother. two horses, held by the bridle by nô eusebio, were waiting at the door of the hacienda. "shall i accompany you, señor?" asked the major-domo. "no!" the hacendero replied drily. he mounted and placed his son across the saddle before him. "take back the second horse," he said; "i do not want it." and plunging his spurs into the sides of his horse, which snorted with pain, he set off at full speed. the major-domo returned to the house, shaking his head sadly. as soon as the hacienda had disappeared behind a swell in the ground, don ramón stopped, drew a silk handkerchief from his breast, bandaged the eyes of his son without saying a word to him, and then again resumed his course. this ride in the desert lasted a long time; it had something dismal about it that chilled the soul. this horseman, clothed in black, gliding silently along through the sands, bearing before him on his saddle a securely-bound boy, whose nervous starts and writhings alone proclaimed his existence, had a fatal and strange aspect, which would have impressed the bravest man with terror. many hours had passed without a word being exchanged between the son and the father; the sun began to sink in the horizon, a few stars already appeared in the dark blue of the sky--but the horse still went on. the desert, every instant, assumed a more dismal and wild appearance; every tree of vegetation had disappeared; only here and there heaps of bones, whitened by time, marbled the sand with livid spots; birds of prey hovered slowly over the horsemen, uttering hoarse cries; and in the mysterious depths of the chaparrals, wild beasts, at the approach of night, preluded their rude concerts with dull roarings. in these regions twilight does not exist; as soon as the sun has disappeared, the darkness is complete. don ramón continued to gallop on. his son had not addressed a single prayer to him, or uttered a single complaint. at length, towards eight o'clock, the horsemen stopped. this feverish ride had lasted ten hours. the horse panted and throbbed, and staggered at every step. don ramón cast an anxious glance around him; a smile of satisfaction curled his lip. on all sides the desert displayed its immense plains of sand; on one alone the skirt of a virgin forest cut the horizon with its strange profile, breaking in a sinister manner the monotony of the prospect. don ramón dismounted, placed his son upon the sand, took the bridle from his horse, that it might eat the provender he gave it; then, after having acquitted himself of all these duties, with the greatest coolness he approached his son, and removed the bandage from his eyes. the boy remained silent, fixing upon his father a dull, cold look. "sir!" don ramón said, in a sharp, dry tone, "you are here more than twenty leagues from my hacienda, in which you will never set your foot again under pain of death; from this moment you are alone, you have no longer either father, mother, or family; as you have proved yourself almost a wild beast, i condemn you to live with wild beasts; my resolution is irrevocable, your prayers could not change it. spare them then!" "i shall not pray to you," the boy replied, "people do not intreat an executioner!" don ramón started; he walked about in feverish agitation; but soon recovering himself, he continued, "in this pouch are provisions for two days. i leave you this rifle, which in my hands never missed its mark; i give you also these pistols, this machete, and this knife, this hatchet, and powder and balls in these buffalo horns. you will find with the provisions a steel and everything necessary for kindling a fire. i add to these things a bible, belonging to your mother. you are dead to society, into which you can never return; the desert is before you; it belongs to you; for me, i have no longer a son, adieu! the lord be merciful to you, all is ended between us on earth; you are left alone, and without a family; it depends upon yourself, then, to commence a second existence, and to provide for your own wants. providence never abandons those who place their confidence in it; henceforward, it alone will watch over you." after having pronounced these words, don ramón, his countenance still impassible, replaced the bridle on his horse, restored his son to liberty by cutting the cords which bound him, and then getting into his saddle, he set off at his horse best speed. rafaël rose upon his knees, bent his head forward, listened with anxiety to the retreating gallop of the horse on the sand, followed with his eyes, as long as he was able, the fatal profile which was thrown in black relief by the moonbeams; and when the horseman was at length confounded with the darkness, the boy placed his hand upon his breast, and an expression of despair impossible to be described convulsed his features. "my mother! my mother!" he cried. he fell lifeless upon the sand. he had fainted. after a long gallop, don ramón, insensibly and as if in spite of himself, slackened the speed of his horse, lending a keen ear to the vague noises of the desert, listening with anxiety, without rendering an account to himself why he did so, but expecting, perhaps, an appeal from his unfortunate son to return to him. twice even his hand mechanically pulled the bridle as if he obeyed a secret voice which commanded him to retrace his steps; but the fierce pride of his race was still the stronger, and he continued his course homewards. the sun was rising at the moment don ramón arrived at the hacienda. two persons were standing side by side at the gate, waiting his return. the one was doña jesuita, the other the major-domo. at sight of his wife, pale, mute, and motionless before him, like the statue of desolation, the hacendero felt an unutterable sadness weigh upon his heart; he wished to pass, but doña jesuita, making two steps towards him and seizing the bridle of his horse, said with agonized emotion,-- "don ramón, what have you done with my son?" the hacendero made no reply; on beholding the grief of his wife, remorse shot a pang into his heart, and he asked himself mentally if he had really the right to act as he had done. doña jesuita waited in vain for an answer. don ramón looked earnestly at his wife; he was terrified at perceiving the indelible furrows which grief had imprinted upon that countenance, so calm, so placid, but a few hours before. the noble woman was livid; her contracted features had an inexpressible rigidity; her eyes, burnt with fever, were red and dry, two black and deep lines rendered them hollow and haggard; a large stain marbled each of her cheeks, the trace of tears the source of which was dried up; she could weep no more, her voice was hoarse and broken, and her oppressed breast heaved painfully to allow the escape of a panting respiration. after having waited some minutes for a reply to her question, "don ramón," she repeated, "what have you done with my son?" the hacendero turned away his head with something like confusion. "oh! you have killed him!" she said, with a piercing shriek. "no;" don ramón replied, terrified at her grief, and for the first time in his life forced to acknowledge the power of the mother who demands an account of her child. "what have you done with him?" she screamed persistently. "presently, when you are more calm, you shall know all." "i am calm," she replied, "why should you feign a pity you do not feel? my son is dead, and it is you who have killed him!" don ramón alighted from his horse. "jesuita," he said to his wife, taking her hands and looking at her with tenderness, "i swear to you by all that is most sacred in the world, that your son exists; i have not touched a hair of his head." the poor mother remained pensive for a few seconds. "i believe you," she said; then after a pause she added, "what is become of him?" "well!" he replied, with some hesitation, "since you insist upon knowing all, learn that i have abandoned your son in the desert, but have left him the means to provide for his safety and his wants." doña jesuita started, a nervous shudder crept through the whole of her frame. "you have been very clement," she said in a cutting tone, and with bitter irony; "you have been very clement towards a boy of sixteen, don ramón; you felt a repugnance to bathe your hands in his blood, and you have preferred leaving that task to the wild beasts and ferocious indians who alone people those solitudes." "he was guilty!" the hacendero replied, in a low but firm voice. "a child is never guilty in the eyes of her who has borne him in her bosom, and nourished him with her milk," she said with energy. "it is well, don ramón, you have condemned your son, i--i will save him!" "what would you do?" the hacendero said, terrified at the resolution he saw kindled in the eyes of his wife. "what matters it to you? don ramón, i will accomplish my duty as you believe you have accomplished yours! god will judge between us! tremble, lest he should one day demand of you an account of the blood of your son!" don ramón bent his head beneath this anathema; with a pale brow, and a mind oppressed by heavy remorse, he went slowly into the hacienda. doña jesuita looked after him for an instant. "oh!" she cried, "may god grant that i may arrive in time!" she then went out from the portico, followed by nô eusebio. two horses awaited them, concealed behind a clump of trees. they mounted immediately. "where are we going, señora?" the major-domo asked. "in search of my son!" she replied in a shrill voice. she seemed transfigured by hope; a bright colour flushed her cheeks; her black eyes darted lightning. nô eusebio untied four magnificent bloodhounds, called rastreros in the country, and which were kept to follow trails; he made them smell a shirt belonging to rafaël; the hounds rushed forward on the scent, baying loudly. nô eusebio and doña jesuita galloped after them, exchanging a look of sanguine hope. the dogs had no trouble in following the scent, it was straight and without obstruction, therefore they did not stop an instant. when doña jesuita arrived at the spot where rafaël had been abandoned by his father, the place was void!--the boy had disappeared! the traces of his having sojourned there were visible; a fire was not yet burnt out; everything indicated that rafaël could not have quitted that place more than an hour. "what is to be done?" nô eusebio asked anxiously. "push forward!" doña jesuita replied resolutely, urging her horse again into action, and the generous steed responding with unflagging spirit. nô eusebio followed her. on the evening of that day the greatest consternation prevailed at the hacienda del milagro, doña jesuita and nô eusebio had not returned. don ramón ordered all the household to mount on horseback. provided with torches, the peons and vaqueros commenced a battue of an immense extent in search of their mistress and the major-domo. the whole night passed away without bringing the least satisfactory result. at daybreak, the horse of doña jesuita was found half devoured in the desert. its trappings were wanting. the ground round the carcass of the horse appeared to have been the scene of a desperate conflict of some kind. don ramón, in despair, gave orders for return. "great heaven!" he cried, as he re-entered the hacienda, "is it possible that my chastisement has already commenced?" weeks, months, years passed away, without any circumstance, lifting the corner of the mysterious veil which enveloped these sinister events, and, notwithstanding the most active and persevering researches, nothing could be learnt of the fate of rafaël, his mother, and nô eusebio. the end of the prologue. part i. the loyal heart. chapter i. the prairie. to the westward of the united states extends, many hundred miles beyond the mississippi, an immense territory, unknown up to this day, composed of uncultivated lands, on which stands neither the log house of the white man nor the hatto of the indian. this vast desert, intersected by dark forests, with mysterious paths traced by the steps of wild beasts, and by verdant prairies with high and tufted herbage that undulates with the slightest breeze, is watered by powerful streams, of which the principal are the great canadian river, the arkansas, and the red river. over these plains, endowed with so rich a vegetation, wander innumerable troops of wild horses, buffaloes, elks, bighorns, and those thousands of animals which the civilization of the other parts of america is every day driving back, and which regain their primitive liberty in these regions. on this account, the most powerful indian tribes have established their hunting grounds in this country. the delawares, the creeks, and the osages, prowl along the frontiers of the desert up to the environs of the establishments of the americans, with whom some few bonds of civilization are beginning to unite them, engaged in constant conflict with the hordes of pawnees, blackfeet, assiniboins, and comanches, indomitable races, nomads of the prairies, or inhabitants of the mountains, who permeate in all directions this desert, the proprietorship of which none of them venture to assert, but which they appear to agree to devastate, uniting in vast numbers for hunting parties, as if for the purpose of making war. in fact, the enemies travellers are exposed to encounter in these deserts are of all kinds; without mentioning in this place wild beasts, there are hunters, trappers, and partisans, who are not less formidable to the indians than to their fellow countrymen. the prairie, therefore, the sinister theatre of incessant and terrible contests, is nothing in reality but a vast charnel house, in which perish obscurely, every year, in a merciless war of ambuscades, tens of thousands of intrepid men. nothing can be more grand or more majestic than the aspect of these prairies, into which providence has bounteously bestowed such innumerable riches,--nothing, more seductive than these green fields, these thick forests, these large rivers; the melancholy murmur of the waters rippling over the stones of the shallow stream, the songs of thousands of birds concealed under the foliage, the bounding of animals sporting amidst the high grass: everything enchants, everything attracts, and draws aside the fascinated traveller, who soon, the victim of his enthusiasm, will fall into one of those numberless snares laid under his feet among the flowers, and will pay with his life for his imprudent credulity. towards the end of the year , in the latter days of the month of september, by the indians called the moon of the falling leaves--a man, still young, and who, from his complexion, notwithstanding his costume was entirely like that of the indians, it was easy to perceive was a white man, was seated, about an hour before sunset, near a fire, the want of which began to be felt at this period of the year, at one of the most unfrequented spots of the prairie we have just described. this man was at most thirty-five to thirty-six years old, though a few deeply marked wrinkles on his broad white forehead seemed to indicate a more advanced age. his features were handsome and noble, and impressed with that pride and energy which a savage life imparts. his black eyes, starting from his head, and crowned with thick eye-brows, had a mild and melancholy expression, that tempered their brilliancy and vivacity; the lower part of his face disappeared beneath a long, thick beard, the bluish tint of which contrasted with the peculiar paleness spread over his countenance. he was tall, slender, and perfectly well proportioned; his nervous limbs, upon which rose muscles of extreme rigidity, proved that he was endowed with more than common strength. in short, the whole of his person inspired that respectful sympathy which superior natures attract more easily in these countries than in ours, where physical strength is nearly always the attribute of the brute. his remarkably simple attire was composed of a mitasse, or a kind of close drawers falling down to his ankles, and fastened to his hips by a leather belt, and of a cotton hunting shirt, embroidered with ornaments in wool of different colours, which descended to his midleg. this blouse, open in front, left exposed his embrowned chest, upon which hung a scapulary of velvet, from a slight steel chain. short boots of untanned deerskin protected him from the bites of reptiles, and rose to his knees. a cap made of the skin of a beaver, whose tail hung down behind, covered his head, while long and luxuriant curls of black hair, which were beginning to be threaded with white, fell beneath it over his broad shoulder. this man was a hunter. a magnificent rifle laid within reach of his hand, the game bag which was hung to his shoulder belt and the two buffalo horns, suspended at his girdle, and filled with powder and balls, left no doubt in this respect. two long double pistols were carelessly thrown near his rifle. the hunter, armed with that long knife called a machete, or a short-bladed straight sabre, which the inhabitants of the prairies never lay aside, was occupied in conscientiously skinning a beaver, whilst carefully watching the haunch of a deer which was roasting at the fire, suspended by a string, and listening to the slightest noises that arose in the prairies. the spot where this man was seated was admirably chosen for a halt of a few hours. it was a clearing at the summit of a moderately elevated hill, which, from its position, commanded the prairie for a great distance, and prevented a surprise. a spring bubbled up at a few paces from the place where the hunter had established his bivouac, and descended, forming a capricious cascade; to the plain. the high and abundant grass afforded an excellent pasto for two superb horses, with wild and sparkling eyes, which, safely tethered, were enjoying their food at a short distance from him. the fire, lighted with dry wood, and sheltered on three sides by the rock, only allowed a thin column of smoke to escape, scarcely perceptible at ten paces' distance, and a screen of all trees concealed the encampment from the indiscreet looks of those persons who were probably in ambuscade in the neighbourhood. in short, all precautions necessary for the safety of the hunter had been taken with that prudence which announces a profound knowledge of the life of a wood ranger. the red fires of the setting sun tinged with beautiful reflections the tops of the great trees, and the sun itself was on the point of disappearing behind the mountains which bounded the horizon, when the horses, suddenly ceasing their repast, raised their heads and prickled their ears--signs of restlessness which did not escape the hunter. although he heard no suspicious sound, and all appeared calm around him, he hastened to place the skin of the beaver before the fire, stretched upon two crossed sticks, and, without rising, he put out his hand towards his rifle. the cry of the jay was heard, and repeated thrice at regular intervals. the hunter laid his rifle by his side again with a smile, and resumed his watchful attention to the supper. almost immediately the grass was violently opened, and two magnificent bloodhounds bounded up and lay down by the hunter, who patted them for an instant, and not without difficulty quieted their caresses. the horses had carelessly resumed their interrupted repast. the dogs only preceded by a few minutes a second hunter, who made his appearance almost immediately in the clearing. this new personage, much younger than the first,--for he did not appear to be more than twenty-two years old,--was a tall, thin, agile and powerfully-built man, with a slightly-rounded head, lighted by two grey eyes, sparkling with intelligence, and endowed with a physiognomy open and loyal, to which long light hair gave a somewhat childish appearance. he was clothed in the same costume as his companion, and on arriving, threw down by the fire a string of birds which he was carrying at his shoulder. the two hunters then, without exchanging a word, set about preparing one of those suppers which long exercise has always the privilege of causing to be considered excellent. the night had completely set in; the desert awoke by degrees; the howlings of wild beasts already resounded in the prairie. the hunters, after supping with a good appetite, lit their pipes, and placing their backs to the fire, in order that the flame should not prevent them from perceiving the approach of any suspicious visitor whom darkness might bring them, smoked with the enjoyment of people who, after a long and painful journey, taste an instant of repose which they may not meet with again for some time. "well!" the first hunter said laconically between two puffs of tobacco. "you were right," the other replied. "ah!" "yes, we have kept too much to the right, it was that which made us lose the scent." "i was sure of it," the first speaker replied; "you see, belhumeur, you trust too much to your canadian habits: the indians with whom we have to do here in no way resemble the iroquois, who visit the hunting grounds of your country." belhumeur nodded his head in sign of acquiescence. "after all," the other continued, "this is of very little importance at this moment; what is urgent is to know who are our thieves." "i know." "good!" the other said, withdrawing his pipe quickly from his mouth; "and who are the indians who have dared to steal the traps marked with my cipher?" "the comanches." "i suspected as much. by heavens, ten of our best traps stolen during the night! i swear, belhumeur, that they shall pay for them dearly! and where are the comanches at this moment?" "within three leagues of us at most. it is a party of plunderers composed of a dozen men; according to the direction they are following, they are turning to their mountains." "they shall not all arrive there," said the hunter, casting a glance at his rifle. "parbleu!" said belhumeur with a loud laugh, "they will only get what they deserve. i leave it to you, loyal heart, to punish them for their insult; but you will be still more determined to avenge yourself upon them when you know by whom they are commanded." "ah! ah! i know their chief then?" belhumeur said, slightly smiling, "it is _nehu nutah_." "eagle head!" cried loyal, almost bounding from his seat. "oh, oh! yes, i know him, and god grant that this time. i may settle the old account there is between us. his moccasins have long enough trodden the same path with me and barred my passage." after pronouncing these word with an accent of hatred that made belhumeur shudder, the hunter, sorry at having allowed the anger which mastered him to appear, resumed his pipe and continued to smoke with a feigned carelessness that did not at all impose upon his companion. the conversation was interrupted. the two hunters appeared to be absorbed in profound reflections, and smoked silently by the side of each other. at length belhumeur turned towards his companion. "shall i watch?" he asked. "no," loyal heart replied, in a low voice; "sleep, i will be sentinel for you and myself too." belhumeur, without making the least observation, laid himself down by the fire, and in a few minutes slept profoundly. when the owl hooted its matin song, which seemed to salute the speedy appearance of the sun, loyal heart, who during the night had remained motionless as a marble statue, awakened his companion. "it is time," said he. "very good!" belhumeur replied, rising immediately. the hunters saddled their horses, descended the hill with precaution, and galloped off upon the track of the comanches. at this moment the sun appeared radiant in the heavens, dissipating the darkness and illuminating the prairie with its magnificent and reviving radiance. chapter ii. the hunters. a few words now about the personages we have just brought upon the scene, and who are destined to play an important part in this history. loyal heart--this name was the only one by which the hunter was known throughout the prairies of the west--enjoyed an immense reputation for skill, loyalty, and courage among the indian tribes, with whom the chances of his adventurous existence had brought him in relation. all respected him. the white hunters and trappers, whether spaniards, north americans, or half-breeds, had a high opinion of his experience of the woods, and often had recourse to his counsels. the pirates of the prairies themselves, thorough food for the gallows, the refuse of civilization, who only lived by rapine and exactions, did not dare to attack him, and avoided as much as possible throwing themselves in his way. thus this man had succeeded by the sheer force of his intelligence and his will, in creating for himself, and almost unknown to himself, a power accepted and recognized by the ferocious inhabitants of these vast deserts,--a power which he only employed in the common interest, and to facilitate for all the means of following in safety the occupations they had adopted. no one knew who loyal heart was, or whence he came; the greatest mystery covered his early years. one day, about twenty years before, when he was very young, some hunters had fallen in with him on the banks of the arkansas in the act of setting traps for beavers. the few questions put to him concerning his preceding life remained unanswered; and the hunters, people not very talkative by nature, fancying they perceived, from the embarrassment and reticence of the young man, that he had a secret which he desired to keep, made a scruple about pressing him further--and nothing more was said on the subject. at the same time, contrary to other hunters, or trappers of the prairies, who have all one or two companions with whom they associate, and whom they never leave, loyal heart lived alone, having no fixed habitation; he traversed the desert in all directions without pitching his tent anywhere. always reserved and melancholy, he avoided the society of his equals, although always ready, when occasion offered, to render them services, or even to expose his life for them. then, when they attempted to express their gratitude, he would clap spurs to his horse, and go and set his traps at a distance, to give time to those he had obliged to forget the service he had rendered. every year, at the same period, that is to say, about the month of october, loyal heart disappeared for several entire weeks, without anyone being able to suspect whither he was gone; and when he returned it was observed that for several days his countenance was more dark and sad than ever. one day he came back from one of these mysterious expeditions, accompanied by two magnificent young bloodhounds, which had from that time remained with him, and of which he seemed very fond. five years before the period at which we resume our narrative, when returning one evening from laying his traps for the night, he suddenly perceived the fire of an indian camp through the trees. a white youth, scarcely seventeen years of age, was fastened to a stake, and served as mark for the knives of the redskins, who amused themselves with torturing him before they sacrificed him to their sanguinary rage. loyal heart, listening to nothing but the pity which the victim inspired, and without reflecting on the terrible danger to which he exposed himself, rushed in among the indians, and placed himself in front of the prisoner, for whom he made a rampart of his body. these indians were comanches. astonished by this sudden irruption, which they were far from expecting, they remained a few instants motionless, confounded by so much audacity. without losing a moment, loyal heart cut the bonds of the prisoner, and giving him a knife, which the other received with joy, they both prepared to sell their lives dearly. white men inspire indians with an instinctive, an invincible terror; the comanches, however, on recovering from their surprise, showed signs of rushing forward to attack the two men who seemed to defy them. but the light of the fire, which fell full upon the face of the hunter, had permitted some of them to recognize him. the redskins drew back with respect, murmuring among themselves,-- "loyal heart! the great paleface hunter!" eagle head, for so was the chief of these indians named, did not know the hunter; it was the first time he had descended into the plains of the arkansas, and he could not comprehend the exclamation of his warriors; besides, he cordially detested the palefaces, against whom he had sworn to carry on a war of extermination. enraged at what he considered cowardice on the part of those he commanded, he advanced alone against loyal heart, but then an extraordinary occurrence took place. the comanches threw themselves upon their chief, and notwithstanding the respect in which they held him, they disarmed him to prevent his making any attack upon the hunter. loyal heart, after thanking them, himself restored his arms to the chief; who received them coldly, casting a sinister glance at his generous adversary. the hunter, perceiving this feeling, shrugged his shoulders disdainfully, and departed with the prisoner. loyal heart had, in less than ten minutes, made for himself an implacable enemy and a devoted friend. the history of the prisoner was simple. having left canada with his father, for the purpose of hunting in the prairies, they had fallen into the hands of the comanches; after a desperate resistance, his father had fallen covered with wounds. the indians, irritated at this death, which robbed them of a victim, had bestowed the greatest care upon the young man, in order that he might honourably figure at the stake of punishment, and this would inevitably have happened had it not been for the providential intervention of loyal heart. after having obtained these particulars, the hunter asked the young man what his intentions were, and whether the rough apprenticeship he had gone through as a wood ranger had not disgusted him with a life of adventures. "by my faith, no!" the other replied; "on the contrary, i feel more determined than ever to follow this career; and, besides," he added, "i wish to avenge my father." "that is just," the hunter observed. the conversation broke off at this point. loyal heart, having conducted the young man to one of his _cachés_ (a sort of magazines dug in the earth in which trappers collect their wealth), produced the complete equipment of a trapper,--gun, knife, pistols, game bags, and traps,--and then, after placing these things before his _protégé_, he said simply,-- "go! and god speed you!" the other looked at him without replying; he evidently did not understand him. loyal heart smiled. "you are free," he resumed; "here are all the objects necessary for your new trade,--i give them to you, the desert is before you; i wish you good luck!" the young man shook his head. "no," he said, "i will not leave you unless you drive me from you; i am alone, without family or friends; you have saved my life, and i belong to you." "it is not my custom to receive payment for the services i render," said the hunter. "you require to be paid for them too dearly," the other answered warmly, "since you refuse to accept gratitude. take back your gifts, they are of no use to me; i am not a mendicant to whom alms can be thrown; i prefer going back and delivering myself up again to the comanches--adieu!" and the canadian resolutely walked away in the direction of the indian camp. loyal heart was affected. this young man had so frank, so honest and spirited an air, that he felt something in his breast speak strongly in his favour. "stop!" he said. and the other stopped. "i live alone," the hunter continued; "the existence which you will pass with me will be a sad one: a great grief consumes me; why should you attach yourself to me, who are unhappy?" "to share your grief, if you think me worthy, and to console you, if that be possible; when man is left alone, he runs the risk of falling into despair; god has ordained that he should seek companions." "that is true," the still undecided hunter murmured. "why do you pause?" the young man asked anxiously. loyal heart gazed at him for a moment attentively; his eagle eye seemed to seek to penetrate his most secret thoughts; then, doubtless, satisfied with his examination, he asked, "what is your name?" "belhumeur," the other replied; "or, if you prefer it, george talbot; but i am generally known by the first name." the hunter smiled. "that is a promising name," he said, holding out his hand. "belhumeur," he added, "from this time you are my brother; henceforth there is a friendship for life and death between us." he kissed him above the eyes, as is the custom in the prairies in similar circumstances. "for life and death," the canadian replied, with a burst of enthusiasm, warmly pressing the hand which was held out to him, and kissing, in his turn, his new brother under the eyes. and this was the way in which loyal heart and belhumeur had become known to each other. during five years, not the least cloud, not the shadow of a cloud, had darkened the friendship which these two superior natures had sworn to each other in the desert, in the face of god. on the contrary, every day seemed to increase it; they had but one heart between them. completely relying on each other, divining each other's most secret thoughts, these two men had seen their strength augment tenfold, and such was their reciprocal confidence, that they doubted nothing, and undertook and carried out the most daring expeditions, in face of which ten resolute men would have paused. but everything succeeded with them, nothing appeared to be impossible to them; it might be said that a charm protected them, and rendered them invulnerable and invincible. their reputation was thus spread far and near, and those whom their name did not strike with admiration repeated it with terror. after a few months passed by loyal heart in studying his companion, drawn away by that natural want which man feels of confiding his troubles to a faithful friend, the hunter no longer had any secrets from belhumeur. this confidence, which the young man expected impatiently, but which he had done nothing to bring about, had bound still closer, if possible, the ties which united the two men, by furnishing the canadian with the means of giving his friend the consolations which his bruised spirit required, and of avoiding irritating wounds that were ever bleeding. on the day we met them in the prairie, they had just been the victims of an audacious robbery, committed by their ancient enemy, eagle head, the comanche chief, whose hatred and rancour, instead of being weakened by time, had, on the contrary, only increased. the indian, with the characteristic deceit of his race, had dissembled, and devoured in silence the affront he had undergone from his people, and of which the two palefaced hunters were the direct cause, and awaited patiently the hour of vengeance. he had quietly dug a pit under the feet of his enemies, by prejudicing the redskins by degrees against them, and adroitly spreading calumnies about them. thanks to this system, he had at length succeeded, or, at least, he thought he had, in making all the individuals dispersed over the prairies, even the white and half-breed hunters, consider these two men as their enemies. as soon as this result had been obtained, eagle head placed himself at the head of thirty devoted warriors; and, anxious to bring about a quarrel that might ruin the men whose death he had sworn to accomplish, he had in one single night stolen all their traps, certain that they would not leave such an insult unpunished, but would try to avenge it. the chief was not deceived in his calculations; all had fallen out just as he had foreseen it would. in this position he awaited his enemies. thinking that they would find no assistance among the indians or hunters, he flattered himself that with the thirty men he commanded he could easily seize the two hunters, whom he proposed to put to death with atrocious tortures. but he had committed the fault of concealing the number of his warriors, in order to inspire more confidence in the hunters. the latter had only partially been the dupes of this stratagem. considering themselves sufficiently strong to contend even with twenty indians, they had claimed the assistance of no one to avenge themselves upon enemies they despised, and had, as we have seen, set out resolutely in pursuit of the comanches. closing here this parenthesis, a rather long one, it is true, but indispensable to understand of what is to follow, we will take up our narrative at the point we broke off at, on terminating the preceding chapter. chapter iii. the trail. eagle head, who wished to be discovered by his enemies, had not taken any pains to conceal his trail. it was perfectly visible in the high grass, and if now and then it appeared to be effaced, the hunters had but slightly to turn to one side or the other to regain the prints of it. never before had a foe been pursued on the prairies in such a fashion. it must have appeared the more singular to loyal heart, who, for a long time, had been acquainted with the cunning of the indians, and knew with what skill, when they judged it necessary, they caused every indication of their passage to disappear. this facility gave him reason to reflect. as the comanches had taken no more pains to conceal their track, they must either believe themselves very strong, or else they had prepared an ambush into which they hoped to make their too confident enemies fall. the two hunters rode on, casting, from time to time, a look right and left, in order to be sure they were not deceived; but the track still continued in a straight line, without turnings or circuits. it was impossible to meet with greater facilities in a pursuit. belhumeur himself began to think this very extraordinary, and to be made seriously uneasy by it. but if the comanches had been unwilling to take the pains of concealing their trail, the hunters did not follow their example; they did not advance a step without effacing the trace of their passage. they arrived thus on the banks of a tolerably broad rivulet, named the verdigris, which is a tributary of the great canadian river. before crossing this little stream, on the other side of which the hunters would no longer be very far from the indians, loyal heart stopped, making a sign to his companion to do so likewise. both dismounted, and leading their horses by the bridle, they sought the shelter of a clump of trees, in order not to be perceived, if, by chance, some indian sentinel should be set to watch their approach. when they were concealed in the thickness of the wood, loyal heart placed a finger on his lip to recommend prudence to his companion, and, approaching his lips to his ear, he said, in a voice low as a breath,-- "before we go any farther, let us consult, in order to ascertain what we had better do." belhumeur bent his head in sign of acquiescence. "i suspect some treachery," the hunter resumed; "indians are too experienced warriors, and too much accustomed to the life of the prairies, to act in this way without an imperative reason." "that is true," the canadian replied, with a tone of conviction; "this trail is too good and too plainly indicated not to conceal a snare." "yes, but they have wished to be too cunning; their craft has overshot the mark; old hunters, like us, are not to be deceived thus. we must redouble our prudence, and examine every leaf and blade of grass with care, before we venture nearer the encampment of the redskins." "let us do better," said belhumeur, casting a glance around him; "let us conceal our horses in a safe place, where we can find them again at need, and then go and reconnoitre on foot the position and the number of those whom we wish to surprise." "you are right, belhumeur," said loyal heart; "your counsel is excellent, we will put it in practice." "i think we had better make haste in that case." "why so? on the contrary, do not let us hurry; the indians, not seeing us appear, will relax in their watchfulness, and we will profit by their negligence to attack them, if we should be forced to have recourse to such extreme measures; besides, it would be better to wait for the night before we commence our expedition." "in the first place, let us put our horses in safety. afterwards, we shall see what is best to be done." the hunters left their concealment with the greatest precaution. instead of crossing the river, they retraced their road, and for some time followed the route they had already traversed, then they bent a little to the left, and entered a ravine, in which they quickly disappeared among the high grass. "i leave you to be guide, belhumeur," said loyal heart, "i really do not know whither you are leading me!" "leave it to me, i have by chance discovered, within two gunshots of the place where we now are, a sort of citadel, where our horses will be as safe as possible, and in which, if so it should fall out, we should be able to sustain a regular siege." "_caramba!_" the hunter exclaimed, who, by this oath, which was habitual with him, betrayed his spanish origin, "how did you make this precious discovery?" "faith!" said belhumeur, "in the simplest manner possible. i had just laid my traps, when, in climbing up the mountain before us in order to shorten my road and rejoin you more quickly, at nearly two-thirds of the ascent, i saw, protruding from the bushes the velvety muzzle of a superb bear." "ah! ah! i am pretty well acquainted with that adventure. you brought me that day, if i am not mistaken, not one, but two black bearskins." "that is the same, my fine fellows were two, one male and the other female. you may easily suppose that at the sight of them my hunter's instincts were immediately roused; forgetful of my fatigue, i cocked my rifle, and set out in pursuit of them. you will see for yourself what sort of a fortress they had chosen," he added, as he alighted from his horse, and loyal heart followed his example. before them rose, in the shape of an amphitheatre, a mass of rocks, which assumed the most curious and fantastic shapes; thin bushes sprang here and there from the interstices of the stones, climbing plants crowned the summits of the rocks, and gave to this mass, which rose more than six hundred feet above the prairie, the appearance of one of those ancient feudal ruins which are to be met with occasionally on the banks of the great rivers of europe. this place was named by the hunters of these plains, the white castle, from the colour of the blocks of granite which formed it. "we shall never be able to get up there with our horses," said loyal heart, after carefully surveying for an instant the space they had to clear. "let us try, at all events!" said belhumeur, pulling his horse by the bridle. the ascent was rough, and any other horses than those of hunters, accustomed to the most difficult roads, would have been unable to accomplish it, but would have rolled from the top to the bottom. it was necessary to choose with care the spot on which the foot must be placed, and then to spring forward at a bound, and all this with turnings and twisting enough to produce a dizziness. after half an hour of extraordinary difficulties they arrived at a sort of platform, ten yards broad at most. "this is it!" said belhumeur, stopping. "how this?" loyal heart replied, looking around on all sides without perceiving an opening. "come this way!" said belhumeur, smiling. and still dragging his horse after him, he passed behind a block of the rock, the hunter following him with awakened curiosity. after walking for five minutes in a sort of trench, at most three feet wide, which seemed to wind round upon itself, the adventurers found themselves suddenly before the yawning mouth of a deep cavern. this road, formed by one of those terrible convulsions of nature so frequent in these regions, was so well concealed behind the rocks and stones which masked it, that it was impossible to discover it except by a providential chance. the hunters entered. before ascending the mountain, belhumeur had collected a large provision of candlewood; he lit two torches, keeping one for himself, and giving the other to his companion. then the grotto appeared to them in all its wild majesty. its walls were high and covered with brilliant stalactites, which reflected back the light, multiplying it, and forming a fairy-like illumination. "this cavern," said belhumeur, after he had given his friend time to examine it in all its details, "is, i have no doubt, one of the wonders of the prairies; this gallery, which descends in a gentle declivity before us, passes under the verdigris, and debouches on the other side of the river, at a distance of more than a mile, into the plain. in addition to the gallery by which we entered, and that which is before us, there exist four others, all of which have issues at different places. you see that here we are in no risk of being surrounded, and that these spacious chambers offer us a suite of apartments splendid enough to make the president of the united states himself jealous." loyal heart, enchanted with the discovery of this refuge, wished to examine it perfectly, and although he was naturally very silent, the hunter could not always withhold his admiration. "why have you never told me of this place before?" he said to belhumeur. "i waited for the opportunity," the latter replied. the hunters secured their horses, with abundance of provender, in one of the compartments of the grotto, into which the light penetrated by imperceptible fissures; and then, when they were satisfied that the noble animals; could want for nothing during their absence, and could not escape, they threw their rifles over their shoulders, whistled to their dogs, and, descended with hasty steps the gallery which passed under the river. soon the air became moist around them, a dull, continuous noise was heard above their heads,--they were passing under the verdigris. thanks to a species of lantern, formed by a hollow rock rising in the middle of the river's course, there was light sufficient to guide them. after half an hour's walk they debouched in the prairie by an entrance masked by bushes and creeping plants. they had remained a long time in the grotto. in the first place, they had examined it minutely, like men who foresaw that some day or other they should stand in need of seeking a shelter there; next they had made a kind of stable for their horses; and lastly, they had snatched a hasty morsel of food, so that the sun was on the point of setting at the moment when they set off again upon the track of the comanches. then commenced the true indian pursuit. the two hunters, after having laid on their bloodhounds, glided silently in their traces, creeping on their hands and knees through the high grass, the eye on the watch, the ear on the listen, holding their breath, and stopping at intervals to inhale the air, and interrogate those thousand sounds of the prairies which hunters notice with incredible facility, and which they explain without hesitation. the desert was plunged in a death-like silence. at the approach of night in these immense solitudes, nature seems to collect herself, and prepare, by a religious devotion, for the mysteries of darkness. the hunters continued advancing, redoubling their precautions, and creeping along in parallel lines. all at once the dogs came silently to a stop. the brave animals seemed to comprehend the value of silence in these parts, and that a single cry would cost their masters their lives. belhumeur cast a piercing glance around him. his eye flashed, he gathered himself up, and bounding like a panther, he sprang upon an indian warrior, who, with his body bent forward, and his head down, seemed to be sensible of the approach of an enemy. the indian was roughly thrown upon his back, and before he could utter a cry of distress or for help, belhumeur had his throat in his grasp and his knee on his breast. then, with the greatest coolness, the hunter unsheathed his knife, and plunged it up to the hilt in the heart of his enemy. when the savage saw that he was lost, he disdained to attempt any useless resistance, but fixing upon the canadian a look of hatred and contempt, an ironical smile curled his lips, and he awaited death with a calm face. belhumeur replaced his knife in his belt, and pushing the body on one side, said imperturbably,-- "one!" and he crept on again. loyal heart had watched the movements of his friend with the greatest attention, ready to succour him if it were necessary; when the indian was dead, he calmly took up the trail again. ere long the light of a fire gleamed between the trees and an odour of roasted flesh struck the keen smell of the hunters. they drew themselves up like two phantoms along an enormous cork tree, which was within a few paces of them, and embracing the gnarled trunk, concealed themselves among the tufted branches. then they looked out, and found that they were, it might be said, soaring over the camp of the comanches, situated within ten yards of them, at most. chapter iv. the travellers. about the same hour that the trappers issued from the grotto, and took up the trail of the comanches again, at twenty miles' distance from them, a rather large party of white travellers halted upon the banks of the great canadian river and prepared to encamp for the night in a magnificent position, where there were still some remains of an ancient camp of an indian hunting party. the hunters and the half-breed gambusinos who served as guides to the travellers hastened to unload a dozen mules, which were escorted by mexican lanceros. with the bales they made an enclosure of an oval form, in the interior of which they lit a fire; then, without troubling themselves any further about their companions, the guides united together in a little group and prepared their evening repast. a young officer, of about twenty-five years of age, of martial bearing, with delicately marked features, went up respectfully to a palanquin drawn by two mules and escorted by two horsemen. "in what place would you wish, señor, the señorita's tent to be pitched?" the young officer asked, as he raised his hat. "where you please, captain aguilar, provided it be quickly done; my niece is sinking with fatigue," the cavalier, who rode on the right of the palanquin, replied. he was a man of lofty stature, with hard marked features, and an eagle eye, whose hair was as white as the snows of chimborazo, and who, under the large military cloak which he wore, allowed glimpses to appear of the splendid uniform, glittering with embroidery, of a mexican general. the captain retired, with another bow, and returning to the lanceros, he gave them orders to set up in the middle of the camp enclosure, a pretty tent, striped rose colour and blue, which was carried across the back of a mule. five minutes later, the general, dismounting, offered his hand gallantly to a young female, who sprang lightly from the palanquin, and conducted her to the tent, where, thanks to the attentions of captain aguilar, everything was so prepared that she found herself as comfortable as circumstances would permit. behind the general and his niece, two other persons entered the tent. one was short and stout, with a full, rosy face, green spectacles, and a light-coloured wig, who appeared to be choking in the uniform of an army surgeon. this personage, whose age was a problem, but who appeared to be about fifty, was named jérome boniface duveux; he was a frenchman, and a surgeon-major in the mexican service. on alighting from his horse, he had seized and placed under his arm, with a species of respect, a large valise fastened to the hinder part of his saddle, and from which he seemed unwilling to part. the second person was a girl of about fifteen years of age, of a forward and lively mien, with a turn-up nose and a bold look, belonging to the half-breed race, who served as lady's maid to the general's niece. a superb negro, decorated with the majestic name of jupiter, hastened, aided by two or three gambusinos, to prepare the supper. "well! doctor," said the general, smiling, to the fat man, who came in puffing like a bullock, and sat down upon his valise, "how do you find my niece this evening?" "the señorita is always charming!" the doctor replied gallantly, as he wiped his brow, "do you not find the heat very oppressive?" "faith! no," replied the general, "not more so than usual." "well, it appears so to me!" said the doctor with a sigh. "what are you laughing at, you little witch?" added he, turning towards the waiting maid, who, in fact, was laughing with all her might. "pay no attention to that wild girl, doctor; you know she is but a child," the young lady said, with a pleasing smile. "i have always told you, doña luz," persisted the doctor, knitting his large eyebrows, and puffing out his cheeks, "that that little girl is a demon, to whom you are much too kind, and who will end by playing you an evil turn some of these days." "ooouch! the wicked picker up of pebbles!" the quadroon said with a grin, in allusion to the doctor's mania for collecting stones. "come, come, peace!" said the general, "has today's journey fatigued you much, my dear niece?" "not exceedingly," the young lady replied, with a suppressed yawn; "during nearly a month that we have been travelling i have become accustomed to this sort of life, which, i confess, at the commencement, i found painful enough." the general sighed, but made no reply. the doctor was absorbed by the care with which he was classifying the plants and stones which he had collected during the day. the half-breed girl flew about the tent like a bird, occupied in putting everything in order that her mistress might want. we will take advantage of this moment of respite to sketch the portrait of the young lady. doña luz de bermudez was the daughter of a younger sister of the general. she was a charming girl of sixteen at most. her large black eyes, surmounted by eyebrows whose deep colour contrasted finely with the whiteness of her fair, pure forehead, were veiled by long velvety lashes, which modestly concealed their splendour; her little mouth was set off by teeth of pearl, edged by lips of coral; her delicate skin wore the down of the ripe peach, and her blue-black hair, when liberated from its bands, formed a veil for her whole person. her form was slender and supple, with all the curves of the true line of beauty. she possessed, in an eminent degree, that undulating, gracefully serpentine movement which distinguishes american women; her hands and feet were extremely small, and her step had the careless voluptuousness of the creole, so full of ever varying attractions. in short, in the person of this young lady, might be said to be combined all the graces and perfections. ignorant as most of her compatriots, she was gay and cheerful; amused with the smallest trifle, and knowing nothing of life but the agreeable side of it. but this beautiful statue was not animated; it was pandora before prometheus had stolen for her fire from heaven, and, to continue our mythological comparison, love had not yet brushed her with his wing, her brow had not yet been contracted by the pressure of thought, her heart had not yet beaten under the influence of passion. brought up under the care of the general in almost cloistral seclusion, she had only quitted it to accompany him in a journey he had undertaken through the prairies. what was the object of this journey, and why had her uncle so positively insisted upon her making it with him? that was of little consequence to the young girl. happy to live in the open air, to be constantly seeing new countries and new objects, to be free in comparison with the life she had hitherto led, she had asked nothing better, and took care never to trouble her uncle with indiscreet questions. at the period when we met her, then, doña luz was a happy girl, living from day to day, satisfied with the present, and thinking nothing of the future. captain aguilar entered, preceding jupiter, who brought in the dinner. the table was decked by phoebe, the waiting maid. the repast consisted of preserved meats and a joint of roast venison. four persons took their places round the table; the general, his niece, the captain, and the doctor. jupiter and phoebe waited. conversation languished during the first course; but when the appetite of the party was a little abated, the young girl, who delighted in teasing the doctor, turned to him, and said,-- "have you made a rich harvest today, doctor?" "not too rich, señorita," he replied. "well! but," she said, laughing, "there appears to me to be such an abundance of stones on our route, that it only rested with yourself to gather together enough to load a mule." "you ought to be pleased with your journey," said the general, "for it offers you such an opportunity for indulging in your passion for plants of all sorts." "not too great, general, i must confess; the prairie is not so rich as i thought it was; and if it were not for the hope i entertain of discovering one plant, whose qualities may advance science, i should almost regret my little house at guadeloupe, where my life glided away in such uniform tranquillity." "bah!" the captain interrupted, "we are as yet only on the frontiers of the prairies. you will find, when we have penetrated further into the interior, that you will not be able to gather the riches which will spring from under your feet." "god grant it may be so, captain;" said the doctor, with a sigh; "provided i find the plant i seek i shall be satisfied." "is it then such a very valuable plant?" asked doña luz. "what, señorita!" cried the doctor, warming with the question. "a plant which linnaeus has described and classified, and which no one has since found! a plant that would make my reputation! and you ask me if it is valuable?" "of what use is it, then?" the young lady asked, in a tone of curiosity. "of what use is it?" "yes." "none at all, that i am aware of," the doctor replied, ingeniously. doña luz broke into a silvery laugh, whose pearly notes might have made a nightingale jealous. "and you call it a valuable plant?" "yes--if only for its rarity." "ah! that's all." "let us hope you will find it, doctor," said the general in a conciliatory tone. "jupiter, call the chief of the guides hither." the negro left the tent, and almost immediately returned, followed by a gambusino. the latter was a man of about forty, tall in stature, square-built, and muscular. his countenance, though not exactly ugly, had something repulsive in it for which the spectator was at a loss to account; his wild, sinister-looking eyes, buried under their orbits, cast a savage light, which with his low brow, his curly hair, and his coppery complexion, made altogether a not very agreeable whole. he wore the costume of a wood ranger; he was cold, impassible, of a nature essentially taciturn, and answered to the name of _the babbler_, which, no doubt, the indians or his companions had given him by antiphrasis. "here, my good fellow," said the general, holding out to him a glass filled to the brim with a sort of brandy, called mescal, from the name of the place where it is distilled, "drink this." the hunter bowed, emptied the glass, which contained about a pint, at a draught; then, passing his cuff across his moustache, waited. "i wish," said the general, "to halt for a few days in some safe position, in order to make, without fear of being disturbed, certain researches; shall we be secure here?" the eye of the guide sparkled: he fixed a burning glance upon the general. "no," he replied, laconically. "why not?" "too many indians and wild beasts." "do you know one more suitable?" "yes." "is it far?" "no." "at what distance?" "forty miles." "how long will it take us to arrive there?" "three days." "that will do. conduct us thither. tomorrow, at sunrise, we will set forward in our march." "is that all?" "that is all." "good night." and the hunter withdrew. "what i admire in the babbler," said the captain, with a smile, "is that his conversation never tires you." "i should like it much better if he spoke more," said the doctor, shaking his head. "i always suspect people who are so afraid of saying too much; they generally have something to conceal." the guide, after leaving the tent, joined his companions, with whom he began to talk in a low voice, but in a very animated manner. the night was magnificent; the travellers, assembled in front of the tent, were chatting together, and smoking their cigars. doña luz was singing one of those charming creole songs, which are so full of sweet melody and expression. all at once a red-tinted light appeared in the horizon, increasing every instant, and a dull continuous noise, like the growling of distant thunder, was heard. "what is that?" the general cried, rising hastily. "the prairie is on fire," the babbler replied, quietly. at this terrible announcement, made so quietly, the camp was all in confusion. it was necessary to fly instantly, if they did not choose to run the risk of being burnt alive. one of the gambusinos, taking advantage of the disorder, glided away among the baggage, and disappeared in the plain, after exchanging a mysterious signal with the babbler. chapter v. the comanches. loyal heart and belhumeur, concealed among the tufted branches of the cork tree, were observing the comanches. the indians depended upon the vigilance of their sentinels. far from suspecting that their enemies were so near them and were watching their motions, they crouched or lay around the fires, eating or smoking carelessly. these savages, to the number of twenty-five, were dressed in their buffalo robes, and painted in the most varied and fantastic manner. most of them had their faces covered with vermillion, others were entirely black, with a long white stripe upon each cheek; they wore their bucklers on their backs, with their bows and arrows, and near them lay their guns. by the number of wolves' tails fastened to their moccasins, and which dragged on the ground behind them, it was easy to perceive that they were all picked warriors, renowned in their tribe. at some paces from the group, eagle head leant motionless against a tree. with his arms crossed on his breast, and leaning gently forward, he seemed to be listening to vague sounds, perceptible to himself alone. eagle head was an osage indian; the comanches had adopted him when quite young, but he had always preserved the costume and manners of his nation. he was, at most, twenty-eight years of age, nearly six feet high, and his large limbs, upon which enormous muscles developed themselves, denoted extraordinary strength. differing in this respect from his companions, he only wore a blanket fastened round his loins, so as to leave his bust and his arms bare. the expression of his countenance was handsome and noble; his black, animated eyes, close to his aquiline nose, and his somewhat large mouth, gave him a faint resemblance to a bird of prey. his hair was shaved off, with the exception of a ridge upon the middle of his head, which produced the effect of the crest of a helmet, and a long scalp lock, in which was fixed a bunch of eagle's feathers, hung down behind him. his face was painted of four different colours--blue, white, black, and red; the wounds inflicted by him upon his enemies were marked in blue upon his naked breast. moccasins of untanned deerskin came up above his knees, and numerous wolves' tails were fastened to his heels. fortunately for the hunters, the indians were on the warpath, and had no dogs with them; but for this, they would have been discovered long before, and could not possibly have approached so near the camp. in spite of his statue-like immobility, the eye of the chief sparkled, his nostrils expanded, and he lifted his right arm mechanically, as if to impose silence upon his warriors. "we are scented," loyal heart murmured, in a voice so low that his companion could hardly hear it. "what is to be done?" belhumeur replied. "act," said the trapper, laconically. both then glided silently from branch to branch, from tree to tree, without touching the ground, till they reached the opposite side of the camp, just above the place where the horses of the comanches were hobbled to graze. belhumeur descended softly, and cut the thongs that held them; and the horses, excited by the whips of the hunters, rushed out, neighing and kicking in all directions. the indians rose in disorder, and hastened, with loud cries, in pursuit of their horses. eagle head alone, as if he had guessed the spot where his enemies were in ambush, directed his steps straight towards them, screening himself as much as possible behind the trees which he passed. the hunters drew back, step by step, looking carefully round them, so as not to allow themselves to be encompassed. the cries of the indians grew fainter in the distance; they were all in eager pursuit of their horses. the chief found himself alone in presence of his two enemies. on arriving at a tree whose enormous trunk appeared to guarantee the desired safety, disdaining to use his gun, and the opportunity seeming favourable, he adjusted an arrow on his bowstring. but whatever might be his prudence and address, he could not make this movement without discovering himself a little. loyal heart raised his gun, the trigger was pressed, the ball whizzed, and the chief bounded into the air uttering a howl of rage, and fell upon the ground. his arm was broken. the two hunters were already by his side. "not a movement, redskin," loyal heart said to him; "not a movement, or you are a dead man!" the indian remained motionless, apparently stoical, but devouring his rage. "i could kill you," the hunter continued; "but i am not willing to do so. this is the second time i have given you your life, chief, but it will be the last. cross my path no more, and, remember, do not steal my traps again; if you do, i swear i will grant you no mercy." "eagle head is a chief renowned among the men of his tribe," the indian replied, haughtily; "he does not fear death; the white hunter may kill him, he will not hear him complain." "no, i will not kill you, chief; my god forbids the shedding of human blood unnecessarily." "wah!" said the indian, with an ironical smile, "my brother is a missionary." "no, i am an honest trapper, and do not wish to be an assassin." "my brother speaks the words of old women," the indian continued; "nehu mutah never pardons, he takes vengeance." "you will do as you please, chief," the hunter replied, shrugging his shoulders contemptuously, "i have no intention of trying to change your nature; only remember you are warned--farewell!" "and the devil admire you!" belhumeur added, giving him a contemptuous shove with his foot. the chief appeared insensible even to this fresh insult, save that his brows contracted slightly. he did not stir, but followed his enemies with an implacable look, while they, without troubling themselves further about him, plunged into the forest. "you may say what you like, loyal heart," said belhumeur, "but you are wrong, you ought to have killed him." "bah! what for?" the hunter asked, carelessly. "_cascaras!_ what for? why, there would have been one head of vermin the less in the prairie." "where there are so many," said the other, "one more or less cannot signify much." "humph! that's true!" belhumeur replied, apparently convinced; "but where are we going now?" "to look after our traps, _caramba!_ do you think i will lose them?" "humph! that's a good thought." the hunters advanced in the direction of the camp, but in the indian fashion--that is to say, by making numberless turnings and windings intended to throw out the comanches. after progressing in this way for twenty minutes, they arrived at the camp. the indians had not yet returned; but in all probability, it would not be long before they did so. all their baggage was scattered about. two or three horses, which had not felt disposed to run away, were browsing quietly on the peavines. without losing time, the hunters set about collecting their traps, which was soon done. each loaded himself with five, and, without further delay, they resumed the way to the cavern where they had concealed their horses. notwithstanding the tolerably heavy weight they carried on their shoulders, the two men marched lightly, much pleased at having so happily terminated their expedition, and laughing at the trick they had played the indians. they had gone on thus for some time, and could already hear the murmur of the distant waters of the river, when, all at once, the neighing of a horse struck their ears. "we are pursued," said loyal heart, stopping. "hum!" belhumeur remarked, "it is, perhaps, a wild horse." "no; a wild horse does not neigh in that manner; it is the comanches; but we can soon know," he added, as he threw himself down to listen, and placed his ear close to the ground. "i was sure of it," he said, rising almost immediately; "it is the comanches; but they are not following a full track--they are hesitating." "or perhaps their march is retarded by the wound of eagle head." "that's possible! oh, oh! do they fancy themselves capable of catching us, if we wished to escape from them?" "ah! if we were not loaded, that would soon be done." loyal heart reflected a minute. "come," he said, "we have still half an hour, and that is more than we want." a rivulet flowed at a short distance from them; the hunter entered its bed with his companion, who followed all his movements. when he arrived in the middle of the stream, loyal heart carefully wrapped up the traps in a buffalo skin, that no moisture might come to them, and then he allowed them quietly to drop to the bottom of the stream. this precaution taken, the hunters crossed the rivulet, and made a false trail of about two hundred paces, and afterwards returned cautiously so as not to leave a print that might betray their return. they then re-entered the forest, after having, with a gesture, sent the dogs to the horses. the intelligent animals obeyed, and soon disappeared in the darkness. this resolution to send away the dogs was useful in assisting to throw the indians off the track, for they could scarcely miss following the traces left by the bloodhounds in the high grass. once in the forest, the hunters again climbed up a tree, and began to advance between heaven and earth--a mode of travelling much more frequently used than is believed in europe, in this country where it is often impossible, on account of the underwood and the trees, to advance without employing an axe to clear a passage. it is possible, by thus passing from branch to branch, to travel leagues together without touching the ground. it was exactly thus, only for another cause, that our hunters acted at this moment. they advanced in this fashion before their enemies, who drew nearer and nearer, and they soon perceived them under them, marching in indian file, that is to say, one behind another, and following their track attentively. eagle head came first, half lying upon his horse, on account of his wound, but more animated than ever in pursuit of his enemies. when the comanches passed them, the two trappers gathered themselves up among the leaves, holding their breath. the most trifling circumstance would have sufficed to proclaim their presence. the indians passed without seeing them. the hunters resumed their leafy march. "ouf!" said belhumeur, at the end of a minute. "i think we have got rid of them this time!" "do not cry before you are out of the wood, but let us get on as fast as we can; these demons of redskins are cunning, they will not long be the dupes of our stratagem." "_sacrebleu!_" the canadian suddenly exclaimed, "i have let my knife fall, i don't know where; if these devils find it, we are lost." "most likely," loyal heart murmured; "the greater reason then for not losing a single minute." in the meantime, the forest, which till then had been calm, began all at once to grow excited, the birds flew about uttering cries of terror, and in the thick underwood they could hear the dry branches crack under the hurried footfalls of the wild animals. "what's going on now?" said loyal heart, stopping, and looking round him with uneasiness; "the forest appears to be turned topsy-turvey!" the hunters sprang up to the top of the tree in which they were, and which happened to be one of the loftiest in the forest. an immense light tinged the horizon at about a league from the spot where they were; this light increased every minute, and advanced towards them with giant strides. "curses on them!" cried belhumeur, "the comanches have fired the prairie!" "yes, and i believe this time that, as you said just now, we are lost," loyal heart replied coolly. "what's to be done?" said the canadian, "in an instant we shall be surrounded." loyal heart reflected seriously. at the end of a few seconds he raised his head, and a smile of triumph curled the corners of his mouth. "they have not got us yet," he replied; "follow me, my brother;" and he added in a low voice, "i must see my mother again!" chapter vi. the preserver. in order to make the reader comprehend the position of the hunters, it is necessary to return to the comanche chief. scarce had his enemies disappeared among the trees, ere eagle head raised himself softly up, bent his body forward, and listened to ascertain if they were really departing. as soon as he had acquired that certainty, he tore off a morsel of his blanket with which he wrapped up his arm as well as he could, and, in spite of the weakness produced by loss of blood and the pain he suffered, he set off resolutely on the trail of the hunters. he accompanied them, thus himself unseen, to the limits of the camp. there, concealed behind an ebony tree, he witnessed, without being able to prevent it, though boiling with rage, the search made by the hunters for their traps, and, at length, their departure after recovering them. although the bloodhounds which the hunters had with them were excellent dogs, trained to scent an indian from a distance, by a providential chance, which probably saved the life of the comanche chief, they had fallen upon the remains of the repast of the redskins, and their masters, not dreaming that they were watched, did not think of commanding their vigilance. the comanches at length regained their camp, after having, with infinite difficulty, succeeded in catching their horses. the sight of their wounded chief caused them great surprise, and still greater anger, of which eagle head took advantage to send them all off again in pursuit of the hunters, who, retarded by the traps they carried, could not be far off, and must inevitably fall speedily into their hands. they had been but for an instant the dupes of the stratagem invented by loyal heart, and had not been long in recognising, on the first trees of the forest unequivocal traces of the passage of their enemies. at this moment, eagle head, ashamed of being thus held in check by two determined men, whose cunning, superior to his own, deceived all his calculations, resolved to put an end to them at once, by carrying into execution the diabolical project of setting fire to the forest; a means which, according to the manner in which he meant to employ it, must, he did not doubt, at length deliver his formidable adversaries up to him. in consequence, dispersing his warriors in various directions, so as to form a vast circle, he ordered the high grass to be set on fire in various places simultaneously. the idea, though barbarous and worthy of the savage warriors who employed it, was a good one. the hunters, after having vainly endeavoured to escape from the network of flame which encompassed them on all sides, would be obliged, in spite of themselves, if they did not prefer being burnt alive, to surrender quietly to their ferocious enemies. eagle head had calculated and foreseen everything, except the most easy and most simple thing, the only chance of safety that would be left to loyal heart and his companions. as we have said, at the command of their chief the warriors had dispersed, and had lighted the conflagration at several points simultaneously. at this advanced season of the year, the plants and grass, parched by the incandescent rays of the summer's sun, were immediately in a blaze, and the fire extended in all directions with frightful rapidity. not, however, so quickly as not to allow a certain time to elapse before it united. loyal heart had not hesitated. whilst the indians were running like demons around the barrier of flame they had just opposed to their enemies, and were uttering yells of joy, the hunter, followed by his friend, had rushed at full speed between two walls of fire, which from right and left advanced upon him, hissing, and threatening to unite at once above his head and beneath his feet. amidst calcined trees which fell with a crash, blinded by clouds of thick smoke which stopped their respiration, burnt by showers of sparks which poured upon them from all parts, following boldly their course beneath a vault of flame, the intrepid adventurers had cleared, at the cost of a few trifling burns, the accursed enclosure in which the indians had thought to bury them for ever, and were already far from the enemies who were congratulating themselves upon the success of their artful and barbarous plan. the conflagration, in the meantime, assumed formidable proportions; the forest shrivelled up under the grasp of the fire; the prairie was but one sheet of flame, in the midst of which the wild animals, driven from their dens and lairs by this unexpected catastrophe, ran about, mad with terror. the sky gleamed with blood-red reflections, and an impetuous wind swept before it both flames and smoke. the indians themselves were terrified at their own handiwork, on seeing around them entire mountains lighted up like baleful beacons; the earth became hot, and immense troops of buffalos made the ground tremble with their furious course, while they uttered those bellowings of despair which fill with terror the hearts of the bravest men. in the camp of the mexicans everything was in the greatest disorder; it was all noise and frightful confusion. the horses had broken their shackles, and fled away in all directions; the men seized their arms and ammunition; others carried the saddles and packages. everyone was crying, swearing, commanding--all were running about the camp as if they had been struck with madness. the fire continued to advance majestically, swallowing up everything in its passage, preceded by a countless number of animals of all kinds, who bounded along with howls of fear, pursued by the scourge which threatened to overtake them at every step. a thick smoke, laden with sparks, was already passing over the camp of the mexicans; twenty minutes more and all would be over with them. the general, pressing his niece in his arms, in vain demanded of the guides the best means of avoiding the immense peril which threatened them. but these men, terrified by the imminence of the peril, had lost all self-possession. and then, what remedy could be employed? the flames formed an immense circle, of which the camp had become the centre. the strong breeze, however, which up to that moment had kept alive the conflagration, by lending it wings, sank all at once. there was not a breath of air. the progress of the fire slackened. providence granted these unhappy creatures a few minutes more. at this moment the camp presented a strange aspect. all the men, struck with terror, had lost the sense even of self-preservation. the _lanceros_ confessed to each other. the guides were plunged in gloomy despair. the general accused heaven of his misfortune. as for the doctor, he only regretted the plant he could not discover; with him every other consideration yielded to that. doña luz, with her hands clasped, and her knees on the ground, was praying fervently. the fire continued to approach, with its vanguard of wild beasts. "oh!" cried the general, shaking the arm of the guide violently, "will you leave us to be burnt thus, without making an effort to save us?" "what can be done against the will of god?" the babbler replied, stoically. "are there no means, then, of preserving us from death?" "none!" "there is one!" a man cried, who, with a scorched face, and half-burnt hair, rushed into the camp, climbing over the baggage, and followed by another individual. "who are you?" the general exclaimed. "that is of little consequence," the stranger replied, drily; "i come to save you! my companion and i were out of danger; to succour you we have braved unheard-of perils--that should satisfy you. your safety is in your own hands; you have only to will it." "command!" the general replied, "i will be the first to give you the example of obedience." "have you no guides with you, then?" "certainly we have," said the general. "then they are traitors or cowards, for the means i am about to employ are known to everybody in the prairie." the general darted a glance of mistrust at the babbler, who had not been able to suppress an appearance of disagreeable surprise at the sudden coming of the two strangers. "well," said the hunter, "that is an account you can settle with them hereafter; we have something else to think of now." the mexicans at the sight of this determined man, with his sharp impressive language, had instinctively beheld a preserver; they felt their courage revive with hope, and held themselves ready to execute his orders with promptness. "be quick!" said the hunter, "and pull up all the grass that surrounds the camp." everyone set to work at once. "for our part," the stranger continued, addressing the general, "we will take wetted blankets and spread them in front of the baggage." the general, the captain, and the doctor, under the directions of the hunter, did as he desired, whilst his companion lassoed the horses and the mules, and hobbled them in the centre of the camp. "be quick! be quick!" the hunter cried incessantly, "the fire gains upon us!" everyone redoubled his exertions, and, in a short time a large space was cleared. doña luz surveyed with admiration this strange man, who had suddenly appeared among them in such a providential manner, and who, amidst the horrible danger that enveloped them, was as calm and self-possessed as if he had had the power to command the awful scourge which continued to advance upon them with giant strides. the maiden could not take her eyes off him; in spite of herself, she felt attracted towards this unknown preserver, whose voice, gestures,--his whole person, in short, interested her. when the grass and herbs had been pulled up with that feverish rapidity which men in fear of death display in all they do, the hunter smiled calmly. "now," he said, addressing the mexicans, "the rest concerns me and my friend; leave us to act as we think proper; wrap yourselves carefully in damp blankets." everyone followed his directions. the stranger cast a glance around him, and then after making a sign to his friend, walked straight towards the fire. "i shall not quit you," the general said, earnestly. "come on, then," the stranger replied, laconically. when they reached the extremity of the space where the grass had been pulled up, the hunter made a heap of plants and dry wood with his feet, and scattering a little gunpowder over it, he set fire to the mass. "what are you doing?" the general exclaimed, in amazement. "as you see, i make fire fight against fire," the hunter replied, quietly. his companion had acted in the same manner in an opposite direction. a curtain of flames arose rapidly around them, and, for some minutes, the camp was almost concealed beneath a vault of fire. a quarter of an hour of terrible anxiety and intense expectation ensued. by degrees the flames became less fierce, the air more pure; the smoke dispersed, the roarings of the conflagration diminished. at length they were able to recognise each other in this horrible chaos. a sigh of relief burst from every breast. the camp was saved! the conflagration, whose roaring became gradually more dull, conquered by the hunter, went to convey destruction in other directions. everyone rushed towards the stranger to thank him. "you have saved the life of my niece," said the general warmly; "how shall i discharge my debt to you?" "you owe me nothing, sir," the hunter replied, with noble simplicity; "in the prairie all men are brothers; i have only performed my duty by coming to your assistance." as soon as the first moments of joy were past, and the camp had been put in a little order, everyone felt the necessity for repose after the terrible anxieties of the night. the two strangers, who had constantly repulsed modestly, but firmly, the advances the general had made in the warmth of his gratitude, threw themselves carelessly on the baggage for a few hours' rest. a little before dawn they arose. "the earth must be cool by this time," said the hunter: "let us be gone before these people wake; perhaps they would not wish us to leave them so." "let us be gone!" the other replied laconically. at the moment he was about to pass over the boundary of the camp, a hand was laid lightly upon the shoulder of the elder. he turned round, and doña luz was before him. the two men stopped and bowed respectfully to the young lady. "are you going to leave us?" she asked in a soft and melodious voice. "we must, señorita," the hunter replied. "i understand," she said with a charming smile; "now that, thanks to you, we are saved, you have nothing more to do here,--is it not so?" the two men bowed without replying. "grant me a favour," she said. "name it, señorita." she took from her neck a little diamond cross she wore. "keep this, in remembrance of me." the hunter hesitated. "i beg you to do so," she murmured in an agitated voice. "i accept it, señorita," the hunter said, as he placed the cross upon his breast close to his scapulary; "i shall have another talisman to add to that which my mother gave me." "thank you," the girl replied joyfully; "one word more?" "speak it, lady." "what are your names?" "my companion is called belhumeur." "but yourself?" "loyal heart." after bowing a second time, in sign of farewell, the two hunters departed at a quick pace, and soon disappeared in the darkness. doña luz looked after them as long as she could perceive them, and then returned slowly and pensively towards her tent, repeating to herself in a low but earnest tone,-- "loyal heart! oh! i shall remember that name." chapter vii. the surprise. the united states have inherited from england that system of continual invasion and usurpation which is one of the most salient points in the british character. scarcely was the independence of north america proclaimed, and peace concluded with the mother country, ere those very men who cried out so loudly against tyranny and oppression, who protested against the violation of the rights of nations, of which they said they were the victims, organized, with that implacable coolness which they owe to their origin, a hunt of the red indians. not only did they do so over the whole extent of their territories, but dissatisfied with the possession of the vast regions which their restless population, spite of its activity, did not suffice to clear and render valuable, they wished to make themselves masters of the two oceans, by encircling on all sides the aboriginal tribes, whom they drove back incessantly, and whom, according to the prophetic words, filled with bitter displeasure, of an aged indian chief, they will eventually drown in the pacific, by means of treachery and perfidy. in the united states, about which people are beginning to be disabused, but which prejudiced or ill-informed persons still persist in representing as the classic land of liberty, is found that odious anomaly of two races degraded and despoiled for the advantage of a third race, which arrogates to itself a right of life and death over them, and considers them as nothing more than beasts of burden. these two races, so worthy of the interest of all enlightened minds, and of the true friends of the human species, are the black and red races. it is true, that on the other hand, to prove what thorough philanthropists they are, the united states did, in the year , sign a treaty of peace and friendship with the barbary states, which gave them advantages incomparably greater than those offered by the order of malta, which was likewise desirous of treating with them--a treaty guaranteed by the regencies of algiers and tripoli. in this treaty it is positively stated that the government of the united states is not founded, in any way, upon the christian religion. to those to whom this may appear strong, we will reply that it is logical, and that the americans in the article of god acknowledge but one alone--the god dollar! who, in all times, has been the only one adored by the pirates of every country. draw the conclusion from this who will. the squatters, a race without hearth or home, without right or law, the refuse of all nations, and who are the shame and scum of the north-american population, are advancing incessantly towards the west, and by clearings upon clearings endeavour to drive the indian tribes from their last places of refuge. in rear of the squatters come five or six soldiers, a drummer, a trumpeter, and an officer of some kind bearing the banner of the stars and stripes. these soldiers build a fort with some trunks of trees, plant the flag on the top of it, and proclaim that the frontiers of the confederation extend to that point. then around the fort spring up a few cabins, and a bastard population is grouped--a heterogeneous compound of whites, blacks, reds, copper-coloured, &c., &c., and a city is founded, upon which is bestowed some sonorous name--utica, syracuse, rome, or carthage, for example, and a few years later, when this city possesses two or three stone houses, it becomes by right the capital of a new state which is not yet in existence. thus are things going on in this country!--it is very simple, as is evident. a few days after the events we have related in our preceding chapter, a strange scene was passing in a possession built scarcely two years before, upon the banks of the great canadian river, in a beautiful position at the foot of a verdant hill. this possession consisted of about twenty cabins, grouped capriciously near each other, and protected by a little fort, armed with four small cannon which commanded the course of the river. the village, though so young, had already, thanks to the prodigious american activity, acquired all the importance of a city. two taverns overflowed with tipplers, and three temples of different sects served to gather together the faithful. the inhabitants moved about here and there with the preoccupation of people who work seriously and look sharply after their affairs. numerous canoes ploughed the river, and carts loaded with merchandise passed about in all directions, grinding upon their creaking axles, and digging deep ruts. nevertheless, in spite of all this movement, or, perhaps, on account of it, it was easy to observe that a certain uneasiness prevailed in the village. the inhabitants questioned each other, groups were formed upon the steps of doors, and several men, mounted upon powerful horses, rode rapidly away, as scouts, in all directions, after taking their orders from the captain commanding the fort, who, dressed in full uniform, with a telescope in his hand, and his arms behind his back, was walking backwards and forwards, with hasty steps, upon the glacis of the little fort. by degrees, the canoes regained the shore, the carts were unteamed, the beasts of burden were collected in the home pastures, and the entire population assembled upon the square of the village. the sun was sinking rapidly towards the horizon, night would soon be upon them, and the horsemen sent to the environs had all returned. "you see," said the captain to the assembled inhabitants, "that we had nothing to fear, it was only a false alarm; you may return peaceably to your dwellings, no trace of indians can be found for twenty miles round." "hum!" an old half-breed hunter, leaning on his gun, observed, "indians are not long in travelling twenty miles!" "that is possible, white eyes," the commandant replied, "but be convinced that if i have acted as i have done, it has been simply with the view of reassuring the people; the indians will not dare to avenge themselves." "indians always avenge themselves, captain," said the old hunter, sententiously. "you have drunk too much whiskey, white eyes; it has got into your head; you are dreaming, with your eyes open." "god grant you may be right, captain! but i have passed all my life in the clearings, and know the manners of the redskins, while you have only been on the frontiers two years." "that is quite as long as is necessary," the captain interrupted, peremptorily. "nevertheless, with your permission, indians are men, and the comanches, who were treacherously assassinated here, in contempt of the laws of nations, were warriors renowned in their tribe." "white eyes, you are of mixed breed, you lean a little too much to the red race," said the captain ironically. "the red race," the hunter replied proudly, "are loyal; they do not assassinate for the pleasure of shedding blood, as you yourself did, four days ago, in killing those two warriors who were passing inoffensively in their canoe, under the pretence of trying a new gun which you had received from acropolis." "well, well! that's enough! spare me your comments, white eyes, i am not disposed to receive observations from you." the hunter bowed awkwardly, threw his gun upon his shoulder and retired grumbling. "that's all one!--blood that is shed cries for vengeance; the redskins are men, and will not leave the crime unpunished." the captain retired into the fort, visibly annoyed by what the half-breed had said to him. gradually the inhabitants dispersed, after wishing each other good night, and closed their dwellings with that carelessness peculiar to men accustomed to risk their lives every minute. an hour later night had completely set in, thick darkness enveloped the village, and the inhabitants, fatigued with the rude labours of the day, were reposing in profound security. the scouts sent out by the captain towards the decline of day had badly performed their duty, or else they were not accustomed to indian cunning, otherwise they never could, by their reports, have placed the colonists in such deceitful confidence. scarcely a mile from the village, concealed amongst and confounded with the thick bushes and intertwining trees of a virgin forest, of which the nearest part had already fallen under the indefatigable axe of the clearers, two hundred warriors of the tribe of the serpent, guided by several renowned chiefs, among whom was eagle head, who, although wounded, insisted upon joining the expedition, were waiting, with that indian patience which nothing can foil, the propitious moment for taking a severe vengeance for the insult they had received. several hours passed thus, and the silence of night was not disturbed by any noise whatever. the indians, motionless as bronze statues, waited without displaying the slightest impatience. towards eleven o'clock the moon rose, lighting the landscape with its silvery beams. at the same instant the distant howling of a dog was repeated twice. eagle head then left the tree behind which he had been screened, and began to creep with extreme address and velocity, in the direction of the village. on reaching the skirts of the forest he stopped; then, after casting round an investigating glance, he imitated the neighing of a horse with such perfection that two horses of the village immediately replied to him. after waiting for a few seconds, the practised ear of the chief perceived an almost insensible noise among the leaves; the bellowing of an ox was heard a short distance away; then the chief arose and waited. two seconds later a man joined him. this man was white eyes, the old hunter. a sinister smile curled the corners of his thin lips. "what are the white men doing?" the chief asked. "they are asleep," the half-breed answered. "will my brother give them up to me?" "for a fair exchange." "a chief has but one word. the pale woman and the grey head?" "are here." "shall they belong to me?" "all the inhabitants of the village shall be placed in the hands of my brethren." "och! has not the hunter come?" "not yet." "he will come presently?" "probably he will." "what does my brother say now?" "where is that which i demanded of the chief?" the hunter said. "the skins, the guns, and the powder, are in the rear, guarded by my young men." "i trust to you, chief," the hunter replied, "but if you deceive me----" "an indian has but one word." "that is good! whenever you please, then." ten minutes later the indians were masters of the village, all the inhabitants of which, roused one after the other, were made prisoners without a struggle. the fort was surrounded by the comanches, who, after heaping up at the foot of the walls trunks of trees, carts, furniture, and all the farming implements of the colonists, only waited for a signal from their chief to commence the attack. all at once a vague form stood out from the top of the fort, and the cry of the sparrowhawk echoed through the air. the indians set fire to the kind of pyre they had raised and rushed towards the palisades, uttering altogether that horrible and piercing war cry which is peculiar to them, and which, on the frontiers, is always the signal for a massacre. chapter viii. indian vengeance. the position of the americans, was most critical. the captain, surprised by the silent attack of the comanches, had been suddenly awakened by the frightful war cry they uttered, as soon as they had set fire to the materials heaped up in front of the fort. springing out of bed, the brave officer, for a moment dazzled by the ruddy gleam of the flames, half-dressed himself, and, sabre in hand, rushed towards the side where the garrison reposed; they had already taken the alarm, and were hastening to their posts with that careless bravery which distinguishes the yankees. but what was to be done? the garrison amounted, captain included, to twelve men. how, with so numerically weak a force, could they resist the indians, whose diabolical profiles they saw fantastically lit up in the sinister reflections of the conflagration? the officer sighed deeply. "we are lost!" he murmured. in the incessant combats fought on the indian frontiers, the laws of civilized warfare are completely unknown. the _vae victis_ reigns in the full acceptation of the term. inveterate enemies, who fight one against another with all the refinements of barbarity, never ask or give quarter. every conflict, then, is a question of life and death. such is the custom. the captain knew this well, therefore he did not indulge in the least allusion as to the fate that awaited him if he fell into the hands of the comanches. he had committed the fault of allowing himself to be surprised by the redskins, and he must undergo the consequence of his imprudence. but the captain was a good and brave soldier; certain of not being able to retreat safe and sound from the wasp's nest into which he had fallen, he wished at least, to succumb with honour. the soldiers had no need to be excited to do their duty; they knew as well as their captain that they had no chance of safety left. the defenders of the fort, therefore, placed themselves resolutely behind the barricades, and began to fire upon the indians with a precision that speedily caused them a heavy loss. the first person the captain saw, on mounting the platform of the little fort, was the old hunter, white eyes. "ah, ah!" murmured the officer to himself, "what is this fellow doing here?" drawing a pistol from his belt, he walked straight up to the half-breed, and, seizing him by the throat, he clapped the barrel of his pistol to his breast, saying, to him with that coolness which the americans inherit from the english, and upon which they have improved-- "in what fashion did you introduce yourself into the fort, you old screech owl?" "why, by the gate, seemingly," the other replied, unmoved. "you must be a sorcerer, then!" "perhaps i am." "a truce with your jokes, mixed-blood, you have sold us to your brothers the redskins." a sinister smile passed over the countenance of the half-breed; the captain perceived it. "but your treachery shall not profit you, you miserable scoundrel!" he said, in a voice of thunder; "you shall be the first victim of it." the hunter disengaged himself by a quick, unexpected movement; then, with a spring backwards, and clapping his gun to his shoulder, he said-- "we shall see," with a sneer. these two men, placed face to face upon that narrow platform, lighted by the sinister reflection of the fire, the intensity of which increased every minute, would have had a terrific expression for the spectator who was able to contemplate them coolly. each of them personified in himself those two races confronted in the united states, whose struggle will only finish by the complete extinction of the one to the profit of the other. at their feet the combat was taking the gigantic proportions of an epic. the indians rushed with rage, and uttering loud cries, against the intrenchments, where the americans received them with musket shots or at the point of the bayonet. but the fire continued to increase, the soldiers fell one after another; all promised soon to be over. to the menace of white eyes, the captain had replied by a smile of contempt. quick as lightning he discharged his pistol at the hunter; the latter let his gun drop, his right arm was broken. the captain sprang upon him with a shout of joy. the half breed was knocked down by this unexpected shock. then his enemy, placing his knee upon his breast, and looking at him for an instant, said, with a bitter laugh,-- "well! was i mistaken?" "no," the half-breed replied in a firm tone; "i am a fool--my life belongs to you--kill me!" "be satisfied i shall reserve you for an indian death." "you must be quick, then, if you wish to avenge yourself," the half-breed said, ironically, "for it will soon be too late." "i have time enough. why did you betray us, you miserable wretch?" "of what consequence is that to you?" "i wish to know." "well then, be satisfied," the hunter said, after an instant of silence; "the white men, your brothers, were the murderers of all my family, and i wished to avenge them." "but we had done nothing to you, had we?" "are you not white men? kill me and put an end to all this. i can die joyfully, for numbers of victims will follow me to the tomb." "well, since it is so," said the captain, with a sinister smile, "i will send you to join your brothers; you see i am a loyal adversary." then pressing his knees strongly on the chest of the hunter, to prevent his escape from the punishment he reserved for him, he cried-- "in the indian fashion!" and taking his knife, he seized with his left hand the half-breed's thick and tangled head of hair, and with the greatest dexterity scalped him. the hunter could not restrain a cry of frightful agony at this unexpected mutilation. the blood flowed in torrents from his bare skull, and inundated his face. "kill me! kill me!" he said, "this pain is horrible!" "do you find it so?" said the captain. "oh! kill me! kill me!" "what!" said the captain, shrugging his shoulders, "do you take me for a butcher? no, i will restore you to your worthy friends." he then took the hunter by the legs, and dragging him to the edge of the platform, pushed him with his foot. the miserable creature instinctively endeavoured to hold himself up by seizing, with his left hand, the extremity of a post which projected outward. for an instant he remained suspended in space. he was hideous to behold; his denuded skull, his face, over which streams of black blood continued flowing, contracted by pain and terror; his whole body agitated by convulsive movements, inspired horror and disgust. "pity! pity!" he murmured. the captain surveyed him with a bitter smile on his lips, and with his arms crossed upon his chest. but the exhausted nerves of the hunter could sustain him no longer; his clenched fingers relaxed their hold of the post he had seized with the energy of despair. "hangman! be for ever accursed!" he cried, with an accent of frantic rage. and he fell. "a good journey to you!" said the captain, sneeringly. an immense clamour arose from the gates of the fort. the captain rushed to the assistance of his people. the comanches had gained possession of the barricades. they rushed in a crowd into the interior of the fort, massacring and scalping the enemies whom they encountered in their passage. four american soldiers only were left standing; the others were dead. the captain entrenched himself in the middle of the staircase which led to the platform. "my friends," he said to his comrades, "die without regret, for i have killed the man who betrayed us." the soldiers replied by a shout of joy to this novel consolation, and prepared to sell their lives dearly. but at this moment an incomprehensible thing took place. the cries of the indians ceased, as if by enchantment. the attack was suspended. "what are they about now?" the captain muttered; "what new devil's trick have these demons invented?" once master of all the approaches to the fort, eagle head ordered the fight to cease. the colonists who were made prisoners in the village were brought, one after another, into his presence: there were twelve of them, and four were women. when these twelve unfortunates stood trembling before him, eagle head commanded the women to be set apart. ordering the men to pass one by one before him, he looked at them attentively, and then made a sign to the warriors standing by his side. the latter instantly seized the americans, chopped off their hands at the wrists with their knives, and, after having scalped them, pushed them into the fort. seven colonists underwent this atrocious torture, and there remained but one. he was an old man of lofty stature, thin, but still active; his hair, white as snow, fell on his shoulders; his black eyes flashed, but his features remained unmoved; he waited, apparently impassible, till eagle head should decide his fate, and send him to join the unfortunates who had preceded him. but the chief continued to survey him attentively. at length the features of the savage expanded, a smile played upon his lips, and he held out his hand to the old man,-- "_usted no conocer amigo?_" (no you know friend?) he said to him in bad spanish, the guttural accent of his race. at these words the old man started, and looked earnestly at the indian in his turn. "oh!" said he, with astonishment, "el gallo!" (the cock.) "wah!" replied the chief, with satisfaction, "i am a friend of the grey head; redskins have not two hearts: my father saved my life,--my father shall come to my hut." "thanks, chief! i accept your offer," said the old man, warmly pressing the hand the indian held out to him. and he hastily placed himself by a woman of middle age, with a noble countenance, whose features, though faded by grief, still preserved traces of great beauty. "god be praised!" she said, with great emotion, when the old man rejoined her. "god never abandons those who place their trust in him," he replied. during this time the redskins were preparing the last scenes of the terrible drama which we have made the reader witness. when all the colonists were shut up in the fort, the fire was revived with all the materials the indians could find; a barrier of flames for ever separated the unfortunate americans from the world. the fort soon became one immense funeral pyre, from which escaped cries of pain, mingled at intervals with the report of firearms. the comanches, motionless, watched at a distance the progress of the fire, and laughed like demons at the spectacle of their vengeance. the flames, which had seized upon the whole building, mounted with fearful rapidity, throwing their light over the desert, like a dismal beacon. on the top of the fort some individuals were seen rushing about in despair, while others, on their knees seemed to be imploring divine mercy. suddenly a horrible crackling was heard, a cry of extreme agony rose towards heaven, and the fort crumbled down into the burning pile which consumed it, throwing up millions of sparks. all was over. the americans had perished! the comanches planted an enormous mast on the spot where the square had been. this mast, to which were nailed the hands of the colonists, was surmounted by a hatchet, the iron of which was stained with blood. then, after setting fire to the few cabins that were left standing, eagle head gave orders for departure. the four women and the old man, the sole survivors of the population of this unfortunate settlement, followed the comanches. and a melancholy silence hovered over these smoking ruins, which had just been the theatre of so many sorrowful scenes. chapter ix. the phantom. it was about eight o'clock in the morning, a cheering autumn sun lit up the prairie splendidly. birds flew hither and thither, uttering strange cries, whilst others, concealed under the thickest of the foliage, poured forth melodious concerts. now and then a deer raised its timid head above the tall grass, and then disappeared with a bound. two horsemen, clothed in the costume of wood rangers, mounted upon magnificent half wild horses, were following, at a brisk trot, the left bank of the great canadian river, whilst several bloodhounds, with glossy black skins, and eyes and chests stained with red, ran and gambolled around them. these horsemen were loyal heart and his friend belhumeur. contrary to his usual deportment, loyal heart seemed affected by the most lively joy, his countenance beamed with cheerfulness, and he looked around him with complacency. sometimes he would stop, and looked out ahead, appearing anxiously to seek in the horizon some object he could not yet discern. then, with an expression of vexation, he resumed his journey, to repeat a hundred paces further on the same manoeuvre. "ah, parbleu!" said belhumeur, laughing, "we shall get there in good time. be quiet, do!" "eh, _caramba!_ i know that well enough; but i long to be there! for me, the only hours of happiness that god grants me, are passed with her whom we are going to see--my mother, my beloved mother! who gave up everything for me, abandoned all without regret, without hesitation. oh, what happiness it is to have a mother! to possess one heart which understands yours, which makes a complete abnegation of self to absorb itself in you; which lives in your existence, rejoices in your joys, sorrows in your sorrows; which divides your life into two parts, reserving to itself the heaviest and leaving you the lightest and the most easy! oh, belhumeur, to comprehend what that divine being is, composed of devotedness and love, and called a mother, it is necessary to have been, as i was, deprived of her for long years, and then suddenly to have found her again, more loving, more adorable than ever! how slowly we get on! every moment of delay is a kiss of my mother's which time steals from me! shall we never get there?" "well! here we are at the ford." "i don't know why, but a secret fear has suddenly fallen upon my spirits, an undefinable presentiment makes me tremble in spite of myself." "oh, nonsense! send such black thoughts to the winds; in a few minutes, we shall be with your mother!" "that is true! and yet i don't know whether i am mistaken, but it seems to me as if the country does not wear its usual aspect; this silence which reigns around us, and this solitude which environs us, do not appear to be natural. we are close to the village, we ought already to hear the barking of the dogs, the crowing of the cocks, and the thousand noises that proclaim inhabited places." "well," said belhumeur, with vague uneasiness, "i must confess that everything seems strangely silent around us." the travellers came to a spot where the river makes a sharp curve; being deeply embanked, and skirted by immense blocks of rock and thick copsewood, it did not allow any extensive view. the village towards which the travellers were directing their course, was scarcely a gunshot from the ford where they were preparing to cross the river, but it was completely invisible, owing to the peculiar nature of the country. at the moment the horses placed their feet in the water, they made a sudden movement backwards, and the bloodhounds uttered one of those plaintive howlings peculiar to their race, which freeze the bravest man with terror. "what does this mean?" loyal heart exclaimed, turning pale as death, and casting round a terrified glance. "look here!" replied belhumeur, pointing with his finger to several dead bodies which the river was carrying away, and which glided along near the surface. "oh!" cried loyal heart, "something terrible has taken place here. my mother! my mother!" "do not alarm yourself so," said belhumeur; "no doubt she is in safety." without listening to the consolations his friend poured out, though he did not believe in them himself loyal heart drove the spurs into his horse's flanks, and sprang into the water. they soon gained the opposite bank, and there all was explained. they had before them the most awful scene that can possibly be imagined. the village and the fort were a heap of ruins. a black, thick, sickening smoke ascended in long wreaths towards the heavens. in the centre of what had been the village, arose a mast against which were nailed human fragments, for which _urubus_ were contending with loud cries. here and there lay bodies half devoured by wild beasts. no living being appeared. nothing remained intact--everything was either broken, displaced, or overthrown. it was evident, at the first glance, that the indians had passed there, with their sanguinary rage and their inveterate hatred of the whites. their steps were deeply imprinted in letters of fire and blood. "oh!" the hunter cried shuddering, "my presentiments were a warning from heaven;--my mother! my mother!" loyal heart fell upon the ground in utter despair; he concealed his face in his hands and wept. the grief of this high-spirited man, endowed with a courage proof against all trials, and whom no danger could surprise, was like that of the lion, it had something terrific in it. his sobs were like roarings, they rent his breast. belhumeur respected the grief of his friend--indeed what consolation could he offer him? it was better to allow his tears to flow, and give the first paroxysm of despair time to calm itself; certain that his unyielding nature could not long be cast down, and that a reaction would soon come, which would permit him to act. still, with that instinct innate to hunters, he began to look about on all sides, in the hope of finding some indication which might afterwards serve to direct their researches. after wandering for a long time about the ruins, he was suddenly attracted towards a large bush at a little distance from him by barkings which he thought he recognised. he advanced towards it precipitately; a bloodhound like their own jumped up joyfully upon him, and covered him with wild caresses. "oh, oh!" said the hunter, "what does this mean? who has tied poor trim up in this fashion?" he cut the rope which fastened the animal, and, in doing so, perceived that a piece of carefully folded paper was tied to its neck. he seized it, and running to loyal heart, exclaimed: "brother! brother! hope! hope!" the hunter knew his brother was not a man to waste vulgar consolations upon him; he raised his tear-bathed face towards him. as soon as it was free, the dog fled away with incredible velocity, baying with the dull, short yelps of a bloodhound following the scent. belhumeur, who had foreseen this flight, had hastened to tie his cravat round the animal's neck. "no one knows what it may lead to," murmured the hunter, on seeing the dog disappear. and after this philosophical reflection he went to join his friend. "what is the matter?" loyal heart asked. "read!" belhumeur quietly replied. the hunter seized the paper, which he read eagerly. it contained only these few words:-- "we are prisoners of the redskins. courage! nothing of any significance has happened to your mother." "god be praised!" said loyal heart with great emotion, kissing the paper, which he concealed in his breast. "my mother still lives! oh, i shall find her again!" "pardieu! that you will," said belhumeur in a tone of conviction. a complete change, as if by enchantment, had taken place in the mind of the hunter; he drew himself up to his full height, his brow became expanded and clear. "let us commence our researches," he said; "perhaps one of the unfortunate inhabitants has escaped death, and we may learn from him what has taken place." "that's well," said belhumeur joyfully; "that's the way. let us search." the dogs were scratching with fury among the ruins of the fort. "let us commence there," said loyal heart. both set to work to clear away the rubbish. they worked with an ardour incomprehensible to themselves. at the end of twenty minutes they discovered a sort of trapdoor, and heard weak and inarticulate cries arise from beneath it. "they are here," said belhumeur. "god grant we may be in time to save them." it was not till after a length of time, and with infinite trouble, that they succeeded in raising the trap, and then a horrid spectacle presented itself. in a cellar exhaling a fetid odour, a score of individuals were literally piled up one upon another. the hunters could not repress a movement of terror, and drew back in spite of themselves; but they immediately--returned to the edge of the cellar, to endeavour, if there were yet time, to save some of those unhappy victims. of all these men, one alone showed signs of life; all the rest were dead. they dragged him out, laid him gently on a heap of dry leaves, and gave him every assistance in their power. the dogs licked the hands and face of the wounded man. at the end of a few minutes the man made a slight movement, opened his eyes several times, and then breathed a profound sigh. belhumeur introduced between his clenched teeth the mouth of a leathern bottle filled with rum, and obliged him to swallow a few drops of the liquor. "he is very bad," said the hunter. "he is past recovery," loyal heart replied, shaking his head. nevertheless the wounded man revived a little. "my god," said he, in a weak and broken voice, "i am dying! i feel i am dying!" "hope!" said belhumeur, kindly. a fugitive tinge passed across the pale cheeks of the wounded man, and a sad smile curled the corners of his lips. "why should i live?" he murmured. "the indians have massacred all my companions, after having horribly mutilated them. life would be too heavy a burden for me." "if, before you die, you wish anything to be done that is in our power to do, speak, and by the word of hunters, we will do it." the eyes of the dying man flashed faintly. "your gourd," he said to belhumeur. the latter gave it to him, and he drank greedily. his brow was covered with a moist perspiration, and a feverish redness inflamed his countenance, which assumed a frightful expression. "listen," said he, in a hoarse and broken voice. "i was commander here; the indians, aided by a wretched half-breed, who sold us to them, surprised the village." "the name of that man?" the hunter said, eagerly. "he is dead--i killed him!" the captain replied, with an inexpressible accent of hatred and joy. "the indians endeavoured to gain possession of the fort; the contest was terrible. we were twelve men against four hundred savages; what could we do? fight to the death--that was what we resolved on doing. the indians, finding the impossibility of taking us alive, cast the colonists of the village in among us, after cutting off their hands and scalping them, and then set fire to the fort." the wounded man, whose voice grew weaker and weaker, and whose words were becoming unintelligible, swallowed a few more drops of the liquor, and then continued his recital, which was eagerly listened to by the hunters. "a cave, which served as a cellar, extended under the ditches of the fort. when i knew that all means of safety had escaped, and that flight was impossible, i led my unfortunate companions into this cave, hoping that god would permit us to be thus saved. a few minutes after, the fort fell down over us! no one can imagine the tortures we have suffered in this infected hole, without air or light. the cries of the wounded--and we were all so, more or less--screaming for water, and the rattle of the dying, formed a terrible concert that no pen can describe. our sufferings, already intolerable, were further increased by the want of air; a sort of furious madness took possession of us; we fought one against another; and, in there under a mass of burnt ruins, commenced a hideous combat, which could only terminate by the death of all engaged in it. how long did it last? i cannot tell. i was already sensible that the death which had carried off all my companions was about to take possession of me, when you came to retard it for a few minutes. god be praised! i shall not die without vengeance." after these words, pronounced in a scarcely articulate voice, there was a funereal silence among these three men--a silence interrupted only by the dull rattle in the throat of the dying man, whose agony had begun. all at once the captain made a strong effort; he raised himself up, and fixing his bloodshot eyes upon the hunters, said,-- "the savages who attacked me belong to the nation of the comanches; their chief is named eagle head; swear to avenge me like loyal hunters." "we swear to do so," the two men cried, in a firm tone. "thanks," the captain murmured, and falling back he remained motionless. he was dead. his distorted features and his open eyes still preserved the expression of hatred and despair which had animated him to the last. the hunters surveyed him for an instant, and then, shaking off this painful impression, they set about the duty of paying the last honours to the remains of the unfortunate victims of indian rage. by the last rays of the setting sun, they completed the melancholy task which they had imposed upon themselves. after a short rest, loyal heart arose, and saddling his horse, said,-- "now, brother, let us place ourselves on the trail of eagle head." "come on," the hunter replied. the two men cast around them a long and sad farewell glance, and whistling their dogs, they boldly entered the forest, in the depths of which the comanches had disappeared. at this moment the moon arose amidst an ocean of vapour, and profusely scattered her melancholy beams upon the ruins of the american village, in which solitude and death were doomed to reign for ever. chapter x. the entrenched camp. we will leave the hunters following the track of the redskins, and return to the general. a few minutes after the two men had quitted the camp of the mexicans, the general left his tent, and whilst casting an investigating look around him, and inhaling the fresh air of the morning, he began to walk about in a preoccupied manner. the events of the night had produced a lively impression upon the old soldier. for the first time, perhaps, since he had undertaken this expedition, he began to see it in its true light. he asked himself if he had really the right to associate with him in this life of continual perils and ambushes, a girl of the age of his niece, whose existence up to that time had been an uninterrupted series of mild and peaceful emotions; and who probably would not be able to accustom herself to the incessant dangers and agitations of a life in the prairies, which, in a short time, would break down the energies of the strongest minds. his perplexity was great. he adored his niece; she was his only object of love, his only consolation. for her he would, without regret or hesitation, a thousand times sacrifice all he possessed; but, on the other side, the reasons which had obliged him to undertake this perilous journey were of such importance that he trembled, and felt a cold perspiration bedew his forehead, at the thought of renouncing it. "what is to be done?" he said to himself. "what is to be done?" doña luz, who was in her turn leaving her tent, perceived her uncle, whose reflective walk still continued, and, running towards him, threw her arms affectionately round his neck. "good day, uncle," she said, kissing him. "good day, my daughter," the general replied. he was accustomed to call her so. "eh! eh! my child, you are very gay this morning." and he returned with interest the caresses she had lavished upon him. "why should i not be gay, uncle? thanks to god? we have just escaped a great peril; everything in nature seems to smile, the birds are singing upon every branch, the sun inundates us with warm rays; we should be ungrateful towards the creator if we remained insensible to these manifestations of his goodness." "then the perils of last night have left no distressing impression upon your mind, my dear child?" "none at all, uncle, except a deep sense of gratitude for the benefits god has favoured us with." "that is well, my daughter," the general replied joyfully, "i am happy to hear you speak thus." "all the better, if it please you, uncle." "then," the general continued, following up the idea of his preoccupation, "the life we are now leading is not fatiguing to you?" "oh, not at all; on the contrary, i find it very agreeable, and, above all, full of incidents," she said with a smile. "yes," the general continued, partaking her gaiety; "but," he added, becoming serious again, "i think we are too forgetful of our liberators." "they are gone," doña luz replied. "gone?" the general said, with great surprise. "full an hour ago." "how do you know that, my child?" "very simply, uncle, they bade me adieu before they left us." "that is not right," the general murmured in a tone of vexation; "a service is as binding upon those who bestow it as upon those who receive it; they should not have left us thus without bidding me farewell, without telling us whether we should ever see them again, and leaving us even unacquainted with their names." "i know them." "you know them, my daughter?" the general said, with astonishment. "yes, uncle; before they went, they told me." "and--what are they?" the general asked, eagerly. "the younger is named belhumeur." "and the elder?" "loyal heart." "oh! i must find these two men again," the general said, with an emotion he could not account for. "who knows," the young girl replied, thoughtfully, "perhaps in the very first danger that threatens us they will make their appearance as our benevolent genii." "god grant we may not owe their return among us to a similar cause." the captain came up to pay the compliments of the morning. "well, captain," said the general, with a smile, "have you recovered from the effects of their alarm?" "perfectly, general," the young man replied, "and are quite ready to proceed, whenever you please to give the order." "after breakfast we will strike tents; have the goodness to give the necessary orders to the lancers, and send the babbler to me." the captain bowed and retired. "on your part, niece," the general continued, addressing doña luz, "superintend the preparations for breakfast, if you please, whilst i talk to our guide." the young lady tripped away, and the babbler almost immediately entered. his air was dull, and his manner more reserved than usual. the general took no notice of this. "you remember," he said, "that you yesterday manifested an intention of finding a spot where we might conveniently encamp for a few days?" "yes, general." "you told me you were acquainted with a situation that would perfectly suit our purpose?" "yes, general." "are you prepared to conduct us thither?" "when you please." "what time will it require to gain this spot?" "two days." "very well. we will set out, then, immediately after breakfast." the babbler bowed without reply. "by the way," the general said, with feigned indifference, "one of your men seems to be missing." "yes." "what is become of him?" "i do not know." "how! you do not know?" said the general, with a scrutinizing glance. "no: as soon as he saw the fire, terror seized him, and he escaped." "very well!" "he is most probably the victim of his cowardice." "what do you mean by that?" "the fire, most likely, has devoured him." "poor devil!" a sardonic smile curled the lips of the guide. "have you anything more to say to me, general?" "no;--but stop." "i attend your orders." "do you know the two hunters who rendered us such timely service?" "we all know each other in the prairie." "what are those men?" "hunters and trappers." "that is not what i ask you." "what then?" "i mean as to their character." "oh!" said the guide, with an appearance of displeasure. "yes, their moral character." "i don't know anything much about them." "what are their names?" "belhumeur and loyal heart." "and you know nothing of their lives?" "nothing." "that will do--you may retire." the guide bowed, and with tardy steps rejoined his companions, who were preparing for departure. "hum!" the general murmured, as he looked after him, "i must keep a watch upon that fellow; there is something sinister in his manner." after this aside, the general entered his tent, where the doctor, the captain, and doña luz were waiting breakfast for him. half an hour later, at most, the tent was folded up again, the packages were placed upon the mules, and the caravan was pursuing its journey under the direction of the babbler, who rode about twenty paces in advance of the troop. the aspect of the prairie was much changed since the preceding evening. the black, burnt earth, was covered in places with heaps of smoking ashes; here and there charred trees, still standing, displayed their saddening skeletons; the fire still roared at a distance, and clouds of coppery smoke obscured the horizon. the horses advanced with precaution over this uneven ground, where they constantly stumbled over the bones of animals that had fallen victims to the terrible embraces of the flames. a melancholy sadness, much increased by the sight of the prospect unfolded before them, had taken possession of the travellers; they journeyed on, close to each other, without speaking, buried in their own reflections. the road the caravan was pursuing wound along a narrow ravine, the dried bed of some torrent, deeply enclosed between two hills. the ground trodden by the horses was composed of round pebbles, which slipped from under their hoofs, and augmented the difficulties of the march, which was rendered still more toilsome by the burning rays of the sun, that fell directly down upon the travellers, leaving no chance of escaping them, for the country over which they were travelling had completely assumed the appearance of one of those vast deserts which are met with in the interior of africa. the day passed away thus, and excepting the fatigue which oppressed them, the monotony of the journey was not broken by any incident. in the evening they encamped in a plain absolutely bare, but in the horizon they could perceive an appearance of verdure, which afforded them great consolation;--they were about, at last, to enter a zone spared by the conflagration. the next morning, two hours before sunrise, the babbler gave orders to prepare for departure. the day proved more fatiguing than the last; the travellers were literally worn out when they encamped. the babbler had not deceived the general. the site was admirably chosen to repel an attack of the indians. we need not describe it; the reader is already acquainted with it. it was the spot on which we met with the hunters, when they appeared on the scene for the first time. the general, after casting around him the infallible glance of the experienced soldier, could not help manifesting his satisfaction. "bravo!" he said to the guide; "if we have had almost insurmountable difficulties to encounter in getting here, we could at least, if things should so fall out, sustain a siege on this spot." the guide made no reply; he bowed with an equivocal smile, and retired. "it is surprising," the general murmured to himself, "that although that man's conduct may be in appearance loyal, and however impossible it may be to approach him with the least thing,--in spite of all that, i cannot divest myself of the presentiment that he is deceiving us, and that he is contriving some diabolical project against us." the general was an old soldier of considerable experience, who would never leave anything to chance, that _deus ex machinâ_, which in a second destroys the best contrived plans. notwithstanding the fatigue of his people, he would not lose a moment; aided by the captain, he had an enormous number of trees cut down, to form a solid intrenchment, protected by _chevaux de frise_. behind this intrenchment the lancers dug a wide ditch, of which they threw out the earth on the side of the camp; and then, behind this second intrenchment, the baggage was piled up, to make a third and last enclosure. the tent was pitched in the centre of the camp, the sentinels were posted, and everyone else went to seek that repose of which they stood so much in need. the general, who intended sojourning on this spot for some time, wished, as far as it could be possible, to assure the safety of his companions, and, thanks to his minute precautions, he believed he had succeeded. for two days the travellers had been marching along execrable roads, almost without sleep, only stopping to snatch a morsel of food; as we have said, they were quite worn out with fatigue. notwithstanding, then, their desire to keep awake, the sentinels could not resist the sleep which overpowered them and they were not long in sinking into as complete a forgetfulness as their companions. towards midnight, at the moment when everyone in the camp was plunged in sleep, a man rose softly, and creeping along in the shade, with the quickness of a reptile, but with extreme precaution, he glided out of the barricades and intrenchments. he then went down upon the ground, and by degrees, in a manner almost insensibly, directed his course, upon his hands and knees, through the high grass towards a forest which covered the first ascent of the hill, and extended some way into the prairie. when he had gone a certain distance, and was safe from discovery, he rose up. a moonbeam, passing between two clouds, threw a light upon his countenance. that man was the babbler. he looked round anxiously, listened attentively, and then with incredible perfection imitated the cry of the prairie dog. almost instantly the same cry was repeated, and a man rose up, within at most ten paces of the babbler. this man was the guide who, three days before, had escaped from the camp on the first appearance of the conflagration. chapter xi. the bargain. indians and wood rangers have two languages, of which they make use by turns, according to circumstances--spoken language, and the language of gestures. like the spoken language, the language of signs has, in america, infinite fluctuations; everyone, so to say, invents his own. it is a compound of strange and mysterious gestures, a kind of masonic telegraph, the signs of which, varying at will, are only comprehensible to a small number of adepts. the babbler and his companion were conversing in signs. this singular conversation lasted nearly an hour; it appeared to interest the speakers warmly; so warmly, indeed, that they did not remark, in spite of all the precautions they had taken not to be surprised, two fiery eyes that, from the middle of a tuft of underwood, were fixed upon them with strange intenseness. at length the babbler, risking the utterance of a few words, said, "i await your good pleasure." "and you shall not wait it long," the other replied. "i depend upon you, kennedy; for my part, i have fulfilled my promise." "that's well! that's well! we don't require many words to come to an understanding," said kennedy, shrugging his shoulders; "only you need not have conducted them to so strong a position--it will not be very easy to surprise them." "that's your concern," said the babbler, with an evil smile. his companion looked at him for a moment with great attention. "hum," said he; "beware, _compadre_, it is almost always awkward to play a double game with men like us." "i am playing no double game; but i think you and i have known each other a pretty considerable time, kennedy, have we not?" "what follows?" "what follows? well! i am not disposed that a thing should happen to me again that has happened before, that's all." "do you draw back, or are you thinking about betraying us?" "i do not draw back, and i have not the least intention of betraying you, only----" "only?" the other repeated. "this time i will not give up to you what i have promised till my conditions have been agreed to pretty plainly; if not, no----" "well, at least that's frank." "people should speak plainly in business affairs," the babbler observed, shaking his head. "that's true! well, come, repeat the conditions; i will see if we can accept them." "what's the good of that? you are not the principal chief, are you?" "no:--but--yet----" "you could pledge yourself to nothing--so it's of no use. if waktehno--he who kills--were here now, it would be quite another thing. he and i should soon understand one another." "speak then, he is listening to you," said a strong, sonorous voice. there was a movement in the bushes, and the personage who, up to that moment, had remained an invisible hearer of the conversation of the two men, judged, without doubt, that the time to take a part in it was arrived, for, with a bound, he sprang out of the bushes that had concealed him, and placed himself between the speakers. "oh! oh! you were listening to us, captain waktehno, were you?" said the babbler without being the least discomposed. "is that unpleasant to you?" the newcomer asked, with an ironical smile. "oh! not the least in the world." "continue, then, my worthy friend--i am all ears." "well," said the guide, "it will, perhaps, be better so." "go on, then--speak; i attend to you." the personage to whom the babbler gave the terrible indian name of waktehno was a man of pure white race, thirty years of age, of lofty stature, and well proportioned, handsome in appearance, and wearing with a certain dashing carelessness the picturesque costume of the wood rangers. his features were noble, strongly marked, and impressed with that loyal and haughty expression so often met with among men accustomed to the rude, free life of the prairies. he fixed his large, black, brilliant eyes upon the babbler, a mysterious smile curled his lips, and he leant carelessly upon his rifle whilst listening to the guide. "if i cause the people i am paid to escort and conduct to fall into your hands, you may depend upon it i will not do so unless i am amply recompensed," said the bandit. "that is but fair," kennedy remarked; "and the captain is ready to assure your being so recompensed." "yes," said the other, nodding his head in sign of agreement. "very well," the guide resumed. "but what will be my recompense?" "what do you ask?" the captain said. "we must know what your conditions are before we agree to satisfy them." "oh! my terms are very moderate." "well, but what are they?" the guide hesitated, or, rather, he calculated mentally the chances of gain and loss the affair offered; then in an instant, he replied: "these mexicans are very rich." "probably," said the captain. "therefore it appears to me----" "speak without tergiversation, babbler; we have not time to listen to your circumlocutions. like all half-bloods, the indian nature always prevails in you, and you never come frankly to the purpose." "well, then," the guide bluntly replied, "i will have five thousand duros, or nothing shall be done." "for once you speak out; now we know what we have to trust to; you demand five thousand dollars?" "i do." "and for that sum you agree to deliver up to us, the general, his niece, and all the individuals who accompany them." "at your first signal." "very well! now listen to what i am going to say to you." "i listen." "you know me, do you not?" "perfectly." "you know dependence is to be placed upon my word?" "it is as good as gold." "that's well. if you loyally fulfil the engagements you freely make with me, that is to say, deliver up to me, not all the mexicans who comprise your caravan, very respectable people no doubt, but for whom i care very little, but only the girl, called, i think, doña luz, i will not give you five thousand dollars as you ask, but eight thousand--you understand me, do you not?" the eyes of the guide sparkled with greediness and cupidity. "yes!" he said emphatically. "that's well." "but it will be a difficult matter to draw her out of the camp alone." "that's your affair." "i should prefer giving them all up in a lump." "go to the devil! what could i do with them?" "hum! what will the general say?" "what he likes; that is nothing to me. yes or no--do you accept the offer i make you?" "oh! i accept it." "do you swear to be faithful to your engagements?" "i swear." "now then, how long does the general reckon upon remaining in this new encampment?" "ten days." "why, then, did you tell me that you did not know how to draw the young girl out, having so much time before you?" "hum! i did not know when you would require her to be delivered up to you?" "that's true. well, i give you nine days; that is to say, on the eve of their departure the young girl must be given up to me." "oh! in that way----" "then that arrangement suits you?" "it could not be better." "is it agreed?" "irrevocably." "here, then, babbler," said the captain, giving the guide a magnificent diamond pin which he wore in his hunting shirt, "here is my earnest." "oh!" the bandit exclaimed, seizing the jewel joyfully. "that pin," said the captain, "is a present i make you in addition to the eight thousand dollars i will hand over to you on receiving doña luz." "you are noble and generous, captain," said the guide; "it is a pleasure to serve you." "still," the captain rejoined, in a rough voice, and with a look cold as a steel blade, "i would have you remember i am called he who kills; and that if you deceive me, there does not exist in the prairie a place sufficiently strong or sufficiently unknown to protect you from the terrible effects of my vengeance. "i know that, captain," said the half-breed, shuddering in spite of himself; "but you may be quite satisfied i will not deceive you." "i hope you will not! now let us separate; your absence may be observed. in nine days i shall be here." "in nine days i will place the girl in your hands." after these words the guide returned to the camp, which he entered without being seen. as soon as they were alone, the two men with whom the babbler had just made this hideous and strange bargain, retreated silently among the underwood, through which they crawled like serpents. they soon reached the banks of a little rivulet which ran, unperceived and unknown, through the forest. kennedy whistled in a certain fashion twice. a slight noise was heard, and a horseman, holding two horses in hand, appeared at a few paces from the spot where they had stopped. "come on, frank," said kennedy, "you may approach without fear." the horsemen immediately advanced. "what is there new?" kennedy asked. "nothing very important," the horseman replied. "i have discovered an indian trail." "ah! ah!" said the captain, "numerous?" "rather so." "in what direction?" "it cuts the prairie from east to west." "well done, frank, and who are these indians?" "as well as i can make out, they are comanches." the captain reflected a moment. "oh! it is some detachment of hunters," he said. "very likely," frank replied. the two men mounted. "frank and you, kennedy," said the captain, at the expiration of a minute, "will go to the passage of the buffalo, and encamp in the grotto which is there; carefully watching the movements of the mexicans, but in such a manner as not to be discovered." "be satisfied of that, captain." "oh; i know you are very adroit and devoted comrades, therefore i perfectly rely upon you. watch the babbler, likewise; that half-breed only inspires me with moderate confidence." "that shall be done!" "farewell, then, till we meet again. you shall soon hear of me." notwithstanding the darkness, the three men set off at a gallop, and were soon far in the desert, in two different directions. chapter xii. psychological. the general had kept the causes which made him undertake a journey into the prairies from the west of the united states so profound a secret, that the persons who accompanied him had not even a suspicion of them. several times already, at his command, and without any apparent reason, the caravan had encamped in regions completely desert, where he had passed a week, and sometimes a fortnight, without any apparent motive for such a halt. in these various encampments the general would set out every morning, attended by one of the guides, and not return till evening. what was he doing during the long hours of his absence? for what object were these explorations made, at the end of which a greater degree of sadness darkened his countenance? no one knew. during these excursions, doña luz led a sufficiently monotonous life, isolated among the rude people who surrounded her. she passed whole days seated sadly in front of her tent, or, mounted on horseback and escorted by captain aguilar or the fat doctor, she took rides near the camp, without object and without interest. it happened this time again, exactly as it had happened at the preceding stations of the caravan. the young girl, abandoned by her uncle, and even by the doctor, who was pursuing, with increasing ardour, the great research for his imaginary plant, and set out resolutely every morning herbalizing, was reduced to the company of captain aguilar. but captain aguilar was, we are forced to admit, although young, elegant and endowed with a certain relative intelligence, not a very amusing companion for doña luz. a brave soldier, with the courage of a lion, entirely devoted to the general, to whom he owed everything, the captain entertained for the niece of his chief great attachment and respect; he watched with the utmost care over her safety, but he was completely unacquainted with the means of rendering the time shorter by those attentions and that pleasant chat which are so agreeable to girls. this time doña luz did not become so _ennuyée_ as usual. since that terrible night--from the time that one of those fabulous heroes whose history and incredible feats she had so often read, loyal heart, had appeared to her to save her and those who accompanied her--a new sentiment, which she had not even thought of analyzing, had germinated in her maiden heart, had grown by degrees, and in a very few days had taken possession of her whole being. the image of the hunter was incessantly present to her thoughts, encircled with that ennobling glory which is won by the invincible energy of the man who struggles, body to body, with some immense danger, and forces it to acknowledge his superiority. she took delight in recalling to her partial mind the different scenes of that tragedy of a few hours, in which the hunter had played the principal character. her implacable memory, like that of all pure young girls, retraced with incredible fidelity the smallest details of those sublime phases. in a word, she reconstructed in her thoughts the series of events in which the hunter had mingled, and in which he had, thanks to his indomitable courage and his presence of mind, extricated in so happy a fashion those he had suddenly come to succour, at the instant when they were without hope. the hurried manner in which the hunter had left them, disdaining the most simple thanks, and appearing even unconcerned for those he had saved, had chilled the girl; she was piqued more than can be imagined by this real or affected indifference. and, consequently, she continually revolved means to make her preserver repent that indifference, if chance should a second time bring them together. it is well known, although it may at the first glance appear a paradox, that from hatred, or, at least, from curiosity to love, there is but one step. doña luz passed it at full speed, without perceiving it. as we have said, doña luz had been educated in a convent, at the gates of which the sounds of the world died away without an echo. her youth had passed calm and colourless, in the religious, or, rather, superstitious practices, upon which in mexico religion is built. when her uncle took her from the convent to lead her with him through the journey he meditated into the prairies, the girl was ignorant of the most simple exigences of life, and had no more idea of the outward world, in which she was so suddenly cast, than a blind man has of the effulgent splendour of the sun's beams. this ignorance, which seconded admirably the projects of the uncle, was for the niece a stumbling block against which she twenty times a day came into collision in spite of herself. but, thanks to the care with which the general surrounded her, the few weeks which passed away before their departure from mexico had been spent without too much pain by the young girl. we feel called upon, however, to notice here an incident, trifling in appearance, but which left too deep a trace in the mind of doña luz not to be related. the general was actively employed in getting together the people he wanted for his expedition, and was therefore obliged to neglect his niece more than he would have wished. as he, however, feared that the young girl would be unhappy at being left so much alone with an old duenna in the palace he occupied, in the calle de los plateros, he sent her frequently to spend her evenings at the house of a female relation who received a select society, and with whom his niece passed her time in a comparatively agreeable manner. now one evening when the assembly had been more numerous than usual, the party did not break up till late. at the first stroke of eleven, sounded by the ancient clock of the convent of the merced doña luz and her duenna, preceded by a peon carrying a torch to light them, set off on their return home, casting anxious looks, right and left, on account of the character of the streets at that time of night. they had but a short distance to go, when all at once, on turning the corner of the calle san agustin to enter that of plateros, four or five men of bad appearance seemed to rise from the earth, and surrounded the two women, after having previously, by a vigorous blow, extinguished the torch carried by the peon. to express the terror of the young lady at this unexpected apparition, is impossible. she was so frightened that, without having the strength to utter a cry, she fell on her knees, with her hands clasped, before the bandits. the duenna, on the contrary, sent forth deafening screams. the mexican bandits, all very expeditious men, had, in the shortest time possible, reduced the duenna to silence, by gagging her with her own rebozo; then, with all the calmness which these worthies bring to the exercise of their functions, assured as they are of the impunity granted to them by that justice with which they generally go halves, proceeded to plunder their victims. the operation was shortened by the latter, for, so far from offering any resistance, they tore off their jewels in the greatest haste, and the bandits pocketed them with grins of satisfaction. but, at the very height of this enjoyment, a sword gleamed suddenly over their heads, and two of the bandits fell to the ground, swearing and howling with fury. those who were left standing, enraged at this unaccustomed attack, turned to avenge their companions, and rushed all together upon the aggressor. the latter, heedless of their numbers, made a step backwards, placed himself on guard, and prepared to give them a welcome. but, by chance, with the change in his position, the moonlight fell upon his face. the bandits instantly drew back in terror, and promptly sheathed their machetes. "ah, ah!" said the stranger, with a smile of contempt, as he advanced towards them, "you recognise me, my masters, do you? by the virgin! i am sorry for it--i was preparing to give you a rather sharp lesson. is this the manner in which you execute my orders?" the bandits remained silent, contrite and repentant, in appearance at least. "come, empty your pockets, you paltry thieves, and restore to these ladies what you have taken from them!" without a moment's hesitation, the thieves unbandaged the duenna, and restored the rich booty which, an instant before, they had so joyfully appropriated to themselves. doña luz could not overcome her astonishment, she looked with the greatest surprise at this strange man, who possessed such authority over bandits acknowledging neither faith nor law. "is this really all?" he said, addressing the young lady, "are you sure you miss nothing, señora?" "nothing--nothing, sir!" she replied, more dead than alive, and not knowing at all what she said. "now, then, begone, you scoundrels," the stranger continued; "i will take upon myself to be the escort of these ladies." the bandits did not require to be twice told; they disappeared like a flight of crows, carrying off the wounded. as soon as he was left alone with the two women, the stranger turned towards doña luz-- "permit me, señorita," he said, with refined courtesy of manner, "to offer you my arm as far as your palace; the fright you have just experienced must render your steps uncertain." mechanically, and without reply, the young girl placed her hand within the arm so courteously offered to her, and they moved forward. "when they arrived at the palace, the stranger knocked at the door, and then taking off his hat, said,-- "señorita, i am happy that chance has enabled me to render you a slight service. i shall have the honour of seeing you again. i have already, for a long time, followed your steps like your shadow. god, who has granted me the favour of an opportunity of speaking with you once, will, i feel assured, grant me a second, although, in a few days, you are to set out on a long journey. permit me then to say not _adieu_, but _au revoir_." after bowing humbly and gracefully to the young lady, he departed at a rapid pace. a fortnight after this strange adventure, of which she did not think fit to speak to her uncle, doña luz quitted mexico, without having again seen the unknown. only, on the eve of her departure, when retiring to her bedchamber, she found a folded note upon her _prie-dieu_. in this note were the following words, written in an elegant hand:-- "you are going, doña luz! remember that i told you i should see you again. "your preserver of the calle de los plateros." for a long time this strange meeting strongly occupied the mind of the young girl; for an instant, she had even believed that loyal heart and her unknown preserver were the same man; but this supposition had soon faded away. what probability was there in it? with that object could loyal heart, after having saved her, so quickly have departed? that would have been absurd. but, by one of those consequences (or those inconsequences, whichever the reader pleases) of the human mind, in proportion as the affair of mexico was effaced from her thoughts, that of loyal heart, became more prominent. she longed to see the hunter and talk with him. why? she did not herself know. to see him,---to hear his voice,--to meet his look, at once so soft and so proud,--nothing else; all maidens would have done the same. but how was she to see him again? in reply to that question arose an impossibility, before which the poor girl dropped her head with discouragement. and yet something at the bottom of her heart, perhaps that voice divine which in the reflections of love whispers to young girls, told her that her wish would soon be accomplished. she hoped, then? what for? for some unforeseen incident,--a terrible danger, perhaps,--which might again bring them together. true love may doubt sometimes, but it never despairs. four days after the establishment of the camp upon the hill, in the evening, when retiring to her tent, doña luz smiled inwardly as she looked at her uncle, who was pensively preparing to go to rest. she had at length thought of a means of going in search of loyal heart. chapter xiii. the bee-hunt. the sun was scarcely above the horizon, when the general, whose horse was already saddled, left the reed cabin which served him as a sleeping apartment, and prepared to set out on his usual daily ride. at the moment when he was putting his foot in the stirrup, a little hand lifted the curtain of the tent, and doña luz appeared. "oh! oh! what, up already!" said the general, smiling. "so much the better, dear child. i shall be able to have a kiss before i set out; and that perhaps may bring me good luck," he added, stifling a sigh. "you will not go thus, uncle," she replied, presenting her cheek, upon which he placed a kiss. "why not, fair lady?" he asked gaily. "because i wish you to partake of something i have prepared for you before you mount on horseback; you cannot refuse me, can you, dear uncle?" she said, with that coaxing smile of spoilt children which delights the hearts of old men. "no, certainly not, dear child, upon condition that the breakfast you offer me so gracefully be not delayed. i am rather in a hurry." "i only ask for a few minutes," she replied, returning to the tent. "for a few minutes be it then," said he, following her. the young girl clapped her hands with joy. in the twinkling of an eye, the breakfast was ready, and the general at table with his niece. whilst assisting her uncle, and taking great care that he wanted for nothing, the young girl looked at him from time to time in an embarrassed manner, and did it so evidently, that the old soldier ended by observing it. "it is my opinion," he said, laying down his knife and fork, and looking at her earnestly, "that you have something to ask me, lucita; you know very well that i am not accustomed to refuse you anything." "that is true, dear uncle; but this time, i am afraid, you will be more difficult to be prevailed upon." "ah! ah!" the general said, gaily; "it must be something serious, then!" "quite the contrary, uncle; and yet, i confess, i am afraid you will refuse me." "speak, notwithstanding, my child," said the old soldier; "speak without fear; when you have told me what this mighty affair is, i will soon answer you." "well, uncle," the girl said, blushing, but determined on her purpose, "i am compelled to say that the residence in the camp has nothing agreeable about it." "i can conceive that, my child; but what do you wish me to do to make it otherwise?" "everything." "how so, dear?" "nay, dear, uncle, if you were always here, it would not be dull; i should have your company." "what you say is very amiable; but, as you know i am absent every morning, i cannot be here, and----- "that is exactly where the difficulty lies." "that is true." "but, if you were willing, it could be easily removed." "do you think so?" "i am sure of it." "well, i don't see too clearly how, unless i remained always with you, and that is impossible." "oh; there are other means that would arrange the whole affair." "nonsense!" "yes, uncle, and very simple means too." "well, then, darling, what are these means?" "you will not scold me, uncle?" "silly child! do i ever scold you?" "that is true! you are so kind." "come, then; speak out, little pet?" "well, uncle, these means----" "these means are?" "that you should take me with you every morning." "oh! oh!" said the general, whose brows became contracted; "do you know what you ask me, my dear child?" "why, a very natural thing, uncle, as i think." the general made no reply; he reflected. the girl watched anxiously the fugitive traces of his thoughts upon his countenance. at the end of a few instants, he raised his head. "well, perhaps," he murmured, "it would be better so;" and fixing a piercing look upon his niece, he said, "it would give you pleasure, then, to accompany me?" "yes, uncle, yes!" she replied. "well, then, get ready, my dear child; henceforth you shall accompany me in my excursions." she arose from her seat with a bound, kissed her uncle warmly, and gave orders for her horse to be saddled. a quarter of an hour later, doña luz and her uncle, preceded by the babbler, and followed by two lanceros, quitted the camp, and plunged into the forest. "which way would you wish to direct your course, today, general?" the guide asked. "conduct me to the huts of those trappers you spoke of yesterday." the guide bowed in sign of obedience. the little party advanced slowly and with some difficulty along a scarcely traced path, where, at every step, the horses became entangled in the creeping plants, or stumbled over the roots of trees above the level of the ground. doña luz was gay and happy. perhaps in these excursions she might meet with loyal heart. the babbler, who was a few paces in advance, suddenly uttered a cry. "eh!" said the general, "what extraordinary thing has happened, master babbler, to induce you to speak?" "the bees, señor." "what! bees! are there bees here?" "yes; but lately only." "how only lately?" "why, you know, of course, that bees were brought into america by the whites." "that, i know. how is it, then, they are met with here?" "nothing more simple; the bees are the advanced sentinels of the whites. in proportion as the whites penetrate into the interior of america, the bees go forward to trace the route for them, and point out the clearings. their appearance in an uninhabited country always presages the arrival of a colony of pioneers or squatters." "that is something strange," the general murmured; "are you sure of what you are telling me?" "oh! quite sure, señor; the fact is well known to all indians, they are not mistaken in it, be assured; for as soon as they see the bees arrive, they retreat." "that is truly singular." "the honey must be very good," said doña luz. "excellent, señorita, and if you wish for it, nothing is more easy than to get it." "get some, then," said the general. the guide, who some moments before had placed a bait for the bees upon the bushes, to which, with his piercing sight, he had already seen several bees attracted, made a sign to those behind him to stop. the bees had, in fact, lighted upon the bait, and were examining it all over; when they had made their provision, they rose very high into the air, and then took flight in a direct line with the velocity of a cannon ball. the guide carefully watched the direction they took, and making a sign to the general, he sprang after them, followed by the whole party, clearing themselves a way through interlaced roots, fallen trees, bushes and briars, their eyes directed all the while towards the sky. in this fashion they never lost sight of the laden bees, and after a difficult pursuit of an hour, they saw them arrive at their nest, constructed in the hollow of a dead ebony tree; after buzzing for a moment, they entered a hole situated at more than eighty feet from the ground. then the guide, after having warned his companions to keep at a respectful distance, in order to be out of the way of the falling tree and the vengeance of its inhabitants, seized his axe and attacked the ebony vigorously near the base. the bees did not seem at all alarmed by the strokes of the axe; they continued going in and out, carrying on their industrial labours in full security. a violent cracking even, which announced the splitting of the trunk, did not divert them from their occupations. at length the tree fell, with a horrible crash, opening the whole of its length, and leaving the accumulated treasures of the community exposed to view. the guide immediately seized a bundle of hay which he had prepared, and to which he set fire to defend himself from the bees. but they attacked nobody; they did not seek to avenge themselves. the poor creatures were stupefied; they ran and flew about in all directions round their destroyed empire, without thinking of anything but how to account for this unlooked-for catastrophe. then the guide and the lanceros set to work with spoons and knives to get out the comb and put it into the wineskins. some of the comb was of a deep brown, and of ancient date, other parts were of a beautiful white; the honey in the cells was almost limpid. whilst they were hastening to get possession of the best combs, they saw arrive on the wing from all points of the horizon numberless swarms of honey bees, who, plunging into the broken cells, loaded themselves, whilst the ex-proprietors of the hive, dull and stupefied, looked on, without seeking to save the least morsel, at the robbery of their honey. it is impossible to describe the astonishment of the bees that were absent at the moment of the catastrophe, as they arrived at their late home with their cargoes; they described circles in the air round the place the tree had occupied, astonished to find it empty; at length, however they seemed to comprehend their disaster, and collected in groups upon the dried branch of a neighbouring tree, appearing to contemplate thence the fallen ruin, and to lament the destruction of their empire. doña luz felt affected in spite of herself, at the trouble of these poor creatures. "let us go," she said, "i repent of having wished for honey; my greediness has made too many unhappy." "let us be gone," said the general, smiling; "leave them these few combs." "oh!" said the guide, shrugging his shoulders, "they will soon be carried away by the vermin." "the vermin! what vermin do you mean?" the general asked. "oh! the raccoons, the opossums, but particularly the bears." "the bears?" said doña luz. "oh, señorita!" the guide replied, "they are the cleverest vermin in the world in discovering a tree of bees, and getting their share of the honey." "do they like honey, then?" said the lady, with excited curiosity. "why, they are mad after it, señorita," the guide, who really seemed to relax of his cynical humour, rejoined. "imagine how greedy they are after it, when they will gnaw a tree for weeks, until they succeed in making a hole large enough to put their paws in, and then they carry off honey and bees, without taking the trouble to choose." "now," said the general, "let us resume our route, and seek the residence of the trappers." "oh! we shall soon be there, señor," replied the guide; "the great canadian river is within a few paces of us, and trappers are established all along the streams which flow into it." the little party proceeded on their way again. the bee hunt had left an impression of sadness on the mind of the young lady, which, although unconscious of it, she could not overcome. those poor little creatures, so gentle and so industrious, attacked and ruined for a caprice, grieved her, and, in spite, of herself, made her thoughtful. her uncle perceived this disposition of her mind. "dear child!" he said, "what is passing in your little head? you are no longer so gay as when we set out; whence comes this sudden change?" "good heavens! uncle, do not let that disturb you; i am, like other young girls, rather wild and whimsical; this bee hunt, from which i promised myself so much pleasure, has left a degree of sadness behind it that i cannot get rid of." "happy child!" the general murmured, "whom so futile a cause has still the power to trouble. god grant, darling, that you may continue long in that disposition, and that greater and more real troubles may never reach you!" "my kind uncle, shall i not always be happy while near you?" "alas! my child, who knows whether god may permit me to watch over you long!" "do not say so, uncle; i hope we have many years to pass together." the general only responded to this hope by a sigh. "uncle," the girl resumed, after a few moments, "do you not find that the aspect of the grand and sublime nature which surrounds us has something striking in it that ennobles our ideas, elevates the soul, and renders man better? how happy must they be who live in these boundless deserts!" the general looked at her with astonishment. "whence come these thoughts to your mind, dear child?" he said. "i do not know, uncle," she replied, timidly; "i am but an ignorant girl, whose life, still so short, has flowed on to this moment calm and peaceful, under your protection. and yet there are moments when it seems to me that i should be happy to live in these vast deserts." the general, surprised, and inwardly charmed at the ingenuous frankness of his niece, was preparing to answer her, when the guide, suddenly coming up to them, made a sign to command silence, by saying, in a voice as low as a breath,-- "a man!" chapter xiv. black elk. everyone stopped. in the desert, this word man almost always means an enemy. man in the prairies is more dreaded by his fellow than the most ferocious wild beast. a man is a rival, a forced associate, who, by the right of being the stronger, comes to share with the first occupant, and often, if we may not say always, strives to deprive him of the fruits of his thankless labour. thus, whites, indians, or half-breeds, when they meet in the prairies, salute each other with eye on the watch, ears open, and the finger on the trigger of the rifle. at this cry of a man, the general and the lanceros, at all hazards, prepared against a sudden attack by cocking their guns, and concealing themselves as much as possible behind the bushes. at fifty paces before them stood an individual, who, the butt on the ground, and his two hands leaning on the barrel of a long rifle, was observing them attentively. he was a man of lofty stature, with energetic features and a frank, determined look. his long hair, arranged with care, was plaited, mingled with otter skins and ribbons of various colours. a hunting blouse of ornamented leather fell to his knees; gaiters of a singular cut, ornamented with strings, fringes, and a profusion of little bells covered his legs; his shoes consisted of a pair of superb moccasins, embroidered with false pearls. a scarlet blanket hung from his shoulders, and was fastened round his middle by a red belt, through which were passed two pistols, a knife, and an indian pipe. his rifle was profusely decorated with vermilion and little copper nails. at a few paces from him his horse was browsing on the mast of the trees. like its master, it was equipped in the most fantastic manner, spotted and striped with vermilion, the reins and crupper ornamented with beads and bunches of ribbon, while its head, mane, and tail, were abundantly decorated with eagle's feathers floating in the wind. at sight of this personage the general could not restrain a cry of surprise. "to what indian tribe does this man belong?" he asked the guide. "to none," the latter replied. "how, to none?" "no; he is a white trapper." "and so dressed?" the guide shrugged his shoulders. "we are in the prairies;" he said. "that is true," the general murmured. in the meantime, the individual we have described, tired, no doubt, of the hesitation of the little party before him, and wishing to know what their disposition was, resolutely accosted them. "eh! eh!" he said in english, "who the devil are you--and what are you seeking here?" "_caramba!_" the general replied, throwing his gun behind him, and ordering his people to do the same; "we are travellers, fatigued with a long journey; the sun is hot, and we ask permission to rest a short time in your rancho." these words being spoken in spanish, the trapper replied in the same language,-- "approach without fear; black elk is a good sort of fellow when people do not seek to thwart him; you shall share the little he possesses, and much good may it do you." at the name of black elk the guide could not repress a movement of terror; he wished even to say a few words, but he had not time, for the hunter, throwing his gun upon his shoulder, and leaping into his saddle with a bound, advanced towards the mexicans. "my rancho is a few paces from this spot," said he to the general; "if the señorita is inclined to taste the well-seasoned hump of a buffalo, i am in a position to offer her that piece of politeness." "i thank you, caballero," the young lady replied, with a smile; "but i confess that at this moment i stand in more need of repose than anything else." "everything will come in its time," the trapper said sententiously. "permit me, for a few moments, to take the place of your guide." "we are at your orders," said the general; "go on, we will follow you." "forward! then," said the trapper, placing himself at the head of the little troop. at this moment his eyes fell by chance upon the guide--his thick eyebrows contracted. "hum!" he muttered to himself, "what does this mean? we shall see," he added. and without taking further notice of the man, without appearing to recognise him, he gave the signal for departure. after riding for some time silently along the banks of a moderately wide rivulet, the trapper made a sharp turn, and departing from the stream suddenly, plunged again into the forest. "i crave your pardon," he said, "for making you turn out of your way; but this is a beaver pond, and i do not wish to frighten them." "oh!" the young lady cried, "how delighted i should be to see those industrious animals at work!" the trapper stopped. "nothing more easy, señorita," he said, "if you will follow me, while your companions remain here, and wait for us." "yes, yes!" doña luz replied eagerly; but checking herself all at once, added, "oh, pardon me, dear uncle." the general cast a look at the trapper. "go, my child," he said, "we will wait for you here." "thank you, uncle," the young girl remarked joyfully, as she leaped from her horse. "i will be answerable for her," the trapper said frankly; "fear nothing." "i fear nothing when trusting her to your care, my friend," the general replied. "thanks!" and making a sign to doña luz, black elk disappeared with her among the bushes and trees. when they had gone some distance, the trapper stopped. after listening and looking around him on all sides, he stooped towards the young girl, and laying his hand lightly on her right arm, said,-- "listen!" doña luz stood still, uneasy and trembling. the trapper perceived her agitation. "be not afraid," he rejoined; "i am an honest man; you are in as much safety here alone with me in this desert as if you were in the cathedral of mexico, at the foot of the high altar." the young girl cast a furtive glance at the trapper. in spite of his singular costume, his face wore such an expression of frankness, his eye was so soft and limpid, when fixed upon her, that she felt completely reassured. "speak," she said. "you belong," the trapper resumed, "i perceive now, to that party of strangers who, for some days past, have been exploring the prairies in every direction. do you not?" "yes." "among you is a sort of madman, who wears blue spectacles and a white wig, and who amuses himself--for what purpose i cannot tell--with making a provision of herbs and stones, instead of trying, like a brave hunter, to trap a beaver, or knock over a deer." "i know the man you speak of; he, as you suppose, forms part of our troop; he is a very learned physician." "i know he is; he told me so himself. he often comes this way. we are very good friends. by means of a powder, which he persuaded me to take, he completely checked a fever which had tormented me two months, and of which i could not get rid." "indeed! i am happy to hear of such a result." "i should like to do something for you, to show my gratitude for that service." "i thank you, my friend, but i cannot see anything in which you can be useful to me, unless it be in showing me the beavers." the trapper shook his head. "perhaps in something else," he said, "and that much sooner than you may fancy. listen to me attentively, señorita. i am but a poor man; but here in the prairie, we know many things that god reveals to us, because we live face to face with him. i will give you a piece of good advice. that man who serves you as a guide is an arrant scoundrel, and is known as such throughout all the prairies of the west. i am very much deceived if he will not lead you into some ambush. there is no lack here of plenty of rogues with whom he may lay plans to destroy you, or least, rob you." "are you sure of what you say?" the girl exclaimed, terrified at words which coincided so strangely with what loyal heart had said to her. "i am as sure as a man can be who affirms a thing of which he has no proof; that is to say, after the antecedents of the babbler everything of the sort must be expected from him. believe me, if he has not already betrayed you, it will not be long before he will." "good god! i will go and warn my uncle." "beware of doing that! that would ruin all! the people with whom your guide will soon be in collusion, if he be not so already, are numerous, determined, and thoroughly acquainted with the prairie." "what is to be done, then?" the young lady asked in great alarm. "nothing. wait; and, without appearing to do so, carefully watch all your guide's proceedings." "but----" "you must be sure," the trapper interrupted, "that if i lead you to mistrust him, it is not with a view of deserting you when the moment comes for requiring my help." "oh! i believe that." "well, then, this is what you must do: as soon as you are certain that your guide has betrayed you, send your old mad doctor to me,--you can trust him, can you not?" "entirely!" "very well. then, as i have said, you must send him to me, charging him only to say this to me. 'black elk'--i am black elk." "i know you are; you told us so." "that is right. he will say to me, 'black elk, the hour is come,' and nothing else. shall you remember these words?" "perfectly. only, i do not clearly understand how that can serve us." the trapper smiled in a mysterious manner. "hum!" he said, after a short pause, "these few words will bring to you, in two hours, fifty men, the bravest in the prairies,--men who, at a signal from their leader, would allow themselves to be killed rather than leave you in the hands of those who will have possession of you, if what i expect should happen." there was a moment of silence,--doña luz appeared very thoughtful. the trapper smiled. "do not be surprised at the warm interest i take in you," he said, "a man who has entire power over me, has made me swear to watch over you, during an absence he has been compelled to make." "what do you mean by that?" she said with awakened curiosity. "and who is this man?" "he is a hunter who commands all the white trappers of the prairies. knowing that you had the babbler for a guide, he suspects that the half-breed intends to draw you into some snare? "but the name of the man?" she cried, in an anxious, excited tone. "loyal heart. will you have confidence in me now?" "thanks, my friend, thanks!" the young lady replied, with great emotion. "i will not forget your instructions; and when the moment comes--if unfortunately it should come--i will not hesitate to remind you of your promise." "and you will do well, señorita, because it will then be the only means of safety left you. you understand me perfectly, and all is well. be sure to keep our conversation to yourself. above all, do not appear to have any secret understanding with me; that devil of a half-breed is as cunning as a beaver; if he suspect anything, he will slip through your fingers, like the viper he is." "be satisfied; i will be mute." "now let us pursue our way to the beaver pond. loyal heart watches over you." "he has already saved our lives on the occasion of the conflagration of the prairies," she said with emotion. "ah! ah!" the trapper murmured, fixing his eyes upon her with a singular expression, "everything is for the best, then." and he added in a loud voice: "be without fear, señorita, if you follow strictly the advice i have given you, no evil will happen to you in the prairies, whatever be the treachery to which you may be exposed." "oh!" the girl cried, with great warmth, "in the hour of danger i will not hesitate to have recourse to you--i swear i will not!" "that is settled," said the black elk, smiling; "now let us go and see the beavers." they resumed their walk, and at the end of a few minutes arrived on the verge of the forest. the trapper then stopped, and making a sign to the young girl to be motionless, turned towards her, and whispered-- "look!" chapter xv. the beavers. doña luz gently pushed aside the branches of the willows and bending her head forward, she surveyed the scene. the beavers had not only intercepted the course of the river by means of their industrious community, but, still further, all the rivulets that ran into it had their courses stopped, so as to transform the surrounding ground into one vast marsh. one beaver alone was at work, at the moment, on the principal dam; but very shortly five others appeared, carrying pieces of wood, mud, and bushes. they then all together directed their course towards a part of the barrier which, as the lady could perceive, needed repair. they deposited their load on the broken part, and plunged into the water, but only to reappear almost instantly on the surface. everyone brought up a certain quantity of slimy mud, which they employed as mortar to join and render firm the pieces of wood and the bushes; they went away and returned again with more wood and mud; in short, this work of masonry was carried on till the breach had entirely disappeared. as soon as all was in order, the industrious animals enjoyed a moment's recreation; they pursued each other in the pond, plunged to the bottom of the water, or sported on the surface, striking the water noisily with their tails. doña luz beheld this singular spectacle with increasing interest. she could have remained the whole day watching these strange animals. whilst the first were amusing themselves thus, two other members of the community appeared. for some time they looked gravely on at the sports of their companions, without showing any inclination to join them; then climbing up the steep bank not far from the spot where the trapper and the young girl were watching, they seated themselves upon their hind paws, leaning the fore ones upon a young pine, and beginning to gnaw the bark of it. sometimes they detached a small piece, and held it between their paws, still remaining seated; they nibbled it with contortions and grimaces pretty much resembling those of a monkey shelling a walnut. the evident object of these beavers was to cut down the tree, and they laboured at it earnestly. it was a young pine of about eighteen inches in diameter at the part where they attacked it, as straight as an arrow, and of considerable height. no doubt they would soon have succeeded in cutting it through; but the general, uneasy at the prolonged absence of his niece, made up his mind to go in search of her, and the beavers, terrified at the noise of the horses, dived into the water and disappeared. the general reproached his niece gently for her long absence; but she, delighted with what she had seen, did not heed him, and promised herself to be frequently an invisible spectator of the proceedings of the beavers. the little party, under the direction of the trapper, directed their course towards the rancho, in which he had offered them shelter from the burning rays of the sun, which was now at its zenith. doña luz, whose curiosity was excited to the highest pitch by the attractive spectacle at which she had been present, determined to make up for her uncle's unwelcome interruption by asking black elk all the particulars of the habits of the beavers, and the manner in which they were caught. the trapper, like all men who live much alone, had no objection, when opportunity offered, to relax from the silence he was generally obliged to preserve, and therefore did not require much pressing. "oh, oh, señorita," he said, "the redskins say that the beaver is a man who does not speak; and they are right--he is brave, wise, prudent, industrious, and economical. thus, when winter arrives, the whole family go to work to prepare provisions; young as well as old, all work. they are often obliged to make long journeys to find the bark they prefer. they sometimes bring down moderately large trees, cutting off the branches, whose bark is most to their taste; they cut it into pieces about three feet long, and transport them to the water, where they set them floating towards their huts, in which they store them. their habitations are clean and convenient. they take great care, after their repasts, to throw into the current of the river, below the dam, the piece of wood off which they have gnawed the bark. they never permit a strange beaver to come and establish himself near them, and often fight with the greatest fury to secure the freedom of their territories." "oh! nothing can be more curious than all this!" doña luz exclaimed. "ah, but," the trapper rejoined, "that is not all. in the spring, which is the generating season, the male leaves the female in the house, and goes, like a great lord, on a tour of pleasure; sometimes to a great distance, sporting in the limpid waters he falls in with, and climbing their banks to gnaw the tender branches of the young poplars and willows. but when summer comes, he abandons his bachelor life and returns to his mate and her new progeny, which he leads to forage in search of provisions for winter." "it must be confessed," said the general, "that this animal is one of the most interesting in creation." "yes," doña luz added, "and i cannot understand how people can make up their minds to hunt them as if they were mischievous beasts." "what is to be said for it, señorita?" the trapper replied, philosophically; "all animals were created for man--this one above others, its fur is so valuable." "that is true," said the general; "but," he added, "how do you set about this chase? all beavers are not so confiding as these; there are some that conceal their huts with extreme care." "yes," black elk replied; "but habit has given the experienced trapper so certain a glance, that he discovers, by the slightest sign, the track of a beaver; and although the hut be concealed by thick underwood and the willows which shade it, it is very seldom that he cannot guess the exact number of its inhabitants. he then places his trap, fastens it to the bank, two or three inches under water, and secures it by a chain to a pole strongly fixed in the mud or sand. a little twig is then deprived of its bark, and soaked in the medicine, for so we call the bait we employ; this twig is so placed as to rise three or four inches above the water, whilst its extremity is fixed in the opening of the trap. the beaver, which is endowed with a very subtle smell, is quickly attracted by the odour of the bait. as soon as it advances its snout to seize it, its foot is caught in the trap. in great terror, it tries to dive into the water, but the chained trap resists all its efforts; it struggles for some time, but at last, its strength being exhausted, it sinks to the bottom of the water, and is drowned. this, señorita, is the way in which beavers are generally taken. but in rocky beds, where it is not possible to fix the poles to retain the trap, we are often obliged to search for a length of time for the captured beavers, and even to swim to great distances. it also happens that when several members of the same family have been taken, the others become mistrustful. then, whatever stratagems we have recourse to, it is impossible to get them to bite the bait. they approach the traps with precaution, let off the spring with a stick, and often even turn the traps upside down, dragging them under their dam, and burying them in the mud. "what do you do then?" doña luz asked. "why, then," black elk replied, "we have but one thing left to do, and that is, throw our traps upon our backs, own ourselves beaten by the beavers, and go further afield to seek others less cunning. but here is my rancho." at this moment the travellers arrived at a miserable hut, made of interlaced branches of trees, scarcely capable of sheltering them from the rays of the sun, and in every respect resembling, as regarded convenience, those of other trappers of the prairies, who are men that trouble themselves the least about the comforts of life. nevertheless, such as it was, black elk did the honours of it very warmly to the strangers. a second trapper was squatting before the hut, occupied in watching the roasting of the buffalo's hump which black elk had promised his guests. this man, whose costume was in all respects like that of black elk, was scarcely forty years old; but the fatigue and numberless miseries of his hard profession had dug upon his face such a network of inextricable wrinkles as made him look older than he was in reality. in fact, there does not exist in the world a more dangerous, more painful, or less profitable trade than that of a trapper. these poor people are often, whether by indians or hunters, robbed of their hard-earned gains, scalped, and massacred, and no one troubles himself to learn what has become of them. "take your place, señorita; and you also, gentlemen," said black elk, politely. "however poor my hut may be, it is large enough to contain you all." the travellers cheerfully accepted his invitation; they alighted from their horses, and were soon stretched comfortably upon beds of dry leaves, covered with the skins of bears, elks, and buffaloes. the repast--truly a hunter's repast--was washed down with some cups of excellent mezcal which the general always carried with him in his expeditions, and which the trappers appreciated as it deserved. whilst doña luz, the guide, and the lanceros, took a siesta of a few minutes, till the heat of the sun's rays should be a little abated, the general, begging black elk to follow him, went out of the hut. as soon as they were at a sufficient distance, the general seated himself at the foot of an ebony tree, motioning for his companion to follow his example which he immediately did. after a moment's silence, the general said,-- "allow me, my friend, in the first place, to thank you for your frank hospitality. that duty performed, i wish to put a few questions to you." "caballero!" the trapper replied, evasively, "you know what the redskins say: between every word smoke your calumet, in order to weigh your words well." "you speak like a sensible man; but be satisfied that i have no intention of putting questions to you that concern your profession, or any object that can affect you personally." "if i am able to answer you, caballero, be assured i will not hesitate to satisfy you." "thank you, friend, i expected no less from you. how long have you been an inhabitant of the prairies?" "ten years, already, sir; and god grant i may remain here as many more." "this sort of life pleases you then?" "more than i can tell you. a man must, as i have done, begin it almost as a boy, undergo all the trials, endure all the sufferings, partake all its hazards, in order to understand all the intoxicating charms it procures, the celestial joys it gives, and the unknown pleasures into which it plunges us! oh! caballero, the most beautiful and largest city of old europe is very little, very dirty, very mean compared with the desert. your cramped, regulated, compassed life is miserable compared to ours! it is here only that man feels the air penetrate easily into his lungs, that he lives, that he thinks. civilization brings him down almost to the level of the brute, leaving him no instinct but that which enables him to pursue sordid interests. whereas, in the desert, in the prairie, face to face with god, his ideas enlarge, his spirit grows, and he becomes really what the supreme being meant to make him; that is to say, the king of the creation." whilst pronouncing these words the trapper was, in a manner, transfigured; his countenance assumed an inspired expression, his eyes flashed fire, and his gestures were impressed with that nobleness which passion alone gives. the general sighed deeply, a furtive tear trickled over his grey moustache. "that's true," he said, sadly; "this life has strange charms for the man who has tasted it, and they attach him by bonds nothing can break. when you arrived in the prairies, whence did you come?" "i came from quebec, sir; i am a canadian." "ah!" a silence of a few minutes ensued, but it was, at length, broken by the general. "have you many mexicans among your companions?" "many." "i should like to obtain some information respecting them." "there is only one man who could give you any, sir; and, unfortunately, that man is not at this moment here." "and he is called?" "loyal heart." "loyal heart!" the general replied, warmly; "surely i know that man." "yes, you do." "good heavens! what a fatality!" "perhaps it will be more easy than you suppose to meet with him again, if you really wish to see him." "i have an immense interest in wishing it." "then make your mind easy; you will soon see him." "how so?" "oh! very simply. loyal heart lays his traps near me; at the present time i am watching them; but it cannot be long before he returns." "god grant it may be so!" said the general, with great agitation. "as soon as he comes i will send you word, if between this and then you have not quitted your camp." "do you know where my troop is encamped?" "we know everything in the desert," the trapper said, with a smile. "i accept your promise." "you have my word, sir." "thank you." at that moment doña luz came out of the hut; after having made black elk a sign to recommend silence, the general hastened to join her. the travellers remounted their horses, and after thanking the trappers for their cordial hospitality, they again took the road to the camp. chapter xvi. treachery. the return was dull, the general was plunged in profound reflections, caused by his conversation with the trapper. doña luz was thinking of the warning that had been given her; the guide embarrassed by the two conversations of black elk with the general, had a secret presentiment, which told him to keep on his guard. the two lanceros alone rode on carelessly, ignorant of the drama that was being played around them, and thinking but of one thing--the repose which awaited them on regaining the camp. the babbler incessantly cast anxious looks around him, appearing to seek for auxiliaries amidst the thickets which the little party passed silently through. day was drawing to a close; it would not be long before the sun disappeared, and already the mysterious denizens of the forest at intervals sent forth dull roarings. "are we still far from the camp?" the general said, all at once. "no," the guide replied; "scarcely an hour's ride." "let us mend our speed, then; i should not like to be surprised by the night in this woody country." the troop fell into a quick trot, which, in less than half an hour, brought them to the first barricades of the camp. captain aguilar and the doctor came to receive the travellers on their arrival. the evening repast was prepared, and had been waiting some time. they seated themselves at table. but the sadness which for some time past seemed to have taken possession of the general and his niece increased instead of diminishing. it had its effect upon the repast; all swallowed their food hastily, without exchanging a word. as soon as they had finished, under pretext of the fatigues of the journey, they separated, ostensibly to seek repose, but, in reality, for the sake of being alone, and reflecting upon the events of the day. on his part, the guide was not more at his ease; a bad conscience, a sage has said, is the most annoying night companion a man can have; the babbler possessed the worst of all bad consciences, therefore he had no inclination to sleep. he walked about the camp, seeking in vain in his mind, harassed by anxiety and perhaps remorse, for some means of getting out of the scrape in which he found himself. but it was in vain for him to put his imagination to the rack, nothing suggested itself to calm his apprehensions. in the meantime, night was advancing, the moon had disappeared, and a thick darkness hovered over the silent camp. everyone was asleep, or appearing to sleep; the guide alone, who had taken upon himself the first watch, was seated on a bale; with his arms crossed upon his breast, and his eyes fixed upon vacancy, he became more and more absorbed in gloomy reveries. all at once a hand was placed upon his shoulder, and a voice murmured in his ear the single word, "kennedy!" the guide, with that presence of mind, and that imperturbable phlegm which never abandons the indian or the half-breed, cast a suspicious glance around him, to assure himself that he was really alone; then he seized the hand which had remained resting upon his shoulder, and dragged the individual who had spoken to him, and who followed him without resistance, to a retired spot, where he thought he was certain of being overheard by nobody. at the moment when the two men passed by the tent, the curtains opened softly, and a shadow glided silently after them. when they were concealed amidst the packages, and standing near enough to each other to speak in a voice as low as a breath, the guide muttered: "god be praised! i have been expecting your visit with impatience, kennedy." "did you know that i was about to come?" the latter remarked suspiciously. "no, but i hoped you would!" "is there anything fresh?" "yes, and much!" "speak, and make haste!" "that is what i am going to do. all is lost!" "hem! what do you mean by that?" "what do i mean is, that today the general, guided by me, went----" "ah! yes, i know all that. i saw you." "maldición! why did you not attack us, then?" "there were but two of us." "i should have made the third, the party would then have been equal; the general had but two lanceros." "that's true; but i did not think of it." "you were wrong. all would now be ended, instead of which all is now probably lost." "how so?" "eh! _caray!_ it is clear enough. the general and his niece held long conversations with that sneaking hound, black elk, and you know he has been acquainted with me a long while. there is no doubt he has made them suspicious of me." "why did you lead them to the beaver pond, then?" "how could i tell i should meet that cursed trapper there?" "in our trade we must be awake to everything." "you are right. i have committed an error. at present i believe the evil to be without remedy, for i have a presentiment that black elk has completely edified the general with respect to me." "hum! that is more than probable. what is to be done, then?" "act as soon as possible, without giving them time to put themselves on their guard." "for my part, i ask no better than that, you know." "yes, but where is the captain? has he returned?" "he arrived this evening. all our men are concealed in the grotto; there are forty of us. "bravo! why did you not come all together, instead of you by yourself? only see, what a fine opportunity you have lost? they are all sleeping like dormice. we could have seized them all in less than ten minutes." "you are right; but one cannot foresee everything; besides, the affair was not so agreed upon with the captain." "that is true. why did you come then?" "to warn you that we are ready, and only await your signal to act." "let us consider, then, what is best to be done? advise me." "how the devil can you expect me to advise you? can i tell what is going on here so as to tell you what you must do?" the guide reflected for a minute, then he raised his head, and surveyed the heavens attentively. "listen," he replied, "it is but two o'clock in the morning." "about that." "you are going back to the grotto?" "immediately!" "yes." "very well. what next?" "you will tell the captain that, if he wishes it, i will deliver the girl up to him this night." "hum! that appears to me rather difficult." "you are stupid." "very possibly, but i don't see how." "attend then. the guarding of the camp is thus distributed:--in the daytime the soldiers guard the intrenchments; but as they are not accustomed to the life of the prairies, and as in the night their assistance would do more harm than good, the other guides and i are charged with the guard whilst the soldiers repose." "that's cleverly managed," kennedy said, laughing. "is it not?" the babbler said. "you get on horseback then? when you arrive at the bottom of the hill, six of the bravest of you must come and join me with their aid i undertake to bind, while they sleep, all the soldiers and the general himself." "there is something in that; that's a good idea." "don't you think so?" "by my faith do i." "very well. when once our folks are safely bound, i will whistle, and the captain will come up with the rest of the troop. then he may arrange his matters with the girl as well as he is able; that is his concern; my task will be accomplished. now, what do you think of all that?" "capital!" "in this fashion we shall avoid bloodshed and blows, for which i have no great fancy, when i can do without them." "we know your prudence in that respect." "zounds! my dear fellow, when we have affairs like this on hand, which, when they succeed, present great advantages, we should always endeavour so to arrange matters as to have all the chances in our favour. "perfectly well reasoned; besides which, your idea pleases me much, and, without delay, i will put it into execution; but, in the first place, let us make things clear, to avoid misunderstandings, which are always disagreeable." "very well." "if, as i believe he will, the captain finds your plan good, and very likely to succeed, as soon as we are at the foot of the hill, i will come up with six resolute fellows, whom i will pick out myself. on which side must we introduce ourselves into the camp?" "the devil! why on the side you have already entered: you ought to know it." "and you, where will you be?" "at the spot where you enter, ready to assist you." "that's well. now all is agreed and understood. you have nothing more to say to me?" "nothing." "i am off, then." "the sooner the better." "you are always right. guide me to the place i am to go out at; it is so cursedly dark, that i may lose my way, and tumble over some sleeping soldier, and that would not help our business at all." "give me your hand." "here it is." the two men rose, and prepared to proceed to the place where the captain's emissary was to leave the camp; but, at the same moment, a shadow interposed itself between them, and a firm voice said;-- "you are traitors, and shall die!" in spite of their self-possession, the two men remained for an instant stupefied. without giving them time to recover their presence of mind, the person who had spoken discharged two pistols, point blank at them. the miserable wretches uttered a loud cry. one fell, but the other, bounding like a tiger-cat, scrambled over the intrenchments and disappeared before a second shot could be fired at him. at the double report and the cry uttered by the bandits, the whole camp was roused, and all rushed to the barricades. the general and captain aguilar were the first to arrive at the spot where the scene we have described had taken place. they found doña luz, with two smoking pistols in her hands, whilst, at her feet, a man was writhing in the agonies of death. "what does all this mean, niece? what has happened, in the name of heaven! are you wounded?" the terrified general asked. "be at ease, dear uncle, on my account, i am not wounded," the young lady replied. "i have only punished a traitor. two wretches were plotting in the dark against our common safety; one of them has escaped, but i believe the other is at least seriously wounded." the general eagerly examined the dying man. by the light of the torch he held in his hand he at once recognized kennedy, the guide whom the babbler pretended had been burnt alive in the conflagration of the prairie. "oh, oh!" he said, "what does all this mean?" "it means, uncle," the girl replied, "that if god had not come to my aid, we should have been, this very night, surprised by a troop of bandits, lying in ambush close to us." "let us lose no time, then!" and the general, assisted by captain aguilar, hastened to prepare everything for a vigorous resistance, in case an attack should be attempted. the babbler had fled, but a large track of blood proved that he was seriously wounded. if it had been light enough, they would have attempted to pursue him, and, perhaps, might have taken him; but, in the midst of darkness, and suspecting that their enemies were in ambush in the neighbourhood, the general was not willing to risk his soldiers out of the camp. he preferred leaving the villain that chance of saving himself. as to kennedy, he was dead. the first moment of excitement past, doña luz, no longer sustained by the danger of her situation, began to be sensible she was a woman. her energy disappeared, her eyes closed, a convulsive trembling shook her whole frame; she fainted, and would have fallen, if the doctor, who was watching her, had not caught her in his arms. he carried her in that state into the tent, and lavished upon her all the remedies usual in such cases. the young lady gradually recovered: her spirits were calmed, and order was re-established in her ideas. the advice given her that very day by black elk then naturally recurred to her mind; she deemed the moment was coming for claiming the execution of his promise, and she made a sign to the doctor to approach her. "my dear doctor," she said, in a sweet but weak voice, "are you willing to render me a great service?" "dispose of me as you please, señorita." "do you know a trapper named black elk?" "yes; he has a hut not a great way from us, near a beaver pond." "that is the person, my good doctor. well, as soon as it is light, you must go to him from me." "for what purpose, señorita?" "because i ask you," she said, in a calm tone. "oh! then you may be at ease; i will go," he replied. "thank you, doctor." "what shall i say to him?" "you will give him an account of what has taken place here tonight." "the deuce!" "and then you will add--retain my exact words, you must repeat them to him to the very letter." "i listen with all my ears, and will engrave them on my memory." "black elk, the hour is come! you understand that, do you not?" "perfectly, señorita." "you swear to do what i ask of you?" "i swear it," he said, in a solemn voice. "at sunrise, i will go to the trapper; i will give him an account of the events of the night, and will add--black elk, the hour is come. is that all you desire of me?" "yes, all, my kind doctor." "well, then, now endeavour to get a little sleep, señorita; i swear to you by my honour, that what you wish shall be done." "again, thank you!" the young girl murmured, with a sweet smile, and pressing his hand. then, quite broken down by the terrible emotions of the night, she sank back upon her bed, where she soon fell into a calm, refreshing sleep. at daybreak, in spite of the observations of the general, who in vain endeavoured to prevent his leaving the camp, by presenting to him all the dangers he was needlessly going to expose himself to, the worthy doctor who had shaken his head at all that his friend said to him, persisted, without giving any reason, in his project of going out, and set off down the hill at a sharp trot. when once in the forest, he put spurs to his horse, and galloped at best speed towards the hut of black elk. chapter xvii. eagle head. eagle head was a chief as prudent as he was determined; he knew he had everything to fear from the americans, if he did not succeed in completely concealing his trail. hence, after the surprise he had effected against the new establishment of the whites, upon the banks of the great canadian river, he neglected nothing to secure his troop from the terrible reprisals which threatened them. it is scarcely possible to form an idea of the talent displayed by the indians when the object is to conceal their trail. twenty times do they repass the same place, entangling, as it were, the traces of their passage in each other, in such a manner that they end by becoming inextricable; neglecting no accident of the ground, marching in each other's footsteps to conceal their number, following for whole days the course of rivulets, frequently with the water up to their waist, carrying their precautions and patience so far as ever to efface with their hands, and, so to speak, step by step the vestiges which might denounce them to the keen, interested eyes of their enemies. the tribe of the serpent, to which the warriors commanded by eagle head belonged, had entered the prairies nearly five hundred warriors strong, in order to hunt the buffalo, and give battle to the pawnees and sioux, with whom they were continually at war. it was eagle head's object, as soon as his campaign should be over, to join his brothers immediately, in order to place in safety the booty gained by the capture of the village, and to take part in a grand expedition which his tribe was preparing against the white trappers and half-breeds spread over the prairies, whom the indians, with reason, considered as implacable enemies. notwithstanding the extreme precaution displayed by the chief, the detachment had marched rapidly. on the evening of the sixth day that had passed away since the destruction of the fort, the comanches halted on the banks of a little river without a name, as is the case sometimes in these wilds, and prepared to encamp for the night. nothing is more simple than the encamping of indians upon the warpath. the horses are hobbled, that they may not stray away; if the savages do not fear a surprise, they kindle a fire; if the contrary, everyone manages to get a little food and rest as well as he can. since their departure from the fort, no indication had given the comanches reason to think they were pursued or watched, and their scouts had discovered no suspicious track. they were at but a short distance from the camp of their tribe,--their security was complete. eagle head ordered a fire to be lit, and himself posted sentinels to watch over the safety of all. when he had taken these prudent measures, the chief placed his back against an ebony tree, took his calumet, and ordered the old man and the spanish woman to be brought before him. when they appeared, eagle head saluted the old man cordially, and offered him his calumet, a mark of kindness which the old man accepted, carefully preparing himself for the questions which the indian was, doubtless, about to put to him. as he expected, after a silence of a few moments, the latter spoke. "does my brother find himself comfortable with the redskins?" asked he. "i should be wrong to complain, chief," the spaniard replied; "since i have been with you i have been treated very kindly." "my brother is a friend," the comanche said, emphatically. the old man bowed. "we are at length in our own hunting grounds," the chief continued; "my brother, the white head, is fatigued with a long life; he is better at the counsel fire than on horseback, hunting the elk or the buffalo--what does my brother wish?" "chief," the spaniard replied, "your words are true; there was a time when, like every other child of the prairies, i passed whole days in hunting upon a fiery unbroken mustang; my strength has disappeared, my members have lost their elasticity, and my eye its infallibility; i am worth nothing now in an expedition, however short it may be." "good!" the indian replied, imperturbably, blowing clouds of smoke from his mouth and nostrils; "let my brother tell his friend what he wishes, and it shall be done." "i thank you, chief, and i will profit by your kindness; i should be happy if you would consent to furnish me with means of gaining, without being disturbed, some establishment of men of my own colour, where i might pass in peace the few days i have yet to live." "eh! why should i not do it? nothing is more easy; as soon as we have rejoined the tribe, since my brother is not willing to dwell with us, his desires shall be satisfied." there was a moment of silence. the old man, believing the conversation terminated, prepared to retire; with a gesture, the chief ordered him to remain. after a few instants, the indian shook the ashes out of his pipe, passed the shank of it through his belt, and fixing upon the spaniard a glance marked by a strange expression, he said, in a sad voice,-- "my brother is happy, although he has seen many winters, he does not walk alone in the path of life." "what does the chief mean?" the old man asked; "i do not understand." "my brother has a family," the comanche replied. "alas! my brother is deceived; i am alone in this world." "what does my brother say? has he not his mate?" a sad smile passed over the pale lips of the old man. "no," he said, after a moment's pause; "i have no mate." "what is that woman to him, then?" said the chief, with feigned surprise, and pointing to the spanish woman, who stood pensive and silent by the side of the old man. "that woman is my mistress." "wah! can it be that my brother is a slave?" said the comanche, with an ill-omened smile. "no," the old man replied haughtily! "i am not the slave of that woman, i am her devoted servant." "wah!" said the chief, shaking his head, and reflecting deeply upon this reply. but the words of the spaniard were unintelligible to the indian; the distinction was too subtle for him to seize it. at the end of two or three minutes he shook his head, and gave up the endeavour to solve the, to him, incomprehensible problem. "good!" he said, darting an ironical glance through his half-closed eyelids; "the woman shall go with my brother." "that is what i always intended," the spaniard replied. the aged woman, who to this moment had preserved a prudent silence, judged it was now time to take part in the conversation. "i am thankful to the chief," she said; "but since he is good enough to take interest in our welfare, will he permit me to ask him a favour?" "let my mother speak; my ears are open." "i have a son who is a great white hunter; he must at this moment be in the prairie; perhaps, if my brother would consent to keep us a few days longer with him, it would be possible to meet with him; under his protection we should have nothing to fear." at these imprudent words the spaniard made a gesture of terror. "señorita!" he said sharply in his native language, "take care lest----" "silence!" the indian interrupted in an angry tone; "why does my white brother speak before me in an unknown tongue? does he fear i should understand his words?" "oh, chief!" said the spaniard, in a tone of denial. "let my brother, then, allow my palefaced mother to speak; she is speaking to a chief." the old man was silent, but a sad presentiment weighed upon his heart. the comanche chief knew perfectly well to whom he was speaking; he was playing with the two spaniards, as a cat does with a mouse; but, allowing none of his impressions to appear, he turned towards the woman, and bowing with that instinctive courtesy which distinguishes the indians, said in a mild voice, and with a sympathetic smile,-- "oh! oh! the son of my mother is a great hunter, is he? so much the better." the heart of the poor woman dilated with joy. "yes," she said, with emotion, "he is one of the bravest trappers on the western prairies." "_wah!_" said the chief, in a still more amiable manner, "this renowned warrior must have a name respected through the prairies?" the spaniard suffered a martyrdom; held in awe by the eye of the comanche, he did not know how to warn his mistress not to pronounce the name of her son. "his name is well known," said the woman. "oh!" the old man cried eagerly, "all women are thus; with them all their sons are heroes: this one, although an excellent young man, is no better than others; certes, his name has never reached my brother." "how does my brother know that?" said the indian, with a sardonic smile. "i suppose so," the old man replied; "or, at least, if by chance my brother has heard it pronounced, it must long ago have escaped his memory, and does not merit being recalled to it. if my brother will permit us, we will retire; the day has been fatiguing; the hour of repose is come." "in an instant," said the comanche quietly; and turning to the woman, "what is the name of the warrior of the palefaces?" he asked, in a peremptory tone. but the old lady, placed upon her guard by the intervention of her servant, with whose prudence and devotion she was well acquainted, made no answer, conscious that she had committed a fault, and not knowing how to remedy it. "does not my mother hear me?" said the chief. "of what use would it be to repeat to you a name which, according to all probability, is unknown to you, and which cannot interest you? if my brother will permit me, i will retire." "no; not before my mother has told me the name of her son, the great warrior," said the comanche, knitting his brow and stamping his foot with ill-restrained anger. the old spaniard saw an end must be put to this; his determination was formed in a second. "my brother is a great chief," he said, "although his hair is still brown, his wisdom is immense. i am his friend, and am sure he would not abuse the chance that has delivered into his hands the mother of his enemy: the name of that woman's son is loyal heart." "wah!" said eagle head, with a sinister smile, "i knew that well enough: why have the palefaces two hearts and two tongues? and why do they always seek to deceive the redskins?" "we have not sought to deceive you, chief." "i say you have. since you have been with us, you have been treated as children of the tribe. i have saved your life!" "that is true." "very well," he resumed, with an ironical smile, "i will prove to you that indians do not forget, and that they know how to render good for evil. these wounds that you see me bear, who inflicted them? loyal heart! we are enemies; his mother is in my power; i could at once tie her to the stake of torture; it is my right to do so." the two spaniards hung their heads. "the law of the prairies is an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. listen to me well, old oak. in remembrance of our ancient friendship, i grant you a respite. tomorrow at sunrise, you shall set out in search of loyal heart; if, within four days, he does not come to deliver himself up into my hands, his mother shall perish; my young men shall burn her alive at the stake of blood, and my brothers shall make war whistles of her bones. begone! i have spoken!" the old man eagerly implored mercy. he threw himself on his knees before the chief; but the vindictive indian spurned him with his foot, and turned away. "oh! madam," the old man murmured, in despair, "you are lost!" "but be sure, eusebio," the mother replied, choking with tears, "be sure not to bring back my son! of what consequence is my death! alas! has not my life already been long enough?" the old servant cast a glance of admiration at his mistress. "ever the same!" he said affectionately. "does not the life of a mother belong to her child?" she said, with a cry which seemed to come from her very heart. the old people sank, overwhelmed with grief, at the foot of a tree, and passed the night in praying to god. eagle head did not appear to have an idea of this despair. chapter xviii. nÔ eusebio. the precautions taken by eagle head to conceal his march were good as regarded the whites, whose senses, less kept upon the watch than those of partisans and hunters, and little acquainted with indian stratagems, are almost incapable of directing their course in these vast solitudes without a compass; but for men like loyal heart and belhumeur they were, in every respect, insufficient. the two bold partisans did not lose the track for an instant. accustomed to the zig-zags and devices of the indian warriors, they did not allow themselves to be deceived by the sudden turns, the counter marches, the false halts, in a word, by any of the obstacles which the comanches had planted so freely on their route. and then, there was one thing of which the indians had not dreamed, and which revealed as clearly the direction of their march as if they had taken the pains to mark it with stakes. we have said that the hunters had, close to the ruins of a cabin, found a bloodhound fastened to a tree, and that this bloodhound, when set free, after bestowing a few caresses on belhumeur, had set off; his nose to the wind, to rejoin his master, who was no other than the old spaniard--in fact, he did rejoin him. the traces of the bloodhound, which the indians never dreamed of effacing, for the very simple reason that they did not observe that he was with them, were to be seen all along, and for hunters so skilful as loyal heart and belhumeur, this was an ariadne's thread which nothing could break. the hunters therefore rode tranquilly on with their guns across the saddle and accompanied by their rastreros, in the track of the comanches, who were far from suspecting that they had such a rearguard. every evening loyal heart stopped at the precise place where eagle head had, on the previous day, established his camp, for such was the diligence of the two men that the indians only preceded them by a few leagues; the trappers could easily have passed them, if it had been their wish to do so; but, for certain reasons, loyal heart confined himself to following them for some time longer. after having passed the night in a quiet glade, on the banks of a clear rivulet, whose soft murmur had lulled them to sleep, the hunters were preparing to resume their journey, their horses were saddled, they were eating a slice of elk, standing, like people in a hurry to depart, when loyal heart, who, during the whole morning had not spoken a word, turned towards his companion, and said: "let us sit down a minute, there is no occasion to hurry, since eagle head has rejoined his tribe." "be it so," replied belhumeur, laying himself down upon the grass. "we can talk a bit." "i cannot think how it was i did not imagine these cursed comanches had a war detachment in the neighbourhood! it is impossible for us two to think of taking a camp in which there are five hundred warriors." "that's true," said belhumeur, philosophically; "they are a great many, and yet, you know, my dear friend, that if your heart bids you, we can but try; who knows what may happen?" "thanks!" said loyal heart, smiling; "but i think it useless." "as you like." "stratagem alone can assist us." "let us try stratagem, then; i am at your orders." "we have some traps near here, i believe?" "pardieu!" said the canadian, "within half a mile, at most, there is a large pond of beavers." "that's true; for the last few days, belhumeur, i scarcely know what i am thinking about; this captivity of my mother makes me mad; i must deliver her, cost what it may." "that is my opinion, loyal heart, and i will aid you in it with all my soul." "tomorrow morning, at daybreak, you will repair to black elk, and beg him, in my name, to collect as many white hunters and trappers as he can." "very well." "in the meantime i will go to the camp of the comanches, to treat for the ransom of my mother; if they will not restore her to me, we will have recourse to arms, and we will see if a score of the best rifles of the frontiers will not give a good account of five hundred of these plunderers of the prairies." "and if they should make you prisoner?" "in that case i will send you my bloodhound, who will come to you in the river grotto; on seeing it come alone, you will know what that means, and will act accordingly." the canadian shook his head. "no," said he, "i shall not do so." "what! you will not do so?" the hunter exclaimed, in great surprise. "certainly no, i will not do so, loyal heart. compared with you, who are so brave and so intelligent, i am but little worth, i know; but if i have only one good quality, nothing can deprive me of it, and that quality is my devotedness to you." "i know it, my friend; you love me like a brother." "and you would have me leave you, as they say in my country beyond the great lakes, to go cheerfully into the jaws of the wolf; and yet my comparison is humiliating for the wolf, for the indians are a thousand times more ferocious! no, i repeat, i will not do that; it would be a wicked action, and if any harm happened to you, i should never forgive myself." "explain yourself, belhumeur," said loyal heart, with a little impatience; "upon my honour i cannot possibly understand you." "oh! that will be easy enough," the canadian answered; "if i am not very clever, and am not an able speaker, i have good common sense, and can see my way clearly when those i love are concerned; and i love nobody better than you, now my poor father is dead." "speak then, my friend," said loyal heart, "and pardon the little ill-humour i could not repress." belhumeur reflected for a few seconds, and then continued:-- "you know," he said, "that the greatest enemies we have in the prairies are the comanches; by an inexplicable fatality, whenever we have had a struggle to maintain, it has been against them, and never have they been able to boast of the smallest advantage over us; hence has arisen between them and us an implacable hatred, a hatred which has latterly been increased by our quarrel with eagle head, whose arm you had the good chance, or rather the ill chance, of breaking, when it would have been so easy for you to have broken his head; a joke which i am convinced the chief has taken in very bad part, and will never forgive you. besides, i must confess that in his place i should entertain exactly the same sentiments; i bear him no malice on that account." "to the purpose! to the purpose!" loyal heart interrupted. "the purpose! well, this is it," belhumeur replied, displaying no surprise at his friend's interruption: "eagle head is anxious, by any means, to obtain your scalp, and it is evident that if you commit the imprudence of placing yourself in his hands, he will not let the opportunity slip of finally settling his accounts with you." "but," loyal heart replied, "my mother is in his power." "yes," said belhumeur; "but he does not know who she is. you are aware, my friend, that the indians only treat captured women ill in exceptional cases; generally they behave to them with the greatest respect." "that is true," said the hunter. "therefore, as no one will go and tell eagle head that his prisoner is your mother, unless she does so herself, through the uneasiness she may feel on your account, she is as safe among the redskins as if she were on the great square of quebec. it is useless, then, to commit an imprudence. let us get together a score of good fellows; i don't ask for more; and let us watch the indians. on the first opportunity that offers we will fall upon them vigorously, we will kill as many as we can, and deliver your mother. now that, i think, is the wisest course we can take; what do you think of it?" "i think, my friend," loyal heart replied, pressing his hand, "that you are the best creature in existence; that your advice is good, and i will follow it." "bravo!" belhumeur exclaimed, joyfully; "that is speaking something like." "and now----" said loyal heart, rising. "now?" belhumeur asked. "we will get on horseback; we will carefully avoid the indian camp, using all possible caution not to be tracked; and will then go to the hatto of our brave companion black elk, who is a man of good counsel, and who will certainly be useful to us in what we purpose doing." "be it so, then," said belhumeur cheerfully, leaping into his saddle. the hunters quitted the glade they had slept in, and making a _détour_ to avoid the indian camp, the smoke of which they perceived within a league of them, they directed their course towards the spot where, in all probability, black elk was philosophically employed in laying snares for beavers, the interesting animals that doña luz had admired so much. they had been thus riding on for nearly an hour, chatting and laughing, for the reasonings of belhumeur had succeeded in convincing loyal heart, who, thoroughly knowing the manners of the indians, was persuaded that his mother was in no danger, when his hounds on a sudden showed signs of excitement, and rushed forward, yelping with symptoms of joy. "what's the matter with our rastreros?" said loyal heart; "one would think they smelt a friend." "pardieu! they have scented black elk, and we shall probably see them come back together." "that is not unlikely," the hunter said pensively; and they continued their course. at the expiration of a few minutes they perceived a horseman riding towards them at full speed, surrounded by the dogs, who ran barking by his side. "it is not black elk," belhumeur cried. "no," said loyal heart, "it is nô eusebio; what can this mean? he is alone; can anything have happened to my mother?" "let us mend our pace," said belhumeur, clapping spurs to his horse, which sprang forward with the greatest velocity. the hunter followed him, a prey to mortal alarm. the three horsemen were soon together. "woe! woe!" the old man cried, in great agitation, as he approached. "what is the matter, nô eusebio? speak, in the name of heaven." "your mother, don rafaël! your mother!" "well, speak!--oh, speak!" the young man cried frantically. "oh, my god!" said the old man, wringing his hands, "it is too late!" "speak, then, in the name of heaven!--you are killing me." the old man cast on him a look of utter desolation. "don rafaël," he said, "have courage!--be a man!" "my god! my god! what fearful news are you going to communicate to me, my friend?" "your mother is a prisoner to eagle head." "i know she is." "if this very day, this morning even, you do not deliver yourself up to the chief of the comanches--" "well, well!" "she will be burnt alive." "ah!" the young man exclaimed, with a cry amounting to a shriek. his friend supported him, otherwise he would have fallen from his saddle. "but," belhumeur asked, "is it today--do you say, old man, that she is to be burnt?" "yes." "is there still time, then?" "alas! it was to be at sunrise; and see," he said, with an agonized gesture, pointing to the heavens. "oh!" loyal heart cried, with a vehemence impossible to be described, "i will save my mother!" and, bending over the neck of his horse, he set off with frantic rapidity. the others followed. he turned round towards belhumeur. "where are you going?" he asked, in a short, sharp tone. "to help you save your mother, or to die with you." "come on, then!" loyal heart replied, plunging his spurs into the bleeding sides of his horse. there was something fearful and terrible in the desperate course of these three men who, formed in line, with pale brows, compressed lips, and fiery looks, cleared torrents and ravines, surmounted all obstacles, incessantly urging their horses, which seemed to devour space, while panting painfully, bounding madly, and dripping with perspiration and blood. at intervals loyal heart shouted one of those cries peculiar to the mexican jinetes, and the reanimated horses redoubled their exertions. "my god! my god! save--save my mother!" the hunter kept repeating in a hollow voice, as he rode furiously onward. chapter xix. the council of the great chiefs. notwithstanding the stormy conversation he had had with eusebio, eagle head had continued to treat the prisoners with the greatest kindness, and that extreme delicacy of proceeding which is innate in the red race, and which we should be far from expecting on the part of men whom, without any plausible reason that i am acquainted with, we brand with the name of savages. there is one fact worthy of being noticed, and upon which we cannot too strongly dwell, and that is the manner in which indians generally treat their prisoners. far from inflicting useless tortures upon them, or tormenting them without cause, as has been too often repeated, they take the greatest care of them, and appear, in some sort, to compassionate their misfortune. in the circumstance of which we speak, the sanguinary determination of eagle head with regard to the mother of loyal heart was but an exception, the reason for which was naturally found in the hatred the indian chief had sworn to the hunter. the separation of the two prisoners was most painful and agonizing; the old servant set off, despair in his soul, in search of the hunter, whilst the poor mother, with a broken heart, followed the comanche warriors. on the second day, eagle head arrived at the _rendez-vous_ appointed by the great chiefs of the nation; all the tribe was assembled. nothing can be more picturesque and singular than the aspect presented by an indian camp. when the indians are on an expedition--whether of war or hunting--on encamping, they confine themselves to erecting, on the spot where they stop, tents of buffalo hides stretched upon poles planted cross-wise. these tents, the bottom parts of which are filled up with mounds of earth, have all a hole at the top, to leave a free issue for the smoke, which, without that precaution, would render them uninhabitable. the camp presented the most animated picture possible; the squaws passed here and there, loaded with wood and meat, or guided the sledges drawn by dogs, which conveyed their wealth; the warriors, gravely squatted around fires lighted in the open air, on account of the mildness of the temperature, were smoking and chatting together. and yet it was easy to guess that something extraordinary was about to happen; for notwithstanding the early hour--the sun scarcely appearing above the horizon--the principal chiefs were assembled in the council lodge, where, judging from the grave and reflective expression of their countenances, they were about to discuss some serious question. this day was the last of those granted by eagle head to eusebio. the indian warrior, faithful to his hatred, and in haste to satisfy his vengeance, had convoked the great chiefs in order to obtain their authority for the execution of his abominable project. we repeat it here, in order that our readers may be perfectly convinced--indians are not cruel for the pleasure of being so. necessity is their first law; and never do they order the punishment of a prisoner, particularly a woman, unless the interest of the nation requires it. as soon as the chiefs were assembled round the fire of council, the pipe bearer entered the circle, holding in his hand the calumet ready lighted; he bowed towards the four cardinal points, murmuring a short prayer, and then presented the calumet to the oldest chief, but retaining the bowl of the pipe in his hand. when all the chiefs had smoked, one after the other, the pipe bearer emptied the ashes of the pipe into the fire, saying-- "chiefs of the great comanche nation, may _natosh_ (god) give you wisdom, so that whatever be your determination, it may be conformable to justice." then, after bowing respectfully, he retired. a moment of silence followed, in which everyone seemed meditating seriously upon the words that had just been pronounced. at length the most aged of the chiefs arose. he was a venerable old man, whose body was furrowed with the scars of innumerable wounds, and who enjoyed among his people a great reputation for wisdom. he was named eshis (the sun). "my son eagle head has," he said, "an important communication to make to the council of the chiefs; let him speak, our ears are open. eagle head is a warrior as wise as he is valiant; his words will be listened to by us with respect." "thanks!" the warrior replied; "my father is wisdom itself. natosh conceals nothing from him." the chiefs bowed, and eagle head continued. "the palefaces, our eternal persecutors, pursue and harass us without intermission, forcing us to abandon to them, one by one, our best hunting grounds, and to seek refuge in the depths of the forest like timid deer; many of them even dare to come into the prairies which serve us as places of refuge, to trap beavers and hunt elks and buffaloes which are our property. these faithless men, the outcasts of their people, rob us and assassinate us when they can do it with impunity. is it just that we should suffer their rapine without complaining? shall we allow ourselves to be slaughtered like timid ashahas without seeking to avenge ourselves? does not the law of the prairies say, 'an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth?' let my father reply; let my brothers say if that is just?" "vengeance is allowable," said the sun; "it is the undoubted right of the weak and the oppressed; and yet it ought to be proportioned to the injury received." "good! my father has spoken like a wise man; what think you of it, my brothers?" "the sun cannot lie; all that he says is right," the chiefs replied. "has my brother cause to complain of anyone?" the old man asked. "yes," eagle head replied; "i have been insulted by a white hunter; he has several times attacked my camp; he has killed some of my young men in ambush; i myself have been wounded, as you may see--the scar is not yet closed. this man, in short, is the most cruel enemy the comanches have, for he pursues them like wild beasts, that he may enjoy their tortures, and hear their cries of agony." at these words, pronounced with an imposing expression, a shudder of anger ran through the assembly. the astute chief, perceiving that his cause was gained in the minds of his auditors, continued, without showing the internal joy he experienced-- "i might have been able, if it had only concerned myself," he said, "to pardon these injuries, however serious they may be; but we have now to deal with a public enemy, with a man who has sworn the destruction of our nation. hence, however painful be the necessity which constrains me, i ought not to hesitate to strike him in that which is dearest to him. his mother is in my hands. i have hesitated to sacrifice her; i have not allowed myself to be carried away by my hatred. i have wished to be just; and though it would have been so easy for me to kill this woman, i have preferred waiting till you, revered chiefs of our nation, should yourselves give me the order to do so. i have done still more: so repugnant was it to me to shed blood uselessly, and punish the innocent for the guilty, that i have granted this woman a respite of four days, in order to give her son the power of saving her, by presenting himself to suffer in her place. a paleface made prisoner by me is gone in search of him; but that man is a rabbit's heart--he has only the courage to assassinate unarmed enemies. he is not come! he will not come! this morning, at sunrise, expires the delay granted by me. where is this man? he has not appeared! what say my brothers? is my conduct just? ought i to be blamed? or shall this woman be tied to the stake, so that the palefaced robbers, terrified by her death, may acknowledge that the comanches are formidable warriors, who never leave an insult unpunished? have i spoken well, men of power?" after having pronounced this long speech, eagle head resumed his seat, and crossing his arms on his breast, he awaited, with his head cast down, the decision of the chiefs. a tolerably long silence followed this speech. at length the sun arose. "my brother has spoken well," he said. "his words are those of a man who does not allow himself to be governed by his passions; all he has said is just; the whites, our ferocious enemies, are eager for our destruction; however painful for us may be the punishment of this woman, it is necessary." "it is necessary!" the chiefs repeated, bowing their heads. "go!" the sun resumed, "make the preparations; give to this execution the appearance of an expiation, and not that of a vengeance; everybody must be convinced that the comanches do not torture women for pleasure, but that they know how to punish the guilty. i have spoken." the chiefs arose, and after respectfully bowing to the old man, they retired. eagle head had succeeded; he was about to avenge himself, without assuming the responsibility of an action of which he comprehended all the hideousness, but in which he had had the heart to implicate all the chiefs of his nation under an appearance of justice, for which, inwardly, he cared but very little. the preparations for the punishment were hurried on as fast as possible. the women cut thin splinters of ash to be introduced under the nails, others prepared elder pith to make sulphur matches, whilst the youngest went into the forest to seek for armfuls of green wood destined to burn the condemned woman slowly, while stifling her with the smoke it would produce. in the meantime, the men had completely stripped the bark off a tree which they had chosen to serve as the stake of torture; they had then rubbed it well with elk fat mixed with red ochre; round its base they had placed the wood of the pyre, and this done, the sorcerer had come to conjure the tree by means of mysterious words, in order to render it fit for the purpose to which they destined it. these preparations terminated, the condemned was brought to the foot of the stake, and seated, without being tied, upon the pile of wood intended to burn her; and the scalp dance commenced. the unfortunate woman was, in appearance, impassible. she had made the sacrifice of her life; nothing that passed around her could any longer affect her. her eyes, burning with fever and swollen with tears, wandered without purpose, over the vast crowd that enveloped her with the roarings of wild beasts. her mind watched, nevertheless, as keenly and as lucidly as in her happiest days. the poor mother had a fear which wrung her heart and made her endure a torture, compared with which those which the indians were preparing to inflict upon her were as nothing; she trembled lest her son, warned of the horrid fate that awaited her, should hasten to save her, and give himself up to his ferocious enemies. with her ear attentive to the least noise, she seemed to hear every instant the precipitate steps of her son flying to her assistance. her heart bounded with fear. she prayed god from the very depths of her soul to permit her to die instead of her beloved child. the scalp dance whirled ferociously around her. a crowd of warriors, tall, handsome, magnificently dressed, but with their faces blackened, danced, two by two, round the stake, led by seven musicians armed with drums and chicikoués, who were striped with black and red, and wore upon their heads feathers of the screech owl, falling down behind. the warriors had in their hands guns and clubs, ornamented with black feathers and red cloth, of which they brought the butts to the ground as they danced. these men formed a vast semicircle around the stake; in face of them, and completing the circle, the women danced. eagle head, who led the warriors, carried a long staff, at the end of which was suspended a human scalp, surmounted by a stuffed pie with its wings out-spread; a little lower on the same stick were a second scalp, the skin of a lynx, and some feathers. when they had danced thus for an instant, the musicians placed themselves by the side of the condemned, and made a deafening noise, singing, whilst beating the drums with all their force, and shaking the chicikoués. this dance continued a considerable time, accompanied by atrocious howlings, enough to madden with terror the unfortunate woman to whom they presaged the frightful tortures that awaited her. at length eagle head touched the condemned lightly with his stick. at this signal the tumult ceased as if by enchantment, the ranks were broken, and everyone seized his weapons. the punishment was about to begin! chapter xx. the torture. as soon as the scalp dance was over, the principal warriors of the tribe ranged themselves before the stake, their arms in hand, whilst the women, particularly the most aged, fell upon the condemned, abusing her, pushing her, pulling her hair, and striking her, without her opposing the least resistance, or seeking to escape the ill-treatment with which they loaded her. the unfortunate woman only hoped for one thing, and that was to see her punishment begin. she had watched with feverish impatience the whirlings of the scalp dance, so greatly did she fear to see her beloved son appear and place himself between her and her executioners. like the ancient martyrs, she in her heart accused the indians of losing precious time in useless ceremonies; if she had had the strength, she would have reprimanded them, and rallied them upon their slowness and the hesitation they seemed to display in the sacrifice. the truth was, that in spite of themselves, and although this execution appeared just, the comanches had a repugnance to torture a helpless woman, already aged, and who had never injured them, either directly or indirectly. eagle head himself, notwithstanding his hatred, felt something like a secret remorse for the crime he was committing. far from hastening on the last preparations, he only assisted with an indecision and a disgust that he could not succeed in surmounting. for intrepid men, accustomed to brave the greatest perils, it is always a degrading action to torture a weak creature, or a woman who has no other defence than her tears. if it had been a man, the agreement would have been general throughout the tribe to tie him to the stake. indian prisoners laugh at punishment, they insult their executioners, and, in their death songs, they reproach their conquerors with their cowardice, their inexperience in making their victims suffer; they enumerate their own brave deeds, they count the enemies they scalped before they themselves yielded; in short, by their sarcasms and their contemptuous attitudes, they excite the anger of their executioners, reanimate their hatred, and, to a certain point, justify their ferocity. but a woman, weak and resigned, presenting herself like a lamb to the shambles, already half dead, what interest could such an execution offer? there was no glory to be gained, but, on the contrary, a general reprobation to draw upon themselves. the comanches comprehended all this, thence their repugnance and hesitation. nevertheless, the business must be gone through. eagle head approached the prisoner, and delivering her from the harpies who annoyed her, said in a solemn voice-- "woman, i have kept my promise; your son is not come, you are about to die." "thanks," she said, in a tremulous voice, leaning against a tree to avoid falling. "are you not afraid of death?" he asked. "no," she replied, fixing upon him a look of angelic mildness; "it will be most welcome; my life has been nothing but one long agony; death will be to me a blessing." "but your son?" "my son will be saved if i die; you have sworn it upon the bones of your fathers." "i have sworn it." "deliver me up to death, then." "are the women of your nation, then, like indian squaws, who view torture without trembling?" the chief asked, with astonishment. "yes," she replied with great agitation; "all mothers despise it when the safety of their children is at stake." "listen," said the indian, moved with involuntary pity; "i also have a mother whom i love; if you desire it, i will retard your punishment till sunset." "what should you do that for?" she replied with terrible simplicity. "no, warrior; if my grief really touches you, there is one favour, one favour alone which you can grant me." "name it," he said earnestly. "put me to death immediately." "but if your son arrives?" "of what importance is that to you? you require a victim, do you not? very well, that victim is before you, you may torture her at your pleasure. why do you hesitate? put me to death, i say." "your desire shall be satisfied," the comanche replied in a melancholy tone. "woman, prepare yourself." she bowed her head upon her breast, and waited. upon a signal from eagle head, two warriors seized the prisoner, and tied her to the stake round the waist. then the exercise of the knife began; this is what it consists of:-- every warrior seizes his scalping knife by the point with the thumb and the first finger of his right hand, and launches it at the victim, so as to inflict only slight wounds. indians, in their punishments, endeavour to make the tortures continue as long as possible, and only give their enemy the _coup de grâce_ when they have torn life from him by degrees, and, so to say, piecemeal. the warriors launched their knives with such marvellous skill, that all of them just grazed the unfortunate woman, inflicting nothing more than scratches. the blood, however, flowed, she closed her eyes, and, absorbed in herself, prayed fervently for the mortal stroke. the warriors, to whom her body served as a target, grew warmer by degrees; curiosity, the desire of showing their skill, had taken in their minds the place of the pity they had at first felt. they applauded with loud shouts and laughter the prowess of the most adroit. in a word, as it always happens, as well among civilized people as among savages, blood intoxicated them; their self-love was brought into play; everyone sought to surpass the man who had preceded him; all other considerations were forgotten. when all had thrown their knives, a small number of the most skilful marksmen of the tribe took their guns. this time it was necessary to have a sure eye, for an ill-directed ball might terminate the punishment, and deprive the spectators of the attractive spectacle which promised them so much pleasure. at every discharge the poor creature shrank within herself, though giving no signs of life beyond a nervous shudder which agitated her whole body. "let us have an end of this," said eagle head, who felt, in spite of himself, his heart of bronze soften before so much courage and abnegation. "comanche warriors are not jaguars; this woman has suffered enough; let her die at once." a few murmurs were heard among the squaws and the children, who were the most eager for the punishment of the prisoner. but the warriors were of the opinion of their chief; this execution, shorn of the insults that victims generally address to their conquerors, possessed no attraction for them, and, besides, they were ashamed of such inveteracy against a woman. hence they spared the unfortunate woman the splinters of wood inserted under the nails, the sulphur matches fastened between the fingers, the mask of honey applied to the face that the bees might come and sting them, together with other tortures too long and hideous to enumerate, and they prepared the funeral pile upon which she was to be burnt. but before proceeding to the last act of this atrocious tragedy, they untied the poor woman; for a few minutes they allowed her to take breath and recover from the terrible emotions she had undergone. she sank on the ground almost insensible. eagle head approached her. "my mother is brave," he said; "many warriors would not have borne the trials with so much courage." a faint smile passed over her violet lips. "i have a son," she replied with a look of ineffable sweetness; "it is for him i suffer." "a warrior is happy in having such a mother." "why do you defer my death? it is cruel to act thus; warriors ought not to torment women." "my mother is right, her tortures are ended." "am i going to die at last?" she asked with a sigh of relief. "yes, they are preparing the pile." in spite of herself, the poor woman felt a shudder of horror thrill her whole frame at this fearful intimation. "burn me!" she cried with terror; "why burn me?" "it is the usual custom." she let her head sink into her hands; but soon recovering, she drew herself up, and raised an inspired glance towards heaven,-- "my god!" she murmured with resignation, "thy will be done!" "does my mother feel herself sufficiently recovered to be fastened to the stake?" the chief asked in something like a tone of compassion. "yes!" she said rising resolutely. eagle head could not repress a gesture of admiration. indians consider courage as the first of virtues. "come, then," he said. the prisoner followed him with a firm step--all her strength was restored, she was at length going to die! the chief led her to the stake of blood, to which she was bound a second time; before her they piled up the faggots of green wood, and at a signal from eagle head, they were set on fire. the fire did not for some time take, on account of the moisture of the wood, which discharged clouds of smoke; but, after a few moments, the flame sparkled, extended by degrees, and then acquired great intensity. the unfortunate woman could not suppress a cry of terror. at that moment a horseman dashed at full speed into the midst of the camp; at a bound he was on the ground, and before anyone could have opposed him, he tore away the burning wood from the pile, and cut the bonds of the victim. "oh! why have you come?" the poor mother murmured, sinking into his arms. "my mother! ho, pardon me!" loyal heart cried, "my god! how you must have suffered." "begone, begone, rafaël!" she repeated, smothering him with kisses; "leave me to die in your place; ought not a mother to give her life for her child?" "oh do not speak so, my mother! you will drive me mad," said the young man, clasping her in his arms with despair. by this time the emotion caused by the sudden appearance of loyal heart had subsided, the indian warriors had recovered that stoicism which they affect under all circumstances. eagle head advanced towards the hunter. "my brother is welcome," he said, "i had given over expecting him." "i am here; it was impossible to arrive sooner; my mother is free, i suppose?" "she is free." "she may go where she pleases?" "where she pleases." "no," said the prisoner, placing herself resolutely in front of the indian chief, "it is too late, it is i who am to suffer; my son has no right to take my place." "dear mother, what are you saying?" "that which is just," she replied with animation; "the time at which you were to have come is past, you have no right to be here to prevent my death. begone, begone, rafaël, i implore you!--leave me to die to save you," she added, bursting into tears and throwing herself into his arms. "my mother," the young man replied, returning her caresses, "your love for me misleads you; i cannot allow such a crime to be accomplished, i alone ought to be here." "my god! my god!" the poor mother exclaimed, sobbing, "he will not understand anything! i should be so happy to die for him." overcome by emotions too powerful for nature, the poor mother sunk fainting into the arms of her son. loyal heart impressed a long and tender kiss upon her brow, and placing her in the hands of nô eusebio, who had arrived some minutes before: said in a voice choked with grief. "begone, poor mother, may she be happy, if happiness can exist for her without her child." the old servant sighed, pressed the hand of loyal heart warmly, and placing the lifeless form of his mistress before him in the saddle, he turned his horse's head and left the camp slowly, no one attempting to oppose his departure. loyal heart looked after his mother as long as he could see her; then, when she disappeared, and the steps of the horse that bore her could no longer be heard, he breathed a deep, broken sigh, and passing his hand over his brow, murmured,-- "all is ended! my god, watch over her!" then, turning towards the indian chief who surveyed him in silence, mingled with respect and admiration--he said in a firm clear voice, and with a contemptuous look,-- "comanche warriors! you are all cowards! brave men do not torture women!" eagle head smiled. "we shall see," he said ironically, "if the pale trapper is as brave as he pretends to be." "at least i shall know how to die like a man," he replied haughtily. "the mother of the hunter is free." "yes. well! what do you want with me?" "a prisoner has no arms." "that's true," he said, with a smile of contempt, "i will give you mine." "not yet, if you please, good friend!" said a clear, sarcastic voice; and belhumeur rode up, bearing across the front of his saddle a child of four or five years of age, and a rather pretty young indian squaw securely fastened to the tail of his horse. "my son! my wife!" cried eagle head, in great terror. "yes," said the canadian jeeringly, "your wife and child, whom i have made prisoners. ah ah! that is pretty well played, is it not?" at a signal from his friend, loyal heart bounded on the woman, whose teeth chattered with fear, and who cast terrified looks on all sides. "now," belhumeur continued with a sinister smile, "let us talk a bit; i think i have equalized the chances a little--what say you?" and he placed the muzzle of a pistol to the brow of the little creature, which uttered loud cries on feeling the cold iron. "oh!" cried eagle head, in a tone of despair, "my son! restore me my son!" "and your wife--do you forget her?" belhumeur replied, with an ironical smile, and shrugging his shoulders. "what are your conditions?" eagle head asked. end of the first part. part ii. waktehno--"he who kills." chapter i. loyal heart. the position was completely changed. the hunters, who a moment before were at the mercy of the indians, felt they were not only in a manner free, but that they had it in their power to impose hard conditions. many guns were levelled in the direction of the canadian--many arrows were pointed towards him; but, at a signal from eagle head, the guns were recovered, and the arrows were returned to the quivers. the shame of being foiled by two men who audaciously braved them in the middle of their own camp, made the hearts of the comanches burn with anger. they were sensible of the impossibility of contending with their desperate adversaries. in fact, what could they do against these intrepid wood rangers, who reckoned life as nothing? kill them? but, in falling, they would slaughter without pity the prisoners whom the comanches were anxious to save. the most strongly developed feeling among redskins is love of family. for the sake of his children or his wife, the fiercest warrior would not hesitate to make concessions which the most frightful tortures, under other circumstances, could not force from him. thus, at the sight of his wife and child fallen into the power of belhumeur, eagle head only thought of their safety. of all men, indians are perhaps those who know how to bend with the greatest facility to the exigencies of an unforeseen situation. the comanche chief concealed in the depths of his heart the hatred and anger which devoured him. with a movement full of nobleness and disinterestedness, he threw back the blanket which served him as a cloak, and with a calm countenance and a smile on his lips, he approached the hunters. the latter, long accustomed to the mode of action of the redskins, remained in appearance impassible, awaiting the result of their bold _coup de main._ "my pale brothers," the chief said, "are full of wisdom, though their hair is black; they are acquainted with all the stratagems familiar to great warriors; they have the cunning of the beaver and the courage of the lion." the two men bowed in silence, and eagle head continued,-- "as my brother loyal heart is in the camp of the comanches of the great lakes, the hour has at length arrived for dispersing the clouds which have arisen between him and the redskins. loyal heart is just; let him explain himself without fear; he is in the presence of renowned chiefs, who will not hesitate to acknowledge their wrongs, if they have any towards him." "oh! oh!" the canadian replied with a sneer; "eagle head has quickly changed his sentiments with respect to us; does he believe he can deceive us with vain words?" a flash of hatred sparkled in the savage eye of the indian; but, with an extraordinary effort, he succeeded in restraining himself. suddenly a man stepped between the interlocutors. this man was eshis, the most highly venerated warrior of the tribe. the old man slowly raised his arm. "let my children listen to me," he said; "everything should be cleared up today; the pale hunters will smoke the calumet in council." "be it so," said loyal heart. upon a signal from the sun the principal chiefs of the tribe came and ranged themselves around him. belhumeur had not changed his position; he was ready, at the slightest doubtful gesture, to sacrifice his prisoners. when the pipe had gone the round of the circle formed near the hunters, the old chief collected himself; then, after bowing to the whites, he spoke as follows:-- "warriors, i thank the master of life for loving us redskins, and for having this day sent us two pale men, who may at length open their hearts. take courage, young men; do not allow yourselves to be cast down, and drive away the evil spirit far from you. we love you, loyal heart; we have heard of your humanity towards indians. we believe that your heart is open, and that your veins flow clear as the sun. it is true that we indians have not much sense when the firewater has power over us, and that we may have displeased you in various circumstances. but we hope you will think no more of it; and that, as long as you and we shall be in the prairies, we shall hunt side by side, as warriors who respect and love each other ought to do." to which loyal heart replied:-- "you, chiefs and other members of the nation of the comanches of the great lakes, whose eyes are opened, i hope you will lend an ear to the words of my mouth. the master of life has opened my brain, and caused friendly words to be breathed into my breast. my heart is filled with feelings for you, your wives, and your children; and what i say to you now proceeds from the roots of the feelings of myself and my friend. never in the prairie has my hatto been closed against the hunters of your nation. why then do you make war against us? why should you torture my mother, who is an old woman, and seek to deprive me of life? i am averse to the shedding of indian blood; for, i repeat to you, that notwithstanding all the ill you have done me, my heart leaps towards you!" "wah!" interrupted eagle head; "my brother speaks well: but the wound he inflicted upon me is not yet healed." "my brother is foolish," the hunter replied; "does he think me so unskilful that i could not have killed him, if such had been my intention? i will prove to you what i am capable of, and what i understand by the courage of a warrior. if i make but a sign, that woman and that child _will have ceased to live!_" "yes!" belhumeur added. a shudder ran through the ranks of the assembly. eagle head felt a cold perspiration pealing on his temples. loyal heart preserved silence for a minute, fixing an indefinable look upon the indians; then, raising his shoulders with disdain, he threw his weapons at his feet, and crossing his arms upon his breast, he turned towards the canadian. "belhumeur," he said, in a calm, clear voice, "restore these two poor creatures to liberty." "how can you dream of such a thing?" cried the astonished hunter; "why, that would be your sentence of death!" "i know it would." "well?" "i beg you to do it." the canadian made no reply. he began to whistle between his teeth, and, drawing his knife, he, at a stroke, cut the bonds which confined his captives, who bounded away like jaguars, uttering howlings of joy, to conceal themselves among their friends. he then replaced his knife in his belt, threw down his weapons, dismounted, and went and placed himself resolutely by the side of loyal heart. "what are you doing?" the latter cried. "make your escape, my friend." "what! save myself and leave you?" the canadian replied, carelessly. "no, thank you. as i must die once, i had quite as lief it should be today as hereafter. i shall never, perhaps, find so good an opportunity." the two men shook hands with an energetic grip. "now, chiefs," loyal heart said, addressing the indians in his clear, calm voice, "we are in your power, do with us as you think proper." the comanches looked at each other for an instant in a state of stupor. the stoical abnegation of these two men, who, by the bold action of one of them, might not only have escaped, but have dictated terms to them, and who, instead of profiting by this immense advantage, threw down their weapons and delivered themselves into their hands, appeared to them to exceed all instances of heroism celebrated in their nation. there followed a sufficiently long silence, during which the hearts might be heard beating in the breasts of those men of bronze, who, by their primitive impulsive education, are more apt than might be believed to understand all true feelings, and appreciate all really noble actions. at length eagle head, after a little hesitation, threw down his arms, and approaching the hunters, said, in an agitated voice, which contrasted with the stoical and indifferent appearance he sought in vain to preserve,-- "it is true, warriors of the palefaces, that you have great sense, that it sweetens the words you address to us, and that we all understand you; we know also that truth opens your lips. it is very difficult for us indians, who have not the reason of the whites, to avoid often committing, without wishing to do so, reprehensible actions; but we hope that loyal heart will take the skin from his heart, so that it may be as clear as ours, and that between us the hatchet may be buried so deeply that the sons of the sons of his grandsons, in a thousand moons and a hundred more, will not be able to find it." and placing his two hands upon the shoulders of the hunter, he kissed him upon the eyes, adding,-- "may loyal heart be my brother!" "be it so!" said the hunter, rejoiced at this conclusion; "henceforth i shall entertain for the comanches as much friendship as, up to this time, i have had mistrust." the indian chiefs crowded round their new friends, upon whom they lavished, with the ingenuousness that characterizes primitive natures, marks of affection and respect. the two hunters had been long known in the tribe of the serpent; their reputation was established. often at night, around their campfire, their exploits had struck with admiration the young men to whom the old warriors related them. the reconciliation was frank between loyal heart and eagle head; there did not remain between them the least trace of their past hatred. the heroism of the white hunter had conquered the animosity of the redskin warrior. the two men were chatting, peaceably seated at the entrance of a hut, when a great cry was heard, and an indian, with his features distorted by terror, rushed into the camp. all crowded round this man to learn his news; but the indian, perceiving eagle head, advanced towards him. "what is going on?" the chief asked. the indian cast a ferocious look at loyal heart and belhumeur, who had no more idea than the others of the cause of this panic. "take care that these two palefaces do not escape; we are betrayed," he said, in a broken voice, panting from the speed with which he had come. "let my brother explain himself more clearly," said eagle head. "all the white trappers, the long knives of the west, are assembled; they form a war detachment of near a hundred men; they are advancing and spreading themselves in such a manner, as to invest the camp on all sides at once." "are you sure these hunters come as enemies?" said the chief again. "what else can they be?" the indian warrior replied. "they are creeping like serpents through the high grass, with their guns before them, and their scalping knives in their teeth. chief, we are betrayed; these men have been sent among us to lull our vigilance to sleep." eagle head and loyal heart exchanged a glance of an undefinable expression, and which was an enigma for all but themselves. the comanche chief turned towards the indian. "did you see," he said, "who marched at the head of the hunters?" "yes, i saw him." "was it amick (black elk), the principal guardian of loyal heart's traps?" "who else could it be?" "very well! retire," said the warrior, dismissing the messenger with a nod of the head; then, addressing the hunter, he asked, "what is to be done?" "nothing," loyal heart replied, "this concerns me, my brother must leave me to act alone." "my brother is master!" "i will go and meet these hunters; let eagle head keep his young men in the camp till my return." "that shall be done." loyal heart threw his gun upon his shoulder, gave belhumeur a shake of the hand, and a smile to the comanche chief, and then directed his course to the forest, at that pace, at once firm and easy, which was habitual to him. he soon disappeared among the trees. "hum;" said belhumeur, lighting his indian pipe, and addressing eagle head, "you see, chief, that in this world, it is not often a bad speculation, to allow ourselves to be guided by our hearts." and satisfied beyond measure with this philosophical fancy, which appeared to him quite to the purpose, the canadian enveloped himself in a thick cloud of smoke. by the orders of the chief, all the sentinels spread round the outskirts of the camp were called in. the indians awaited with impatience the result of loyal heart's proceedings. chapter ii. the pirates. it was evening, at a distance nearly equal from the camp of the mexicans, and that of the comanches. concealed in a ravine, deeply enclosed between two hills, about forty men were assembled around several fires, dispersed in such a manner that the light of the flames could not betray their presence. the strange appearance offered by this assemblage of adventurers, with gloomy features, ferocious glances, and strange and mean attire, offered a feature worthy of the crayon of callot, or the pencil of salvator rosa. these men, a heterogeneous mixture of all the nationalities that people the two worlds, from russia to china, were the most complete collection of scoundrels that can be imagined; thorough food for the gallows, without faith or law, fire or home, the true outcasts of society, which had rejected them from its bosom, obliged to seek a refuge in the depths of the prairies of the west; even in these deserts they formed a band apart, fighting sometimes against the hunters, sometimes against the indians, excelling both in cruelty and roguery. these men were, in a word, what people have agreed to call, the pirates of the prairies. a denomination which suits them in every way, since, like their brothers of the ocean, hoisting all colours, or rather tramping them all underfoot, they fall upon every traveller who ventures to cross the prairies alone, attack and plunder caravans, and when all other prey escapes them, they hide themselves traitorously in the high grass to entrap the indians, whom they assassinate in order to gain the premium which the paternal government of the united states gives for every aboriginal scalp, as in france they pay for the head of a wolf. this troop was commanded by captain waktehno, whom we have already had occasion to bring on the scene. there prevailed at this moment among these bandits an agitation that presaged some mysterious expedition. some were cleaning and loading their arms, others mending their clothes; some were smoking and drinking mezcal, others were asleep, folded in their ragged cloaks. the horses, all saddled and ready for mounting, were fastened to pickets. at stated distances, sentinels, leaning on their long rifles, silent and motionless as statues of bronze, watched over the safety of all. the dying flashes of the fires, which were expiring by degrees, threw a reddish reflection upon this picture that gave the pirates a still fiercer aspect. the captain appeared a prey to extreme anxiety; he walked with long strides among his subordinates, stamping his foot with anger, and stopping at intervals to listen to the sound of the prairies. the night became darker and darker, the moon had disappeared, the wind moaned hoarsely among the hills, and the pirates had eventually fallen asleep one after another. the captain alone still watched. all at once he fancied that he heard at a distance the report of firearms, then a second, and all again was silent. "what does this mean?" the captain murmured, angrily; "have my rascals allowed themselves to be surprised?" then, folding himself carefully in his cloak, he hastily directed his course to the side whence the reports appeared to come. the darkness was intense; and, notwithstanding his knowledge of the country, the captain could only advance with difficulty through brambles, thistles, and briars, which, at every step, impeded his progress. he was several times obliged to stop and look about him to be sure of his route, from which the turnings and windings necessitated by blocks of rock and thickets, continually diverted him. during one of these halts, he fancied he could perceive, at a small distance from him, the rustling of leaves and boughs, like that which is produced by the passage of a man or a wild beast through underwood. the captain concealed himself behind the trunk of a gigantic acajou, drew his pistols, and cocked them, in order to be prepared for whatever might happen; then, bending his head forward, he listened. all was calm around him; it was that mysterious time of night when nature seems to sleep, and when all the nameless sounds of the solitude are quieted down, so that, as the indians express it, nothing is to be heard but silence. "i must have been deceived," the pirate muttered; and he began to retrace his steps. but, at that moment, the noise was repeated, nearer and more distinctly, and was immediately followed by a stifled groan. "the devil!" said the captain; "this begins to be interesting: i must clear this up." after a hasty movement forward of a few steps, he saw, gliding along, at a short distance from him, the scarcely distinguishable shadow of a man. this person, whoever he was, seemed to walk with difficulty; he staggered at every step, and stopped at intervals, as if to recover strength. he frequently allowed a smothered complaint to escape him. the captain sprang forward, to bar his passage. when the unknown perceived him, he uttered a cry of terror, and fell on his knees, murmuring in a voice broken by terror-- "pardon! pardon! do not kill me!" "why!" exclaimed the astonished captain, "it is the babbler! who the devil has treated him in this fashion?" and he bent over him. it was indeed the guide. he had fainted. "plague stifle the fool!" the captain muttered, with vexation. "what's the use of asking him anything now?" but the pirate was a man of resources; he replaced his pistols in his belt, and raising the wounded man, he threw him over his shoulders. loaded with his burden, which scarcely seemed to lessen his speed, he hastily returned to the camp by the way he had left it. he deposited the guide close to a half-extinguished brazier, into which he threw an armful of dry wood to revive it. a clear blaze soon enabled him to examine the man who lay senseless at his feet. the features of the babbler were livid, a cold perspiration stood in drops upon his temples, and the blood flowed in abundance from a wound in his breast. "_cascaras!_" the captain muttered; "here is a poor devil who has got his business done! i hope before he departs he will, however, tell me who has done him this favour, and what has become of kennedy!" like all the wood rangers, the captain possessed a small practical knowledge of medicine; it was nothing new to him to dress a shot wound. thanks to the attentions he lavished on the bandit, the latter was not long in coming to himself. he breathed a heavy sigh, opened his haggard eyes, but remained for some time unable to speak; after several fruitless efforts, however, aided by the captain, he succeeded in sitting up, and shaking his head repeatedly, he murmured in a low, broken voice: "all is lost, captain! our plan has failed!" "a thousand thunders!" the captain cried, stamping his feet with rage. "how has this happened?" "the girl is a demon!" the guide replied, whose difficult respiration and gradually weaker voice showed that he had but a few minutes to live. "if you can manage, anyhow," said the captain, who had understood nothing by the exclamation of the wounded man, "tell me how things have gone on, and who is your assassin, that i may avenge you." a sinister smile painfully crossed the violet lips of the guide. "the name of my assassin?" he said, in an ironical tone. "yes." "well, her name is doña luz." "doña luz!" the captain cried, starting with surprise, "impossible!" "listen," the guide resumed; "my moments are numbered; i shall soon be a dead man. in my position people don't lie. let me speak without interrupting me. i don't know whether i shall have time to tell you all, before i go to render my account to him who knows everything." "speak!" said the captain. and, as the voice of the wounded man became weaker and weaker, he went down upon his knees close to him, in order to lose none of his words. the guide closed his eyes, collected himself for a few seconds, and then, with great effort, said,-- "give me some brandy?" "you must be mad! brandy will kill you!" the wounded man shook his head. "it will give me the necessary strength to enable me to tell you all i have to say. am i not already half dead!" "that's true," muttered the captain. "do not hesitate, then," the wounded man replied, who had heard him; "time presses; i have important things to inform you of." "if it must be so, it must," said the captain, after a moment's hesitation; and taking his gourd, he applied it to the lips of the guide. the latter drank eagerly and copiously; a feverish flush coloured his hollow cheeks, his almost extinguished eyes flashed and gleamed with an unnatural fire. "now," he said, in a firm and pretty loud voice, "do not interrupt me: when you see me become weak, let me drink again. i, perhaps, shall have time to tell you all." the captain made a sign of assent, and the babbler began. his recital was rendered long by the repeated weakness with which he was seized; when it was terminated, he added,-- "you see, that this woman is, as i have told you, a demon; she has killed both kennedy and me. renounce the capture of her, captain; she is game you cannot bring down; you will never get possession of her." "hum!" said the captain, knitting his brows; "do you imagine that i give up my projects in that fashion?" "i wish you luck, then," the guide murmured; "as for me, my business is done--my account is settled. adieu, captain!" he added, with a strange sort of smile, "i am going to all the devils--we shall meet again yonder." and he sank back. the captain endeavoured to raise him again; but he was dead. "a good journey to you!" he muttered, carelessly. he took the corpse upon his shoulders, carried it into a thicket, in the middle of which he made a hole, and placed it in it; then, this operation being achieved in a few minutes, he returned to the fire, wrapped himself in his cloak, stretched himself on the sod, with his feet towards the brazier, and fell asleep, saying,-- "in a few hours it will be light, and we will than see what we have to do." bandits do not sleep late. at sunrise all were on the alert in the camp of the pirates; everyone was preparing for departure. the captain, far from renouncing his projects, had, on the contrary, determined to hasten the execution of them, so as not to allow the mexicans time to find among the white trappers of the prairies auxiliaries who might render success impossible. as soon as he was certain that the orders he had issued were understood, the captain gave the signal for departure. the troop set off in the indian fashion, that is to say, literally turning their backs towards the point to which they directed their course. when they arrived at a spot which appeared to present to them the security they desired, the pirates dismounted; the horses were confided to a few determined men, and the rest, crawling along upon the ground like a swarm of vipers, or jumping from branch to branch, and from tree to tree, advanced, with all the customary precautions, towards the camp of the mexicans. chapter iii. devotedness. as we said in a preceding chapter, the doctor had left the camp of the mexicans, charged by doña luz with a message for black elk. like all learned men, the doctor was absent by nature, and that with the best intentions in the world. during the first moments, according to the custom of his brethren, he puzzled his brain to endeavour to make out the signification of the words, somewhat cabalistical in his opinion, that he was to repeat to the trapper. he could not comprehend what assistance his friends could possibly obtain from a half-wild man, who lived alone in the prairie, and whose existence was passed in hunting and trapping. if he had accepted this mission so promptly, the profound friendship he professed for the niece of the general was the sole cause: although he expected no advantageous result from it, as we have said, he had set out resolutely, convinced that the certainty of his departure would calm the uneasiness of the young lady. in short, he had rather meant to satisfy the caprice of a patient, than undertake a serious affair. in the persuasion, therefore, that the mission with which he was charged was a useless one, instead of going full speed, as he ought to have done, to the toldo of black elk, he dismounted, passed his arm through his bridle, and began to look for simples, an occupation which, ere long, so completely absorbed him, that he entirely forgot the instructions of doña luz, and the reason why he had left the camp. in the meanwhile, time passed slowly because anxiously; half the day was gone, and the doctor, who ought long before to have returned, did not appear. the uneasiness became great in the camp, where the general and the captain had organized everything for a vigorous defence in case of attack. but nothing appeared. the greatest calm continued to prevail in the environs; the mexicans were not far from thinking it a false alarm. doña luz alone felt her inquietude increase every instant; with her eyes fixed upon the plain, she looked in vain in the direction her expected messengers should arrive by. all at once, it struck her that the high grass of the prairie had an oscillating motion which was not natural to it. there was not a breath in the air; a heavy, stifling heat weighed down all nature; the leaves of the trees, scorched by the sun, were motionless; the high grass alone, agitated by a slow and mysterious movement, continued to oscillate. and, what was most extraordinary, this almost imperceptible motion, which required close attention to be observed, was not general; on the contrary, it was successive, approaching the camp by degrees, with a regularity which gave reason for supposing an organized impulsion; so that, in proportion as it was communicated to the nearest grass, the most distant returned by degrees to a state of complete immobility, from which it did not change. the sentinels placed in the intrenchments could not tell to what to attribute this movement, of which they understood nothing. the general, as an experienced soldier, resolved to know what it meant; although he had never personally had to do with the indians, he had heard too much of their manner of fighting not to suspect some stratagem. not wishing to weaken the camp, which stood in need of all its defenders, he resolved himself to undertake the adventure, and go out on the scout. at the instant he was about to climb over the intrenchments, the captain stopped him, by placing his hand respectfully on his shoulders. "what do you want with, me, my friend?" the general asked, turning round. "i wish, with your permission, to put a question to you, general." "do so." "you are leaving the camp?" "i am." "to go in search of intelligence, no doubt?" "i admit that is my intention." "then, general, it is to me that mission belongs." "ay! how is that?" said the astonished general. "good god! general, that is very plain; i am but a poor devil of an officer, and owe everything to you." "what then?" "the peril i shall run, if peril there be, will not in any way compromise the success of the expedition; whereas----" "if you are killed." the general started. "everything must be foreseen and provided for," continued the captain, "when we have before us such adversaries as those that threaten us." "that is true. what then?" "well, the expedition will fail, and not one of us will ever see a civilized country again. you are the head; we are but the arms; remain, therefore, in the camp." the general reflected for a few seconds; then pressing the hand of the young man cordially, he said,-- "thank you, but i must see for myself what is being plotted against us. the circumstance is too serious to allow me to trust even to you." "you must remain in the camp, general," persisted the captain, "if not for our sake, at least for that of your niece, that innocent and delicate creature, who, if any misfortune should happen to you, would find herself alone, abandoned amidst ferocious tribes, without support, and without a protector. of what consequence is my life to me, a poor lad without a family, who owes everything to your kindness? the hour is come to prove my gratitude--let me discharge my debt." "but----" the general tried to speak. "you know," the young man continued, warmly, "if i could take your place with doña luz, i would do it with joy; but i am as yet too young to play that noble part. come, general, let me go instead of you, it is my duty to do so." half by persuasion, half by force he succeeded in drawing the old soldier back; he sprang upon the intrenchments, leaped down on the other side, and set off at full speed, after making a last sign of farewell. the general looked after him as long as he could perceive him; then he passed his hand across his careful brow, murmuring,-- "brave boy! excellent nature!" "is he not, uncle?" doña luz replied, who had approached and listened without being seen. "ah! were you there, dear child?" he said, with a smile, which he endeavoured in vain to render cheerful. "yes, dear uncle, i have heard all." "that is well, dear little one," the general said, with an effort; "but this is not the time to give way to feeling. i must think of your safety. do not remain here longer; come with me; an indian bullet might easily reach you here." taking her by the hand, he led her affectionately to the tent. after leading her in, he gave her a kiss upon her brow, advised her not to go out again, and returned to the intrenchments, where he set himself to watch with the greatest care what was going on in the plain; calculating the while, mentally, the time that had passed since the departure of the doctor, and feeling astonished at not seeing him return. "he must have fallen in with the indians," he said; "i only hope they have not killed him." captain aguilar was an intrepid soldier, trained in the incessant wars of mexico; he knew how to unite prudence with courage. when he arrived at a certain distance from the camp, he laid himself on the ground, face downwards, and reached, by creeping along thus, a rough piece of rock, admirably situated for concealment and observation. everything appeared quiet around him; nothing denoted the approach of an enemy. after spending a sufficient time in keenly exploring with his eyes the country beyond him, he was preparing to return to the camp, with a conviction that the general was deceived, and no imminent peril existed, when suddenly, within ten paces of him, an asshata bounded up in great terror, with ears erect and head thrown back, and fled away with extreme velocity. "oh! oh!" the young man said to himself, "there is something here, though. let us try if we cannot make out what." quitting the rock behind which he had been screened, he, with great precaution, advanced a few steps, in order to satisfy his suspicions. the grass became powerfully agitated, half a score men arose suddenly from various points, and surrounded him before he had time to put himself on the defensive, or regain the shelter he had imprudently quitted. "well," he said, with disdainful coolness, "luckily i know now with whom i have to deal." "surrender!" one of the men nearest to him shouted. "no, thank you," he replied, with an ironical smile. "you are fools if you expect that. you must kill me out and out before you take me." "then we will kill you, my dainty spark," the first speaker answered, brutally. "i reckon upon that," said the captain, in a jeering tone; "but i mean to defend myself; that will make a noise, my friends will hear us, your surprise will be a failure, and that is exactly what i wish." these words were pronounced with a coolness that made the pirates pause. these men belonged to the band of captain waktehno, who was himself among them. "yes," retorted the captain of the bandits, "your idea is not a bad one, only you forget that we can kill you without making a noise; and so your clever plan will come to nothing." "bah! who knows?" said the young man, and before the pirates could prevent him, he made an extraordinary spring backwards, by which he overset two men, and ran with his best speed in the direction of the camp. the first surprise over, the bandits darted forward in pursuit of him. this trial of speed lasted a considerable time without the pirates being able to perceive that they gained ground on the fugitive. though not relaxing in the pursuit, as they tried as much as possible to avoid being seen by the mexican sentinels, whom they hoped to surprise, they were obliged to make turnings which necessarily impeded their course. the captain had arrived within hearing of his friends, and he cast a glance behind him. profiting by a moment in which he had paused to take breath, the bandits had gained upon him considerably, and the young man became aware that if he continued to fly, he should cause the misfortune he wished to avoid. his determination was formed in an instant; he was satisfied he must die, but he wished to die as a soldier, and make his fall useful to those for whom he devoted himself. he placed his back against a tree, laid his machete within reach, drew his pistols from his belt, and facing the bandits, who were not more than thirty paces from him, he cried in a loud voice, in order to attract the attention of his friends:-- "to arms! to arms! be on your guard! the enemies are here!" then, with the greatest coolness, he discharged his weapons as if at a target--he had four double-barrelled pistols--repeating as every pirate fell, as loud as he could shout,-- "to arms! the enemies are here! they will surround you! be on your guard! be on your guard!" the bandits, exasperated by this brave defence, rushed upon him with great rage, forgetting all the precautions they had till that time taken. then commenced a horrible but an almost superhuman struggle of one man against twenty or thirty; for it seemed, as every pirate fell, that another took his place. the conflict was fearful! the young man had determined to make the sacrifice of his life, but he was equally resolved to sell it dearly. we have said that at every shot he fired he had uttered a warning cry; his pistols being discharged, at every stroke of his machete that he dealt he did the same, to which the mexicans replied by keeping up, on their part, a rolling fire of musketry upon the pirates, who showed themselves openly, blindly bent upon the destruction of a man who so audaciously barred their passage with the impenetrable barrier of his loyal breast. at length the captain was brought down on one knee. the pirates rushed upon him, pell-mell, wounding each other in their frantic efforts to destroy him. such a combat could not last long. captain aguilar fell, but in falling he drew with him a dozen pirates he had immolated, and who formed a bloody escort on his passage to the tomb. "hum!" muttered captain waktehno, surveying him with admiration, whilst staunching the blood of a large wound he had received in the breast; "a roughish sort of fellow! if the others are like him, we shall have more than our work to do. come!" he continued turning towards his companions, who awaited his orders, "do not let us stand here any longer to be shot at like pigeons. to the assault, in god's name!--to the assault!" the pirates rushed after him, brandishing their arms, and began to climb the rock, vociferating, "to the assault! to the assault!" on their side, the mexicans, witnesses of the heroic death of captain aguilar, prepared to avenge him. chapter iv. the doctor. whilst these terrible events were being accomplished, the doctor was quietly herbalizing. the worthy _savant_, enraptured by the rich _flora_ he had beneath his eyes, had forgotten everything but the thoughts of the ample harvest he could make. he proceeded with his body bent towards the ground, stopping for a long time before every plant he admired, ere he resolved to pull it up. when he had loaded himself with an infinite number of plants and herbs exceedingly valuable to him, he resolved at length to seat himself quietly at the foot of a tree, and classify them at his ease, with all the care that celebrated professors are accustomed to bring to this delicate operation, mumbling in the meantime, some morsels of biscuit which he drew from his bag. he remained a long time absorbed in this occupation, which procured him one of those extreme delights which the learned alone can enjoy, and which are unknown to the vulgar. he would probably have forgotten himself in this labour until night had surprised him, and forced him to seek shelter, had not a dark shadow come between him and the sun, and projected its reflection upon the plants he had classified with so much care. he mechanically raised his head. a man, leaning on a long rifle, had stopped before him, and was contemplating him with a kind of laughing attention. this man was black elk. "he! he!" he said to the doctor, "what are you doing there, my good sir? seeing the grass moved about so, i thought there was a doe in the thicket, and, devil take me! if i was not on the point of sending a bullet at you." "the deuce!" the doctor cried, eyeing him with an expression of terror, "you should be careful; do you know you might have killed me?" "well, i might," the trapper replied, laughing; "but don't be afraid! i perceived my error in time." "god be praised!" and the doctor, who had just perceived a rare plant stooped eagerly to seize it. "then you won't tell me what you are doing?" the hunter continued. "why, can't you see, my friend?" "who, i? yes; i see you are amusing yourself with pulling up the weeds of the prairie, that is all; and i should like to know what for?" "oh! ignorance!" the savant murmured, and then added aloud with that tone of doctorial condescension peculiar to the disciples of Æsculapius: "my friend, i am gathering simples, which i collect, in order to classify them in my herbal; the _flora_ of these prairies is magnificent; i am convinced that i have discovered at least three new species of the _chirostemon pentadactylon,_ of which the genus belongs to the _flora mexicana_." "ah!" said the hunter, staring with all his eyes, and making strong efforts to refrain from laughing in the doctor's face. "you think you have really found three new species of--" "chirostemon pentadactylon, my friend," said the doctor, patronizingly. "ah! bah!" "at least; perhaps there may be a fourth!" "oh! oh! there is some use in it, then?" "some use in it, indeed!" the doctor cried, much scandalized. "well, don't be angry, i know nothing about it." "that is true!" said the savant, softened by the tone of black elk; "you cannot comprehend the importance of these labours, which advance science at an immense speed." "well, only to think! and it was only for the purpose of pulling up herbs in this manner that you came into the prairie?" "for nothing else." black elk looked at him with the admiration created by the sight of an inexplicable phenomenon; the hunter could not succeed in comprehending how a sensible man should resolve willingly to endure a life of privation and perils for the, to him, unintelligible object of pulling up useless plants; therefore he soon came to a conviction that he must be mad. he cast upon him a look of commiseration; shaking his head, and shouldering his rifle, he prepared to go on his way. "well! well!" he said, in the tone usually employed towards children, and idiots; "you are right, my good sir; pull away! pull away! you do nobody any harm, and there will always be plenty left. i wish you good sport; such as it is. i shall see you again." and, whistling his dogs, he proceeded a few steps, but almost immediately returned. "one word more," he said, addressing the doctor, who had already forgotten him, and was again busied in the employment which the arrival of the hunter had forced him to interrupt. "speak!" he replied, raising his head. "i hope that the young lady who came to visit my hatto yesterday, in company with her uncle, is well? poor dear child, you cannot imagine how much i am interested in her, my good sir!" the doctor rose up suddenly, striking his forehead. "fool that i am!" he cried, "i had completely forgotten it." "forgotten what?" the astonished hunter asked. "this is always my way!" the savant muttered; "fortunately the mischief is not great; as you are here, it can easily be repaired." "what mischief are you talking about?" said the trapper, beginning to feel uneasy. "you may imagine," the doctor continued, quietly, "that if science absorbs me so completely as to make me often forget to eat and drink, i am likely sometimes not to remember the commissions i am charged with." "to the point! to the point!" said the hunter impatiently. "oh! good lord, it's very simple. i left the camp at daybreak to come to your hatto; but when i arrived here, i was so charmed with the innumerable rare plants that my horse trod under foot, that without thinking of pursuing my route, i stopped at first to pull up one plant, then i perceived another that was not in my herbal, and another after that, and so on.--in short, i thought no more of coming to you, and was, indeed, so absorbed by my researches, that even your unexpected presence, just now, did not recall to my mind the commission i had to you." "and did you leave the camp at daybreak?" "good heavens, yes!" "and do you know what o'clock it is now?" the savant looked at the sun. "almost three!" he said, "but i repeat that it is of little consequence. you being here, i can report to you what doña luz charged me to tell you, and all will be right, no doubt." "god grant that your negligence may not prove the cause of a great misfortune," said the hunter, with a sigh. "what do you mean by that?" "you will soon know. i hope i may be deceived. speak, i am listening to you." "this is what doña luz begged me to repeat to you----" "was it doña luz that sent you to me?" "herself!" "has anything serious taken place at the camp, then?" "ah! why, yes; and that, perhaps, may make it more important than i at first imagined. this is what has happened: last night one of our guides----" "the babbler?" "the same. do you know him?" "yes. go on." "well! it appears that the man was plotting with another bandit of his own sort, to deliver up the camp to the indians. doña luz, most probably by chance, overheard the conversation of these fellows, and, at the moment they were passing her, she fired two pistols at them, quite close." "did she kill them?" "unfortunately, no. one of them, although no doubt grievously wounded, was able to escape." "which of them?" "the babbler." "well, and then?" "why, then doña luz made me swear to come to you, and say stop a bit," said the savant, trying to recollect the words. "black elk, the hour is come!" the hunter, impetuously interrupted. "that's it! that's it!" said the savant, rubbing his hands for joy, "i had it at the tip of my tongue. i must confess it appeared rather obscure to me, i could not fancy what it meant; but you will explain it, will you not?" the hunter seized him vigorously by the arm, and drawing his face close to his own, he said, with an inflamed look and features contracted by anger,-- "wretched madman! why do you not come to me as quickly as possible, instead of wasting your time like an idiot? your delay will, perhaps, cause the death of all your friends!" "is it possible!" cried the chapfallen doctor, without noticing the somewhat rough manner in which the hunter shook him. "you were charged with a message of life and death, fool that you are! now, what is to be done? perhaps it is too late!" "oh! do not say so," said the savant, in great agitation, "i should die with despair if it were so." the poor man burst into tears, and gave unequivocal proofs of the greatest grief. black elk was obliged to console him. "come, come, courage, my good sir!" he said, softening a little. "what the devil, perhaps all is not lost?" "oh! if i were the cause of such a misfortune, i should never survive it!" "well, what is done, is done; we must act accordingly," said the trapper philosophically. "i will think how they are to be assisted. thanks be to god, i am not so much alone as might be supposed--i hope within two hours to have got together thirty of the best rifles in the prairies." "you will save them, will you not?" "at least, i will do all that can be done, and, if it please god, i shall succeed." "may heaven hear you!" "amen!" said the hunter, crossing himself devoutly. "now, listen to me; you must return to the camp." "immediately!" "but no more gathering of flowers, or pulling up of grass, if you please." "oh, i swear i will not. cursed be the hour in which i set myself to herbalize!" said the doctor, with comic despair. "very well, that's agreed. you must comfort the young lady as well as her uncle; you must recommend them to keep good guard, and, in case of an attack, to make a vigorous resistance; and tell them they shall soon see friends come to their assistance." "i will tell them all that." "to horse, then, and gallop all the way to the camp." "be satisfied, i will; but you, what are you going to do?" "oh! don't trouble yourself about me. i shall not be idle; all you have to do is to rejoin your friends as soon as possible." "within an hour i shall be with them." "courage and good luck, then! above all, don't despair." black elk let go the bridle which he had seized, and the doctor set off at a gallop, a pace to which the good man was so little accustomed, that he had great trouble to preserve his equilibrium. the trapper watched his departure for an instant, then, turning round, he strode with hasty steps into the forest. he had scarcely walked ten minutes when he met nô eusebio, who was conveying the mother of loyal heart across his saddle, in a fainting state. this meeting was for the trapper a piece of good fortune, of which he took advantage to obtain from the old spaniard some positive information about the hunter--information which eusebio hastened to give him. the two men then repaired to the hatto of the trapper, from which they were but a short distance, and in which they wished to place the mother of their friend for the present. chapter v. the alliance. we must now return to loyal heart. after walking straight forward about ten minutes, without giving himself the trouble to follow one of those innumerable paths that intersect the prairie in all directions, the hunter stopped, put the butt end of his gun to the ground, looked round carefully on all sides, lent his ear to those thousands of noises of the desert which all have a meaning for the man accustomed to a prairie life; and, probably satisfied with the result of his observations, he imitated, at three different equal intervals the cry of the pie, with such perfection, that several of those birds, concealed among the thickest of the trees, replied to him immediately. the third cry had scarcely ceased to vibrate in the air, ere the forest, mute till that moment, and apparently plunged in complete solitude, became animated as if by enchantment. on all sides arose, from the midst of bushes and grass, in which they had been concealed, a crowd of hunters with energetic countenances and picturesque costumes, who formed, in an instant, a dense crowd round the trapper. it chanced that the two first faces that caught the eye of loyal heart were those of black elk and nô eusebio, both posted at a few paces from him. "oh!" he said, holding out his hand eagerly; "i understand it all, my friends. thanks! a thousand thanks for your cordial coming; but, praise be to god! your succour is not necessary." "so much the better!" said black elk. "but how did you get out of the hands of those devilish redskins?" the old servant asked, eagerly. "don't speak ill of the comanches," loyal heart replied, with a smile; "they are now my brothers." "do you speak seriously?" cried black elk, with warmth; "can you really be on good terms with the indians?" "you shall judge for yourself. peace is made between them and me, my friends. if agreeable to you, i will introduce you to each other." "by heaven! at the present moment nothing could fall out more fortunately," said black elk; "and as you are free, we shall be able to concern ourselves for other people, who are, at this moment, in great peril, and stand in need of our immediate assistance." "what do you mean?" loyal heart asked, with a curiosity mingled with interest. "i mean, that some people to whom you have already rendered great services, on the occasion of the last fire in the prairie, are at this moment surrounded by a band of pirates, who will soon attack them, if they have not already done so. "we must fly to their assistance!" cried loyal heart, with an emotion he could not control. "well, that was our intention; but we wished to deliver you first, loyal heart. you are the soul of our association; without you we should have done no good." "thanks! my friends. but now, you see, i am free, so there is nothing to stop us; let us set forward immediately." "i crave your pardon," black elk replied; "but we have to deal with a strong body. the pirates, who know they have no pity to look for, fight like so many tigers. the more numerous we are, the better will be our chance of success." "that is true; but what do you aim at?" "at this--since you have made, in our name, peace with the indians, it could be so managed that they----" "by heavens! you are right, black elk," loyal heart interrupted him, eagerly. "i did not think of that. the indian warriors will be delighted at the opportunity we shall offer them of showing their valour. they will joyfully assist us in our expedition. i take upon myself to persuade them. follow me, all of you. i will present you to my new friends." the trappers drew together, and formed a compact band of forty men. arms were reversed, in sign of peace, and all, following the steps of the hunter, directed their course towards the camp of the comanches. "and my mother?" loyal heart asked eusebio, with a broken voice. "she is in safety in the hatto of black elk." "and how is she?" "as well as you could expect, though suffering from great uneasiness," the old man replied. "your mother is a woman who only lives by the heart. she is endowed with immense courage, the greatest physical pains glide over her. she now feels but slightly the effects of the atrocious tortures she had begun to undergo." "god be praised! but she must no longer be left in these mortal doubts; where is your horse?" "hidden, close by." "mount, and return to my mother. assure her of my safety, and then both of you retire to the grotto of verdigris, where she will be out of all danger. you will remain with her. that grotto is easily found; it is situated at a small distance from the rock of the dead buffalo. when you get there, you have nothing to do but to let loose my rastreros, which i will leave you, and they will lead you straight to it. do you clearly understand me?" "perfectly." "begone then. here we are at the camp; your presence is useless here, whilst yonder it is indispensable." "i am gone!" "adieu! we'll meet again." nô eusebio whistled the bloodhounds, which he leashed together; he then, after another shake of the hand with his young master, left the troop, turned to the right, and resumed the way to the forest. the hunters, in the meantime, arrived at the entrance of the glade in which the camp of the indians was established. the comanches formed, a few paces behind the first lines of their camp, a vast semicircle, in the centre of which stood their chiefs. to do honour to their newly-arrived friends, they had put on their handsomest costumes. they were painted and armed for war. loyal heart halted his troop, and continuing to march on alone, he unfolded a buffalo robe, which he waved before him. eagle head then quitted the other chiefs, and advanced on his part to meet the hunter, also waving a buffalo robe in sign of peace. when the two men were within three paces of each other they stopped. loyal heart spoke the first. "the master of life," he said, "sees into our hearts. he knows that among us the road is good and open, and that the words which our lungs breathe and our mouths pronounce are sincere. the white hunters come to visit their red friends." "they are welcome!" eagle head replied cordially, bowing with the grace and majestic nobleness which characterize indians. after these words the comanches and the hunters discharged their pieces into the air, amidst long and loud cries of joy. then all ceremony was banished; the two bands mingled, and were confounded so thoroughly that, at the end of a few minutes, they only formed one. loyal heart, however, who knew from what black elk had told him how precious the moments were, took eagle head aside, and explained to him frankly what he expected from his tribe. the chief smiled at this request. "my brother shall be satisfied," he said, "let him but wait a little." leaving the hunter, he joined the other chiefs. the crier quickly mounted upon the roof of a hut, and convoked with loud cries the most renowned warriors to a meeting in the hut of council. the demand of loyal heart met with general approbation. ninety chosen warriors, commanded by eagle head, were selected to accompany the hunters, and co-operate with all their power to secure the success of the expedition. when the decision of the chiefs was made known, it created a general joy throughout the tribe. the allies were to set forward at sunset, in order to surprise the enemy. the great war-dance, with all the ceremonies usual upon such occasions, was danced, the warriors the while continually repeating in chorus:-- "master of life, look upon me with a favourable eye, thou hast given me the courage to open my veins." when they were on the point of setting out, eagle head, who knew what dangerous enemies they were going to attack, selected twenty warriors upon whom he could depend, and sent them forward as scouts, after having given them some scotte wigwas, or bark wood, in order that they might immediately light a fire as a warning in case of alarm. he then examined the arms of his warriors, and, satisfied with the inspection, he gave the orders for departure. the comanches and the trappers took the indian file, and, preceded by their respective chiefs, they quitted the camp, amidst the good wishes and exhortations of their friends, who accompanied them to the first trees of the forest. the little army consisted of a hundred and thirty resolute men, perfectly armed, and commanded by chiefs whom no obstacle could stop, no peril could make recede. the darkness was dense; the moon, veiled by large black clouds, which floated heavily in space, only shed at intervals a dull, rayless light, which, when it disappeared, gave objects a fantastic appearance. the wind blew in gusts, and filled the ravines with dull, plaintive moans. in short, this night was one of those which in the history of humanity seemed destined to witness the accomplishment of dismal tragedies. the warriors marched in silence; they looked in the darkness like a crowd of phantoms escaped from a sepulchre, hastening to accomplish a work without a name, accursed of god, which night alone could veil with its shadow. at midnight the word "halt" was pronounced in a low voice. they encamped to await news of the scouts. that is to say, everyone, whether well or ill placed, laid himself down exactly where he happened to be, in order to be ready at the first signal. no fire was lighted. the indians, who depend upon their scouts, never post sentinels when they are upon the warpath. two hours passed away. the camp of the mexicans was not more than three miles distant at most; but, before venturing nearer, the chief wished to ascertain whether the route were free or not; in case it should not be so, what were the numbers of the enemy who barred the passage, and what plan of attack they had adopted. at the moment when loyal heart, a prey to impatience, was preparing to go himself to ascertain what was going on, a rustling, almost imperceptible at first, but which by degrees increased in enormous proportions, was heard in the bushes, and two men appeared. the first was one of the comanche scouts, the other was the doctor. the state of the poor savant was truly pitiable. he had lost his wig; his clothes were in rags; his face was convulsed with terror; in short, his whole person bore evident traces of struggle and combat. when he was brought before loyal heart and eagle head, he fell head-foremost to the ground and fainted. earnest endeavours were immediately made to restore him to life. chapter vi. the last assault. the lanceros posted behind the entrenchments had received the pirates warmly. the general, exasperated by the death of captain aguilar, and perceiving that with such enemies there was no quarter to be expected, had resolved to resist to the last, and to kill himself rather than fall into their hands. the mexicans, reckoning the peons and guides, in whom they scarcely dared to trust, amounted to only seventeen, men and women included. the pirates were at least thirty. the numerical disproportion was then great between the besiegers and the besieged; but thanks to the strong position of the camp, situated on the summit of a chaos of rocks, this disproportion partly disappeared, and the forces were nearly equal. captain waktehno had not for an instant deceived himself with regard to the difficulties of the attack he meditated--difficulties almost insurmountable in an open assault; therefore he had depended upon a surprise, and more particularly upon the treachery of the babbler. it was only from having been carried away by circumstances, and being furious at the loss captain aguilar had caused him, that he had ventured upon an assault. but the first moment of effervescence over, when he saw his men falling around him like ripe fruit, unrevenged, and without gaining an inch of ground, he resolved not to retreat, but to change the siege into a blockade, hoping to be more fortunate during the night by some bold _coup de main_, or, in the end, certain of reducing the besieged sooner or later by famine. he believed himself certain that they would find it impossible to obtain succour in the prairies, where there were none but indians, hostile to the whites, whoever they might be, or trappers and hunters, who cared very little to intermeddle in affairs that did not at all concern them. his resolution once taken, the captain put it in execution immediately. he cast an anxious look around him; his situation was still the same; notwithstanding their almost superhuman efforts to climb the abrupt ascent which led to the entrenchments, the pirates had not gained a single step. the moment a man showed himself openly, a ball from a mexican carbine sent him rolling down the precipice. the captain gave the signal for retreat; that is to say, he imitated the cry of the prairie dogs. the combat ceased instantly. the spot, which an instant before was animated by the cries of combatants and the continued report of firearms, sank suddenly into the completest silence. only, as soon as the men had paused in their work of destruction, the condors, the vultures, and urubus commenced theirs. after pirates, birds of prey! that is according to the order of things. swarms of condors, vultures, and urubus came hovering over the dead bodies, upon which they fell uttering sharp cries, and made a horrible carnage of human flesh, in sight of the mexicans, who did not dare to leave their entrenchments, and were forced to remain spectators of this hideous banquet of the wild creatures. the pirates rallied in a ravine, out of reach of the fire, and counted their numbers. their losses were enormous; out of forty, nineteen only remained. in less than an hour they had had twenty-one killed, more than half of their whole band. the mexicans, with the exception of captain aguilar, had neither killed nor wounded. the loss the pirates had sustained made them reflect seriously upon the affair. the greater number were of opinion it would be best to retire, and give up an expedition which presented so many dangers and so few hopes of success. the captain was even more discouraged than his companions. certes, if it had only been to gain gold or diamonds, he would, without hesitation, have resigned his projects; but a feeling more strong than the desire of wealth influenced his actions, and excited him to carry the adventure through, whatever might be the consequences to him. the treasure he coveted--a treasure of incalculable price--was doña luz, the girl whom he had, in mexico, rescued from the hands of his own bandits, and for whom he entertained a violent, boundless, characteristic passion. from mexico he had followed her step by step, watching, like a wild beast, for an opportunity of carrying off his prey, for the possession of which no sacrifice was too great, no difficulty insuperable, and no danger worthy of consideration. therefore did he bring into play upon his bandits all the resources that speech gives to a man influenced by passion, to keep them with him, to raise their courage, and to induce them to attempt one more attack before retiring and definitely renouncing the expedition. he had much trouble in persuading them; as generally happens in such cases, the bravest had been killed, and the survivors did not feel themselves at all inclined to expose themselves to a similar fate. by dint, however, of persuasions and menaces, the captain succeeded in getting from the bandits the promise of remaining till the next day, and of attempting a decisive blow during the night. this being agreed upon between the pirates and their chief, waktehno ordered his men to conceal themselves as well as they could, but, above all, not to stir without his orders, whatever they might see the mexicans do. the captain hoped, by remaining invisible, to persuade the besieged that, discouraged by the enormous difficulties they had met with, the pirates had resolved to retreat, and had, in fact, done so. this plan was not at all unskilful, and it, in fact, produced almost all the results which its author expected. the glowing fires of the setting sun gilded with their last rays the summits of the rocks and the trees; the evening breeze, which was rising, refreshed the air; the great luminary was about to disappear on the horizon, in a bed of purple vapours. silence was only disturbed by the deafening cries of the birds of prey, that continued their cannibal banquet, quarrelling with ferocious inveteracy over the fragments of flesh which they tore from the dead bodies. the general, with a heart deeply moved by this spectacle, when he reflected that captain aguilar, a man whose heroic devotion had saved them all, was exposed to this horrible profanation, resolved not to abandon his body, and, cost what it might, to go and bring it in, in order to give it sepulture,--a last homage due to the young man who had not hesitated to sacrifice himself for him. doña luz, to whom he communicated his intention, although perfectly sensible of the danger, had not the heart to oppose it. the general selected four resolute men, and scaling the entrenchments, he advanced at their head towards the spot where the body of the unfortunate captain lay. the lanceros left in the camp kept a watchful eye upon the plain, ready to protect their bold companions with energy, if they were interrupted in their pious task. the pirates concealed in the clefts of the rocks did not lose one of their movements, but were most careful not to betray their presence. the general was able, therefore, to accomplish unmolested the duty he had imposed upon himself. he had no difficulty in finding the body of the young man. he lay half prostrate at the foot of a tree, holding a pistol in one hand and his machete in the other, his head elevated, his look fixed, and a smile upon his lips, as if even after death he still defied those who had killed him. his body was literally covered with wounds; but, by a strange chance, which the general remarked with joy, up to that moment the birds of prey had respected it. the lanceros placed the body upon their crossed guns, and returned to the camp at quick march. the general followed at a short distance from them, observing and watching every bush and thicket. but nothing stirred; the greatest tranquillity prevailed everywhere; the pirates had disappeared, without leaving any other traces but their dead, whom they appeared to have abandoned. the general began to hope that his enemies were really gone, and he breathed a sigh, as if relieved from an oppression of the heart. night came on with its habitual rapidity; all eyes were fixed upon the lanceros, who bore back their dead officer, but no one remarked a score of phantoms who glided silently over the rocks, drawing, by degrees, nearer to the camp, close to which they concealed themselves, keeping their ferocious looks fixed upon its defenders. the general caused the body to be placed upon a bed prepared in haste, and taking a spade, he insisted upon himself digging the grave in which the young man was to be deposited. all the lanceros ranged themselves around him, leaning on their arms. the general took off his hat, and from a prayer book read with a loud voice the service of the dead, to which his niece and all present responded. there was something grand and impressive in this simple ceremony, in the midst of the desert, whose thousand mysterious voices appeared likewise to modulate a prayer, in face of that sublime nature upon which the finger of god is traced in so visible a manner. this white-headed old man, piously reading the office of the dead over the body of a young man, little more than a boy, full of life but a few hours before, having around him that young girl, and these sad, pensive soldiers, whom the same fate, perhaps, threatened soon to overtake, but who, calm and resigned, prayed with fervour for him who was no more; this noble prayer, rising in the night, accompanied by the moanings and the breezes of evening, which passed quivering through the branches of the trees, recalled the early times of christianity, when, persecuted and forced to hide itself, it took refuge in the desert, to be nearer to god. nothing occurred to disturb the accomplishment of this last duty. after every person present had once again taken a melancholy farewell of the dead, he was lowered into the grave, enveloped in his cloak; his arms were placed by his side, and the grave was filled up. a slight elevation of the sod, which would soon disappear, alone marked the place where reposed for ever the body of a man whose unfamed heroism had saved by a sublime devotedness those who had confided to him the care of their safety. the mourners separated, swearing to avenge the dead, or that failing, to do as he had done. darkness was now spread over all. the general, after having made a last round, to satisfy himself that the sentinels were steady at their posts, wished his niece a good night, and laid himself down across the entrance of her tent, on the outside. three hours passed away in perfect quiet. all at once, like a legion of demons, a score of men silently scaled the entrenchments, and before the sentinels, surprised by this sudden attack, could attempt the least resistance, they were seized and slaughtered. the camp of the mexicans was invaded by the pirates, and in their train entered murder and pillage! chapter vii. the battle. the pirates bounded into the camp like jackals, howling and brandishing their weapons. as soon as the camp was invaded, the captain left his people to pillage and kill at their pleasure. without concerning himself any more about them, he rushed towards the tent. but there his passage was barred. the general had rallied seven or eight men round him, and awaited the bandit firmly, resolved to die rather than allow one of those wretches to touch his niece. at the sight of the old soldier, with his flashing eye, his pistol in one hand and his sword in the other, the captain paused. but this pause did not last longer than a flash of lightning; he got together a half-score of pirates by a shout for help. "give way!" he said, brandishing his machete. "come on!" the general said, biting his moustache with fury. the two men rushed upon each other, their people imitated them, and the _mêlée_ became general. then followed a terrible and merciless struggle between men who, on both sides, knew they had no pity to expect. everyone endeavoured to make his blows mortal, without taking the trouble to parry those dealt upon himself, satisfied with falling, provided that in his fall he could drag down his adversary. the wounded endeavoured to rise, for the purpose of burying their poniards in the bodies of those who were fighting around them. this fierce contest could not last long; all the lanceros were massacred; the general fell in his turn, struck down by the captain, who threw himself upon him and bound him tightly with his belt, in order to prevent the possibility of his resisting any further. the general had only received slight wounds, which had scarcely penetrated to the flesh; for the captain, for reasons best known to himself, had carefully protected him during the combat, parrying with his machete the blows which the bandits tried to inflict upon him. he wished to take his enemy alive, and he had succeeded. all the mexicans had fallen, it is true, but the victory had cost the pirates dear; more than half of them were killed. the general's negro, armed with an enormous club, which he had made of the trunk of a young tree, for a long time resisted all who attempted to take him, crushing without mercy all who imprudently came within reach of the weapon which he handled with such uncommon dexterity. his enemies at length succeeded in lassoing him, and casting him half-strangled to the ground; the captain, however, came to his rescue at the moment when a pirate was raising his arm to put an end to him. as soon as the captain found the general incapable of moving, he uttered a cry of joy, and without stopping to stanch the blood of two wounds he had received he bounded like a tiger over the body of his enemy, who was writhing powerless at his feet, and penetrated into the tent. it was empty! doña luz had disappeared. the captain was thunderstruck! what could have become of the girl? the tent was small, almost void of furniture, it was impossible she could be concealed in it. a disordered bed proved that at the moment of the surprise, doña luz had been sleeping peaceably. she had vanished like a sylph, without leaving any trace of her flight. a flight perfectly incomprehensible to the pirate, as the camp had been invaded on all sides at once. how was it possible for a young girl, awakened suddenly, to have had courage and presence of mind enough to fly so quickly, and pass unperceived amidst conquerors whose first care had been to guard all the issues? the captain sought in vain the solution of this enigma. he stamped with anger, and plunged his poniard into the packages that might serve as temporary places of refuge for the fugitive; but all without success. convinced at length that all his researches in the tent were in vain, he rushed out, prowling about like a wild beast, persuaded that if by a miracle she had succeeded in escaping, alone in the night, half dressed, wandering in the desert, he should easily find her again. in the meantime, the pillage went on with a celerity and an order in its disorder, which did honour to the practical knowledge of the pirates. the conquerors, fatigued with killing and robbing, plunged their poniards into the skins filled with mezcal, and an orgie soon succeeded theft and murder. all at once a loud and fierce cry resounded at a little distance, and a shower of bullets came pattering full upon the bandits. surprised in their turn, they flew to their arms, and endeavoured to rally. at the same instant, a mass of indians appeared, bounding like jaguars among the packages, closely followed by a troop of hunters, at the head of whom were loyal heart, belhumeur, and black elk. the position became critical for the pirates. the captain, recalled to himself by the peril his people ran, left with regret the fruitless search he was engaged in, and grouping his men around him, he carried off the only two prisoners he had made, that is to say, the general and his black servant, and taking skilful advantage of the tumult inseparable from an eruption like that of the allies, he ordered his men to disperse in all directions, in order to escape more easily the blows of their adversaries. after one sharp fire, which caused a slight pause among the indians, the pirates flew away like a cloud of unclean birds of prey, and disappeared in the darkness. but, whilst flying, the captain, left last to support the retreat, did not cease, as he glided along the rocks, still to seek, as much as was possible in the precipitation of his night, for traces of the young girl; but he could discover nothing. the disappointed captain retired with rage in his heart, revolving in his head the most sinister projects. loyal heart, warned by the indian scout, and more particularly by the recital of the doctor, of the proposed attack upon the camp, had marched immediately, in order to bring succour to the mexicans as soon as possible. unfortunately, in spite of the celerity of their march, the trappers and the comanches arrived too late to save the caravan. when the leaders of the expedition became assured of the flight of the pirates, eagle head and his warriors set off on their track. left master of the camp, loyal heart ordered a general battue in the neighbouring thickets and high grass, which the bandits had not had time to explore in detail, for they had scarcely obtained possession of the camp before they were driven out of it again. this battue brought to light phoebe, the young servant of doña luz, and two lanceros, who had taken refuge in the trunk of a tree, and who arrived more dead than alive, conducted by black elk and some hunters, who tried in vain to re-assure them, and revive their courage. the poor devils still believed themselves in the hands of the pirates, and loyal heart had great difficulty in persuading them that the people they saw were friends who had come too late to succour them, but who would not do them any harm. as soon as they were sufficiently restored to speak collectedly, loyal heart went with them into the tent, and required of them a succinct account of all that had taken place. the young quadroon, when she saw with whom she had to do, all at once, regained her wonted assurance; and besides, haying recognized loyal heart, she did not require much coaxing to set her tongue going, and in a few minutes made the hunter acquainted with all the terrible events of which she had been a spectatress. "so," he asked, "captain aguilar was killed, was he?" "alas! yes!" the young girl replied, with a sigh of regret for the poor young officer. "and the general?" said the hunter. "oh! as to the general," said the girl briskly, "he defended himself like a lion, and only fell after a heroic resistance." "is he dead, then?" loyal heart asked, with great emotion. "oh! no!" she said almost cheerfully, "he is only wounded. i saw the bandits pass as they carried him away; i even believe that his wounds are slight, so much did the ladrones spare him during the combat." "i am glad to hear it!" said the hunter; and he hung his head with a pensive air: then, after a pause of an instant, he added, hesitatingly, and with a slight tremor in his voice, "your young mistress, what has become of her?" "my mistress, doña luz?" "yes, doña luz--for so i believe she is called; i would give much to know where she is, and to be certain she is in safety." "she is so, since she is near you," said a harmonious voice. and doña, luz appeared, still pale from the poignant emotions she had undergone, but calm; she had a smile on her lips, and her eyes sparkled brilliantly. no one present could repress a movement of extreme surprise at the unexpected apparition of the young lady. "oh! god be praised!" the hunter cried; "our succour has not, then, been completely useless." "no," replied she, kindly; but she shortly added with sadness, whilst a shade of melancholy clouded her features, "now that i have lost him who was to me as a father, i come to ask your protection, caballero." "it is yours, madam," he replied with warmth. "and as to your uncle, oh! depend upon me; i will restore him to you, if the enterprise costs me my life. you know," he added, "that before today i have proved my devotion to you and him." the first emotion over, it became a question how the young girl had succeeded in escaping the researches of the pirates. doña luz gave as simple an account as possible of what had passed. the young lady had thrown herself, with all her clothes on, upon the bed; but anxiety kept her awake, a secret presentiment warned her to be on her guard. at the cry uttered by the pirates, she started from her bed in terror and amazement, and at once perceived that flight was impossible. whilst casting a terrified look around her, she perceived some clothes thrown in a disorderly manner into a hammock, and hanging over the sides of it. an idea, which appeared to come to her from heaven, shot across her brain like a luminous flash. she glided under these clothes, and curling herself up into as little space as possible, she crouched at the bottom of the hammock, without altering the disordered state of the things. god had ordained it that the chief of the bandits, while searching, as he thought, everywhere, never dreamt of plunging his hand into what seemed an empty hammock. saved by this chance, she remained thus huddled up for full an hour, a prey to fears of the most appalling nature. the arrival of the hunters, together with the voice of loyal heart, which she soon recognized, restored her to hope; she left the place of her concealment, and had impatiently waited for a favourable moment to present herself. the hunters were wonderstruck at a recital at once so simple and so affecting; they cordially congratulated the young lady upon her courage and presence of mind, which alone had saved her. when a little order was re-established in the camp loyal heart waited upon doña luz. "señora," he said, "it will not be long before day appears; when you have taken a few hours' repose, i will conduct you to my mother, who is a pious, good woman; when she knows you, i feel certain she will love you as a daughter. and then, as soon as you are in safety, i will set earnestly about restoring your uncle to you." without waiting for the thanks of the young lady, he bowed respectfully, and left the tent. when he had disappeared, doña luz sighed, and sank pensively down upon a seat. chapter viii. the cavern of verdigris. ten days had passed away since the events related in our last chapter. we will conduct the reader, between three and four o'clock in the afternoon, into the grotto discovered by belhumeur, of which loyal heart had made his chosen habitation. the interior of the cavern, lighted by numerous torches of that wood which the indians call candlewood, which burned, fixed at distances on the projections of the rock, presented the aspect of a halt of gipsies, or of an encampment of bandits, whichever the stranger might fancy, who should chance to be admitted to visit it. forty trappers and comanche warriors were dispersed about here and there; some were sleeping, others smoking, other cleaning their arms or repairing their clothes; a few, crouching before two or three fires, over which were suspended cauldrons, and where enormous joints of venison were roasting, were preparing the repast for their companions. at each place of issue two sentinels, motionless, but with eyes and ears on the watch, silently provided for the common safety. in a compartment separated naturally from the larger one by a block of projecting rock, two women and a man, upon seats rudely cut with the hatchet, were conversing in a low voice. the two women were doña luz and the mother of loyal heart; the man who looked at them, while smoking his husk cigarette, and mingled occasionally in the conversation by an interjection drawn from him by surprise, admiration, or joy, was eusebio, the old spanish servant, of whom we have often spoken in the course of our narrative. at the entrance of this compartment, which formed a kind of separate chamber in the cavern, another man was walking backwards and forwards, with his hands behind his back, whistling between his teeth an air which he probably composed as his thoughts dictated. this man was black elk. loyal heart, eagle head, and belhumeur were absent. the conversation of the two women appeared to interest them greatly. the mother of the hunter often exchanged significant looks with her old servant, who had allowed his cigarette to go out, but who kept on smoking it mechanically, without perceiving it. "oh!" said the old lady, clasping her hands with fervour, and raising her eyes toward heaven, "the finger of the almighty is in all this!" "yes," eusebio replied, with profound conviction; "it is he who has done it!" "tell me, my darling; during the two months of your journey, did your uncle, the general, never give you a glimpse, by his words, his actions, or his proceedings, of the object of this expedition?" "never!" doña luz replied. "that is strange!" the old lady murmured. "strange, indeed," eusebio repeated, who still persisted in endeavouring to draw smoke from his extinguished cigarette. "but tell me," the mother of loyal heart resumed, "when you arrived in the prairies, how did your uncle employ his time? pardon me, my child, these questions which must surprise you, but which are not at all dictated by curiosity; hereafter you will understand me, and you will then acknowledge that the lively interest i take in you alone leads me to interrogate you." "i do not at all doubt it, señora," doña luz replied, with a charming smile; "therefore i have no difficulty in replying to you. my uncle, after our arrival in the prairies, became dull and preoccupied; he sought for the society of men accustomed to the life of the desert, and when he met with one, he would converse with him and interrogate him for hours together." "and about what did he interrogate him, my child? do you recollect?" "good heavens! señora, i must confess to my shame," the young girl replied, blushing slightly, "that i did not give great attention to this conversation, which i thought at least could interest me but little. i, a poor child, whose life up to that period had glided away sadly and monotonously, and who had seen nothing of the world but through the gratings of my convent, admired the magnificent nature which had, as if by enchantment, risen before me; i had only eyes enough to contemplate these wonders; and i adored the creator whose infinite power had been revealed to me thus suddenly." "that is true, dear child; pardon me these questions, which fatigue you, and whose object you cannot perceive," said the good lady, imprinting a kiss upon her brow; "if you wish it, we will speak of something else." "as you please, señora," the young girl answered, returning her kiss. "i am most happy to talk with you, and whatever subject you choose, i am sure i shall always take great interest in it." "but we are talking idly, and forgetting my poor son, who has been absent since morning, and who, according to what he told me, ought to have returned by this time." "oh! i hope nothing can have happened to him," cried doña luz. "you take great interest in him, then?" the old lady remarked, with a smile. "ah! señora," she replied, with emotion, whilst a vivid blush rose to her cheeks, "can i do otherwise, after the services he has rendered us, and will continue to render us, i am sure?" "my son has promised to deliver your uncle; be assured that he will fulfil his promise." "oh! i do not at all doubt it, señora. what a noble, grand character!" she cried with warmth; "how justly is he named loyal heart!" the old lady and eusebio looked at her and smiled; they were delighted with the enthusiasm of the young girl. doña luz perceived the attention with which they were looking at her. she stopped short in confusion, hung down her head, and blushed more than ever. "oh!" said the old lady, taking her hand, "you may go on, my child; i am pleased to hear you speak thus of my son. yes," she added, in a melancholy tone, and as if talking to herself, "yes; his is a grand and noble character. like all exalted natures, he is misunderstood: but patience! god is trying him, and the day will come when justice will be rendered him in the face of all men." "can he, then, be unhappy?" the young girl ventured to ask, timidly. "i do not say he is, my child," the good mother answered, with a stifled sigh. "in this world who can flatter himself with being happy? everyone has his troubles, which he must bear; the almighty measures the burden according to the strength of every man." a movement was heard in the grotto; several men entered. "here is your son, señora," said black elk. "thank you, my friend," she replied. "oh! i am so glad!" said doña luz, springing up joyfully. but ashamed of this inconsiderate movement, the girl sank back, confused and blushing, into her seat again. it was, in fact loyal heart, but he was not alone. belhumeur and eagle head accompanied him, as did several other trappers. as soon as he was in the grotto, the young man directed his steps hastily towards his mother's retreat; he kissed her, and then turning towards doña luz, he bowed to her with a degree of embarrassment that was not natural to him, and which the old lady could not but remark. the young lady returned him a salutation not less confused than his own. "well," he said, with a cheerful smile, "you must have been very tired of waiting for me, my noble prisoners. time must travel slowly in this horrible grotto. pardon me for having confined you to such a hideous dwelling, doña luz--you are made to inhabit splendid palaces. alas! this is the most magnificent of my habitations." "with the mother of him who has saved my life, señor," the girl replied, nobly, "i think myself lodged like a queen, whatever be the place i inhabit." "you are a thousand times too good, señora," the hunter stammered; "you really make me confused." "well, my son," the old lady interrupted, with the evident intention of giving another turn to the conversation, which began to be embarrassing for the two young people, "what have you done today? have you any good news to give us? doña luz is very uneasy about her uncle; she longs to see him again." "i can quite understand the señora's anxiety," the hunter replied, "which i hope soon to be able to put an end to. we have not done much today; we have found it impossible to get upon the track of the bandits. it is enough to drive a man wild with vexation. fortunately, as we returned, at a few paces from the grotto, we met with the doctor, who, according to his praiseworthy custom, was seeking herbs in the clefts of the rocks, and he told us that he has seen a man of suspicious appearance prowling about the neighbourhood. we immediately went upon the hunt, and were not long in discovering an individual whom we took prisoner, and have brought hither with us." "you see, señor," said doña luz, with a playful air, "that it is sometimes of use to be seeking simples. our dear doctor has, according to all appearance, rendered you a great service." "without his will being concerned in the matter," said loyal heart, laughing. "i do not say the contrary," the young girl rejoined, banteringly, "but it exists none the less; it is to the herbs you owe it." "seeking for herbs may have a good purpose, i agree; but everything in its proper time; without unjustly reproaching him, the doctor has not always known when to choose it." notwithstanding the seriousness of the facts to which these words referred, the hearers could not repress a smile at the expense of the unlucky savant. "come! come!" said doña luz, "i will not have my poor doctor attacked; he has been sufficiently punished for his forgetfulness by the grief to which he has been a prey since that inauspicious day." "you are right, señora, and i will say no more about it. now i must beg your permission to leave you; my companions are literally dying of hunger, and the brave fellows wait for me to take their repast." "but," eusebio asked, "the man you have taken--what do you mean to do with him?" "i do not know yet; as soon as our meal is over, i mean to interrogate him; his replies will most likely dictate my conduct with regard to him." the cauldrons were taken off the fire, the quarters of venison were cut into slices, and the trappers and indians sat down fraternally near each other, and ate their repast with a good appetite. the ladies were served apart in their retreat by nô eusebio, who performed the delicate functions of house steward with a care and a seriousness worthy of a more suitable scene. the man who had been arrested near the grotto had been placed under the guard of two stout trappers, armed to the teeth, who never took their eyes off him; but he seemed to entertain no wish to escape; on the contrary, he did honour vigorously to the food that was placed before him. as soon as the meal was over, the chiefs drew together apart, and conversed for a few minutes among themselves in a low voice. then, upon the order of loyal heart, the prisoner was brought forward, and they prepared to interrogate him. this man, at whom they had scarcely looked, was recognized the moment he was face to face with the chiefs, who could not repress an expression of surprise. "captain waktehno!" said loyal heart, in perfect astonishment. "himself, gentlemen!" the pirate replied, with haughty irony; "what have you to ask of him? he is here ready to answer you." chapter ix. diplomacy. it was an unheard-of piece of audacity in the captain, after what had taken place, to come thus and deliver himself up, without the slightest resistance, into the hands of men who would not hesitate to inflict upon him a severe vengeance. the hunters were consequently astonished at the proceeding of the pirate, and began to suspect a snare; their surprise increased in proportion as they reflected upon his apparent madness. they perfectly understood that if they had taken him, it was because he was willing that it should be so; that he had probably some powerful motive for acting thus, particularly after all the pains he had taken to conceal his track from all eyes, and find a retreat so impenetrable that the indians themselves, those cunning bloodhounds whom nothing generally could throw off the scent, had given up searching for him. what did he want amidst his most implacable enemies? what reason sufficiently strong had been able to induce him to commit the imprudence of delivering himself up? this is what the trappers asked each other, whilst looking at him with that curiosity and that interest which, in spite of ourselves, we are forced to accord to the intrepid man who accomplishes a bold action, whatever otherwise may be his moral character. "sir," said loyal heart, after the pause of a few minutes, "as you have thought proper to place yourself in our hands, you certainly will not refuse to reply to the questions we may think proper to put to you?" a smile of an undefinable expression passed over the thin, pale lips of the pirate. "not only," he replied, in a calm, clear voice, "will i not refuse to reply to you, gentlemen, but still further, if you will permit, i will forestall your questions by telling you myself spontaneously all that has passed, which will enlighten you, i am sure, with regard to the facts which have appeared obscure, and which you have in vain endeavoured to make out." a murmur of stupefaction pervaded the ranks of the trappers, who had drawn near by degrees, and listened attentively. the scene assumed strange proportions, and promised to become extremely interesting. loyal heart reflected for a moment, and then addressed the pirate. "do so, sir," he said; "we listen to you." the captain bowed, and, with a jeering tone, commenced his recital; when he arrived at the taking of the camp, he continued thus:-- "it was cleverly played, was it not, gentlemen? certes, i can look for nothing but compliments from you who are past masters in such matters; but there is one thing of which you are ignorant, and which i will tell you. the capture of the mexican general's wealth was but of secondary importance to me, i had another aim, and that aim i will make you acquainted with--i wished to obtain possession of doña luz. from mexico i followed the caravan, step by step; i had corrupted the principal guide, the babbler, an old friend of mine; abandoning to my companions the gold and jewels, i desired nothing but the young girl." "well, but it seems you missed your aim," belhumeur interrupted him, with a sardonic smile. "do you think so?" the other replied, with imperturbable assurance. "well, you appear to be in the right; i have, for this time, missed my aim, but all is not yet said, and i may not always miss." "you speak here, amidst a hundred and fifty of the best rifles of the prairies about this odious project, with as much confidence as if you were in safety, surrounded by your own bandits, and concealed in the depths of one of your most secret dens, captain. this is either an act of great imprudence or a still more rare piece of insolence," loyal heart said, sternly. "bah! the peril is not so great for me as you would make me believe; you know i am not a man easily intimidated, therefore a truce to threats, if you please, and let us reason like serious men." "we hunters, trappers, and indian warriors, assembled in this grotto, have the right, acting in the name of our common safety, to apply to you the laws of the frontiers, an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth, as attainted and convicted, even by your own confession, of robbery, murder, and an attempt at abduction. this law we mean to apply to you immediately. what have you to say in your defence?" "everything in its turn, loyal heart; we will talk about that presently; but, in the first place, let us terminate, if you please, what i had to say to you. be satisfied, it is but the delay of a few minutes; i will myself revert to that question which you seem to have so much at heart, as you instal yourself, by your own private authority, judge in the desert." "that law is as ancient as the world, it emanates from god himself; it is the duty of all honest people to run down a wild beast when they meet with one in their passage." "the comparison is not flattering," the pirate replied, perfectly unmoved, "but i am not at all susceptible; i do not easily take offence. will you, once for all, allow me to speak?" "speak, then, and let us have an end of this." "that is exactly what i ask; listen to me, then. in this world, every one comprehends life after his own fashion, some widely, others in a narrow way; for me, my dream is to retire, a few years hence, to the depths of one of our beautiful mexican provinces with a moderate competency--you see i am not ambitious. a few months back, at the termination of several tolerably lucrative affairs which i had happily effected in the prairies by means of courage and address, i found myself master of a pretty round sum, which, according to my custom, i resolved to invest, in order to procure me hereafter the moderate competency of which i was speaking to you. i went to mexico to place my money in the hands of an honourable french banker established in that city, who answered all my expectations, and whom i recommend to you, if you have occasion for such a person." "what is all this verbiage to us?" loyal heart interrupted, hotly. "you are laughing at us, captain." "not the least in the world. i will go on. in mexico, chance afforded me an opportunity of rendering doña luz a rather important service." "you?" said loyal heart, angrily. "why not?" the other replied. "the affair is very simple. i delivered her from the hands of four bandits, who were plundering her. i saw her, and became madly in love with her." "man! man!" said the hunter, colouring with vexation; "this exceeds all bounds. doña luz is a young lady who ought never to be spoken of without the greatest respect. i will not allow her to be insulted in my presence." "we are exactly of the same opinion," the other continued, jeeringly; "but it is none the less true that i fell in love with her. i skilfully obtained information concerning her; i learnt who she was, the journey she was about to take; i played successfully, as you see. then my plan was laid, which, as you just now said, has completely failed; but which, nevertheless, i have not yet given up." "we will endeavour to settle that once for all." "and you will do well, if you can." "now, i suppose, you have finished?" "not yet, if you please; but at this point what remains for me to say renders the presence of doña luz indispensable. upon her alone depends the success of my mission to you." "i do not understand you." "it would be useless for you to understand me at this moment; but rest satisfied, loyal heart, you shall soon have the key to the enigma." during the whole of this long discussion, the pirate had not for a moment lost that self-possession, that sneering smile, that bantering tone, and that freedom of manner, that confounded the hunters. he bore much more the resemblance to a gentleman on a visit at the house of a country neighbour, than to a prisoner on the point of being shot. he did not appear to care the least in the world about the danger he was running. as soon as he had finished speaking, whilst the trappers were consulting in a low voice, he employed himself in rolling a husk cigarette, which he lit and smoked quietly. "doña luz," loyal heart resumed, with ill-disguised impatience, "has nothing to do with these debates; her presence is not necessary." "you are entirely mistaken, my dear sir," the pirate coolly replied, puffing out a volume of smoke; "she is indispensable, and for this reason:--you understand perfectly, do you not, that i am too cunning a fox to give myself up thus voluntarily into your hands, if i had not behind me someone whose life would answer for mine. that someone is the uncle of the young lady. if i am not at midnight in my den, as you do me the honour to call it, with my brave companions, at precisely ten minutes after midnight the honourable gentleman will be shot without fail or pity." a shudder of anger ran along the ranks of the hunters. "i know very well," the pirate continued, "that you, personally, care very little for the life of the general, and would generously sacrifice it in exchange for mine; but, fortunately for me, doña luz, i am convinced, is not of your opinion, and attaches great value to the existence of her uncle; be good enough, therefore, to beg her to come here, in order that she may hear the proposal i have to make her. time presses, the way to my encampment is long; if i arrive too late, you alone will be responsible for the misfortunes that may be caused by my involuntary delay." "i am here, sir," said doña luz, coming forward. concealed amidst the crowd of hunters, she had heard all that had been said. the pirate threw away his half-consumed cigarette, bowed courteously to the young lady, and saluted her with respect. "i am proud of the honour, señora, that you deign to do me." "a truce to ironical compliments, if you please. i am listening to you; what have you to say to me?" "you judge me wrongly, señora," the pirate replied; "but i hope to reinstate myself in your good opinion hereafter. do you not recognise me? i thought i had left a better remembrance in your mind." "it is possible, sir, that during a certain time i retained a favourable remembrance of you," the young lady answered, with some degree of emotion; "but, after what has taken place within these few days, i can only see in you a robber and a murderer!" "the terms are harsh, señora." "pardon them, if they wound you, sir; but i have not yet recovered from the terrors you have caused me--terrors which your proceedings of today augment instead of diminishing. be pleased, then, without further delay, to let me know your intentions." "i am in despair at being thus ill-understood by you, señora. attribute, i implore you, all that has happened solely to the violence of the passion i feel for you, and believe----" "sir! you insult me," the young lady interrupted, drawing herself up haughtily: "what can there be in common between me and the leader of bandits?" at this cutting reproof a flush passed over the face of the pirate: he bit his moustache with anger; but, making a strong effort, he kept down in the depths of his heart the feelings which agitated him, and replied in a calm, respectful tone,-- "so be it, señora; crush me--i have deserved it." "is it for the purpose of uttering these commonplaces that you have required my presence here, sir? in that case you will please to allow me to retire; a lady of my rank is not accustomed to such manners, nor to listen to such language." she made a movement as if to rejoin the mother of loyal heart, who, on her side, advanced towards her. "one instant, señora," the pirate cried, savagely; "since you despise my prayers, listen to my orders!" "your orders!" the hunter shouted, springing close to his side. "have you forgotten where you are, miserable scoundrel?" "come, come! a truce to threats and abuse, my masters!" the pirate replied, in a commanding voice, as he crossed his arms upon his breast, threw up his head, and darted a look of supreme disdain upon all present. "you know very well you dare do nothing against me--that not a single hair of my head will fall." "this is too much!" the hunter ejaculated. "stop! loyal heart," said doña luz, placing herself before him; "this man is unworthy of your anger. i prefer seeing him thus he is best in his part of a bandit--he at least plays that without a mask." "yes! i have thrown off the mask," the pirate shouted, furiously: "and now, listen to me, silly girl. in three days i will return--you see i keep my word," he added, with a sinister smile. "i give you time to reflect. if you do not then consent to follow me, your uncle shall be given up to the most atrocious tortures; and, as a last remembrance of me, i will send you his head." "monster!" the poor girl exclaimed, in an accent of despair. "ah! you see," said he, shrugging his shoulders, and with the grin of a demon, "everyone makes love after his own fashion. i have sworn that you shall be my wife!" but doña luz could hear no more. overcome by grief as well as other feelings, she sank senseless into the arms of the mother of the hunter, who with nô eusebio, bore her out of the larger apartment. "enough!" said loyal heart, with a stern accent, as he laid his hand upon his shoulder, "be thankful to god, who allows you to go safe and sound from our hands." "in three days, at the same hour, you will see me again, my masters," he said, disdainfully. "between this and then luck may turn," said belhumeur. the pirate made no reply, but by a grin and a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders; and left the cavern with a step as firm and free as if nothing extraordinary had happened, without even deigning to turn round, so certain was he of the profound feeling he had caused--of the effect he had produced. he had scarcely disappeared, when, from the other outlets of the grotto, belhumeur, black elk, and eagle head rushed upon his track. loyal heart remained thoughtful for an instant, and then went, with a pale face and a pensive brow to inquire after doña luz. chapter x. love. doña luz and loyal heart were placed with regard to each other, in a singular position. both young, both handsome, they loved without daring to confess it to themselves, almost without suspecting it. both, although their lives had been spent in conditions diametrically opposite, possessed equal freshness of feeling, equal ingenuousness of heart. the childhood of the maiden had passed away, pale and colourless, amidst the extravagant religious practices of a country where the religion of christ is rather a paganism than the pure, noble, and simple faith of europe. she had never felt a beating of the heart. she was as ignorant of love as she was of sorrow. she lived thus like the birds of heaven, forgetting the days gone by, careless of the morrow. the journey she had undertaken had completely changed the colour of her existence. at the sight of the immense horizons which spread out before her in the prairie, of the majestic rivers which she crossed, of the grand mountains round whose feet she was often obliged to travel, and whose hoary heads seemed to touch heaven, her ideas had become enlarged, a bandage was, so to say, removed from her eyes, and she had learnt that god had created her for something else than to drag out a useless existence in a convent. the appearance of loyal heart, under the extraordinary circumstances in which he had presented himself to her, had won upon her mind, which was at that time particularly open to all sensations, and ready to retain all the strong impressions it might receive. in presence of the exalted nature of the hunter, of that man in wild costume, but possessing a manly countenance, handsome features and noble bearing, she had felt agitated without comprehending the reason. the fact was, that unknown to herself, by the force of the secret sympathies which exist between all the beings of the great human family, her heart had met the heart she sought for. delicate and frail, she stood in need of this energetic man, with the fascinating glance, the leonine courage, and an iron will, to support her through life, and defend her with his omnipotent protection. thus had she, therefore, from the first moment, yielded with a feeling of undefinable happiness, to the inclination which drew her towards loyal heart; and love had installed himself as master in her heart, before she was aware of it, or had even thought of resisting. recent events had awakened with intense force the passion which had been slumbering at the bottom of her heart. now that she was near him, that she heard, at every instant, his praises from the mouth of his mother, or from those of his companions, she had come to consider her love as forming part of her existence, she could not comprehend how she could have lived so long without loving this man, whom it appeared she must have known from her very birth. she no longer lived but for him and by him; happy at a look or a smile, joyful when she saw him, sad when he remained long absent from her. loyal heart had arrived at the same result by a very different route. brought up, so to say, in the prairies, face to face with the divinity, he was accustomed to adore in the great works he had constantly before his eyes, the sublime spectacles of nature; the incessant struggles he had to sustain, whether against indians or wild beasts, had developed him, morally and physically, in immense proportions. as, by his muscular strength and his skill with his weapons, he had overcome all obstacles that had been opposed to him; so, by the grandeur of his ideas and the delicacy of his sentiments, he was capable of comprehending all things. nothing that was good and nothing that was great seemed to be unknown to him. as it always happens with superior organisations early placed at war with adversity, and given up without other defences than themselves to the terrible chances of life, his mind had developed itself in gigantic proportions, still remaining in strange unconsciousness of certain sensations, which were unknown to him, and would always have remained so, but for a providential chance. the daily wants of the agitated and precarious life he led, had stifled within him the germ of the passions; his solitary habits had, unknown to himself, led him to a taste for a contemplative life. knowing no other woman but his mother, for the indians, by their manners, inspired him with nothing but disgust, he had reached the age of six-and-thirty without thinking of love, without knowing what it was, and, what is more, without ever having heard pronounced that word which contains so many things in its four letters, and which, in this world, is the source of so many sublime devotions and so many horrible crimes. after a long day's hunting through woods and ravines, or after having been engaged fifteen or sixteen hours in trapping beavers, when, in the evening, they met in the prairie at their bivouac fire, the conversation of loyal heart and his friend belhumeur, who was as ignorant as himself in this respect, could not possibly turn upon anything but the events of the day. weeks, months, years passed away without bringing any change in his existence, except a vague uneasiness, whose cause was unknown, but which weighed upon his mind, and for which he could not account. nature has her imprescriptible rights, and every man must submit to them, in whatever condition he may chance to be placed. thus, therefore, when accident brought doña luz before him, by the same sentiment of instinctive and irresistible sympathy which acted upon the young girl, his heart flew towards her. the hunter, astonished at the sudden interest he felt for a stranger, whom, according to all appearances, he might never see again, was almost angry with her on account of that sentiment which was awakening within him, and gave to his intercourse with her an asperity which was unnatural to him. like all exalted minds, who have been accustomed to see everything bend before them without resistance, he felt himself irritated at being subdued by a girl, at yielding to an influence from which he no longer could extricate himself. but when, after the fire in the prairie, he quitted the mexican camp, notwithstanding the precipitation of his departure, he carried away the remembrance of the fair stranger with him. and this remembrance increased with absence. he always fancied he heard the soft and melodious notes of the young girl's voice sounding in his ears, however strong the efforts he made to forget her; in hours of watching or of sleep, she was always there, smiling upon him, and fixing her enchanting looks upon him. the struggle was severe. loyal heart, notwithstanding the passion that devoured him, knew what an insuperable distance separated him from doña luz, and how senseless and unrealizable this love was. all the objections possibly to be made in such cases, he made, in order to prove he was mad. then, when he had convinced himself that an abyss separated him from her he loved, overcome by the terrible conflict he had maintained against himself, supported perhaps by that hope which never abandons energetic men, far from frankly acknowledging his defeat, but yielding to the passion which was from that time to constitute his sole joy, his sole happiness, he continued doggedly to struggle against it, despising himself for a thousand little weaknesses which his love was continually making him commit. he shunned, with an obstinacy that ought to have offended the maiden, all opportunities of meeting her. when by chance they happened to be together, he became taciturn and sullen, only answering with difficulty the questions she put to him, and, with that awkwardness peculiar to unpractised lovers, seizing the first opportunity for leaving her. the young lady looked after him sadly, sighed quietly but deeply, and sometimes a liquid pearl flowed silently down her rosy cheeks at seeing this departure, which she took for indifference, and which was in reality love. but during the few days that had passed since the taking of the camp the young people had progressed without suspecting it, and this was greatly assisted by the mother of loyal heart, who, with that second sight with which all mothers worthy of the name are endowed, had divined this passion, and the honourable combats of her son, and had constituted herself the secret confidante of their love, assisting it unknown to them, and protecting it with all her power, whilst both lovers were persuaded that their secret was buried in the depths of their own hearts. such was the state of things two days after the proposal made by the captain to doña luz. loyal heart appeared more sad and more preoccupied than usual; he walked about the grotto with hasty strides, showing signs of the greatest impatience, and at intervals casting uneasy glances around him. at length, leaning against one of the projections of the grotto, he let his head sink on his chest, and remained plunged in profound meditation. he had stood thus for some time, when a soft voice murmured in his ear-- "what is the matter, my son? why are your features clouded with such sadness? have you received any bad news?" loyal heart raised his head, like a man suddenly awakened from sleep. his mother and doña luz were standing before him, their arms interlaced, and leaning upon each other. he cast upon them a melancholy glance, and replied with a stifled sigh,-- "alas! mother, tomorrow is the last day. i have as yet been able to imagine nothing that can save doña luz, and restore her uncle to her." the two women started. "tomorrow!" doña luz murmured; "that is true; it is tomorrow that that man is to come!" "what will you do, my son?" "how can i tell, mother?" he replied impatiently. "oh! this man is stronger than i am. he has defeated all my plans. up to the present moment we have not possibly been able to discover his retreat. all our researches have proved useless." "loyal heart," the young lady said, softly, "will you then abandon me to the mercy of this bandit? why, then, did you save me?" "oh!" the young man cried, "that reproach kills me." "i am not reproaching you, loyal heart," she said warmly; "but i am very unhappy. if i remain, i cause the death of the only relative i have in the world; if i depart, i am dishonoured!" "oh, to be able to do nothing!" he cried, with great excitement. "to see you weep, to know that you are unhappy, and to be able to do nothing! oh!" he added, "to spare you the least anxiety i would sacrifice my life with joy. god alone knows what i suffer from this want of power." "hope, my son, hope!" the old lady said, with an encouraging accent. "god is good. he will not abandon you." "hope! how can you tell me to do so, mother? during the last two days my friends and i have attempted things that would appear impossible--and yet without result. hope! and in a few hours this miserable wretch will come to claim the prey he covets! better to die than see such a crime consummated." doña luz cast upon him a glance of a peculiar expression, a melancholy smile for a moment passed over her lips, and then she gently laid her delicate little hand upon his shoulder,-- "loyal heart," she said, with her melodious, clear voice, "do you love me?" the young man started; a tremor pervaded every limb. "why that question?" he said, in a deeply agitated tone. "answer me," she replied, "without hesitation, as i put the question to you; the hour is a solemn one; i have a favour to ask of you." "oh! name it, señora; you know i can refuse you nothing!" "answer me, then," she said, trembling with emotion; "do you love me?" "if it be love to desire to sacrifice my life for you--if it be love to suffer martyrdom at witnessing the flowing of a tear which i would purchase with my whole blood--if it be love to have the courage to see you accomplish the sacrifice that will be required from you tomorrow in order to save your uncle--oh! yes, señora, i love you with all my soul! therefore, speak without fear: whatever you ask of me i will perform with joy." "that is well, my dear friend," she said, "i depend upon your word; tomorrow i will remind you of it when that man presents himself; but, in the first place, my uncle must be saved, if it were to cost me my life. alas! he has been a father to me: he loves me as his daughter. it was on my account that he fell into the hands of the bandits. oh! swear to me, loyal heart, that you will deliver him," she added, with an expression of anguish impossible to be described. loyal heart was about to reply when belhumeur and black elk entered the grotto. "at last!" he cried, springing towards them. the three men talked for a few minutes together in a low voice: then the hunter returned hastily towards the two women. his face was glowing with animation. "you were right, my dear mother," he exclaimed, in a cheerful tone, "god is good: he will not abandon those who place their confidence in him. now it is my turn to say, hope, doña luz, i will soon restore your uncle to you." "oh!" she cried, joyfully, "can it be possible?" "hope! i repeat! adieu, mother! implore god to second me; i am about, more than ever, to stand in need of his help!" without saying more the young man rushed out of the grotto, followed by the greater part of his companions. "what did he mean by what he said?" doña luz asked, anxiously. "come with me, my daughter," the old lady replied, sorrowfully; "come, let us pray for him." she drew her softly towards the retired part of the grotto which they inhabited. there only remained about half a score men charged with the defence of the two women. chapter xi. the prisoners. when the redskins and the hunters had recaptured the camp of the mexicans, the pirates, according to the orders of their leader, had spread about in all directions, in order the more easily to escape the researches of their enemies. the captain and the four men who carried off the general and his negro, both bound and gagged, had descended the declivity of the rocks, at the risk of being dashed to pieces a thousand times by falling down the precipices which gaped at their feet. on arriving at a certain distance, reassured by the silence which reigned around them, and still more by the extraordinary difficulties they had surmounted in reaching the place where they found themselves, they stopped to take breath. a profound darkness enveloped them; over their heads, at an immense height, they perceived, twinkling like little stars, the torches borne by the hunters who pursued them, but who took care not to venture in the dangerous path they had followed. "this is lucky," said the captain; "now, my boys, let us rest for a few minutes, we have nothing at the present time to fear: place your prisoners here, and go, two of you, and reconnoitre." his orders were executed; a few minutes later the two bandits returned, announcing that they had discovered an excavation, which, might temporarily offer them shelter and safety. "the devil!" cried the captain, "let us go to it." and setting the example he started off in the direction pointed out by the scouts. they soon arrived at a hollow nook which appeared tolerably spacious, and which was situated a few fathoms lower down than the place they had stopped at. when they were concealed in this hiding place, the captain's first care was to close the entrance hermetically, which was not difficult, for that entrance was very narrow, the bandits having been obliged to stoop to penetrate into it. "there," said the captain, "now we are snug; in this fashion we need not be afraid of impertinent visitors." drawing a steel from his pocket, he lit a torch of candlewood, with which, with that foresight that never abandons persons of his stamp even in the most critical circumstances, he had taken care to provide himself. as soon as they could distinguish objects, the bandits uttered a cry of joy. what in the darkness they had taken for a simple excavation proved to be one of those natural grottos of which so many are found in these countries. "eh! eh!" said the captain, laughing, "let us see what sort of quarters we have got into; remain here, my men, and keep strict watch over your prisoners; i will go and reconnoitre our new domain." after lighting a second torch, he explored the grotto. it dipped deep under the mountain by a gentle descent; the walls were everywhere lofty, and sometimes they were widened into large compartments. the cavern must have received external air by imperceptible fissures, for the light burned freely and the captain breathed without difficulty. the farther the pirate advanced, the more perceptible the air became, which led him to conclude he was approaching an entrance of some kind. he had been walking nearly twenty minutes, when a puff of wind came sharply in his nice and made the flame of his torch flicker. "hum!" he muttered, "here is a place of exit--let us be prudent and put out our lights, we know not whom we may meet with outside." he crushed the light of his torch beneath his feet, and remained a few instants motionless, to allow his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness. he was a prudent man, and thoroughly acquainted with his trade of a bandit, was this captain. if the plan he had formed for the attack of the camp had failed, it had required for that a concurrence of fortuitous circumstances impossible to have been foreseen by anybody. therefore, after the first moment of ill-humour caused by the check he had received, he had bravely taken his part; resolving, _in petto_, to take his revenge as soon as an opportunity should present itself. besides, it seemed as if fortune was willing to smile on him afresh, by offering him, just at the moment when he had the greatest want of it, a refuge not likely to be discovered. it was therefore with an almost unspeakable joy and hope that he waited till his eyes should be accustomed to the darkness, to permit him to distinguish objects and know if he were really going to find a place of exit, which would render him master of an almost impregnable position. his expectations were not disappointed. as soon as the dazzling effect of the blaze of the torch was got rid of, he perceived, at a considerable distance before him, a feeble light. he walked resolutely forward, and at the end of a few minutes came to the so much desired outlet. decidedly fortune was once more propitious to him! the outlet of the grotto opened upon the banks of a little river, the water of which came murmuring close to the mouth of the cavern, so that the bandits might, by swimming or constructing a raft, go in and out without leaving any traces, and thus defeat all researches. the captain was too well acquainted with the prairies of the west, in which he had for nearly ten years exercised his honourable and lucrative profession, not to be able to know at once where he was on looking around him. he perceived that this river flowed at some distance from the camp of the mexicans, from which its numberless meanderings tended still more to remove it. he breathed a sigh of satisfaction when he had well examined the environs, no longer fearing discovery and thenceforward at ease regarding his position. he lit his torch again, and retraced his steps. his companions, with the exception of one who watched the prisoners, were fast asleep. the captain aroused them. "come, be alive! be alive!" he said; "this is not the time for sleeping; we have something else to do." the bandits arose with a very ill grace, rubbing their eyes, and yawning enough to dislocate their jaws. the captain made them, in the first place, securely close up the hole by which they had entered, then he ordered them to follow him with the prisoners, whose legs they unbound, in order that they might walk. they stopped in one of the numerous halls, if we may so term them, which the captain had discovered on his route; one man was appointed to guard the prisoners, who were left in this place, and the captain, with the three other bandits continued their way to the outlet. "you see," he said to them, pointing to the outlet, "that sometimes misfortune has its good, since chance has allowed us to discover a place of refuge where no one will come to seek us. you, frank, set off directly for the rendez-vous i have appointed with your comrades, and bring them hither, as well as all the rest of our men who did not form part of the expedition. as for you, antonio, you must procure us some provisions. go, both of you. it is needless to tell you that i shall await your return with impatience." the two bandits plunged into the river without reply, and disappeared. "as to you, gonzalez," he said, "employ yourself in gathering wood together for firing, and dry leaves for bedding; come, to work! to work!" an hour later, a clear fire sparkled in the grotto, and upon soft beds of dry leaves the bandits slept soundly. at sunrise the rest of the troop arrived. there were still thirty of them! the worthy leader felt his heart dilate with joy at the sight of the rich collection of scoundrels he had still at his disposal. with them he did not despair of re-establishing his affairs, and of soon taking a signal revenge. after an abundant breakfast, composed of venison, copiously washed down with mezcal, the captain at length turned his attention to his prisoners. he repaired to the hall which served for their dungeon. since he had fallen into the hands of the bandits, the general had remained silent, apparently insensible to the ill-treatment to which he had been exposed. the wounds he had received, being neglected, had festered, and gave him terrible pain; but he did not utter a complaint. a deep grief took possession of his mind from the moment of his capture; he saw all his hopes overthrown of being able to resume the execution of the project that had brought him into the prairies. all his companions were dead, and he knew not what fate awaited himself. the only thing that brought a slight consolation to his pains was the certainty that his niece had succeeded in escaping. but what was to become of her in this desert, where nothing was to be met with but wild beasts, and still more ferocious indians? how could a young girl, accustomed to all the comforts of life, support the hazards of this existence of privations? this idea redoubled his sufferings. the captain was terrified at the state in which he found him. "come, general," he said, "courage! what the devil! luck often changes; i know something of that! _caray!_ never despair; nobody can tell what tomorrow will bring about. give me your parole not to endeavour to escape, and i will immediately restore you the freedom of your limbs." "i cannot give you that parole," the general replied with firmness; "i should take a false oath if i did. on the contrary, i swear to endeavour to fly by all possible means." "bravo! well answered!" said the pirate, laughing; "in your place, i should have replied just the same; only, at the present moment, i believe, with the best will in the world, it would be impossible for you to go a step. in spite, therefore, of all you have said to me, i will restore both you and your servant to liberty, and you may make what use you like of it, but it is freedom of your limbs, please to recollect, that is all." with a stroke of his machete he cut the cords which bound the arms of the general, and then performed the same service for the negro, jupiter. the latter, as soon as he was free in his movements, began jumping and laughing, exhibiting two rows of formidable teeth of dazzling whiteness. "come, be prudent, blacky," said the pirate; "be quiet here, if you do not want to have a bullet through your head." "i will not go without my master," jupiter replied, rolling his great wild-looking eyes. "that is right!" the pirate remarked with a sneer; "that is agreed upon; such devotedness does you honour, blacky." turning next to the general, the captain bathed his wounds with cold water, and dressed them carefully; then, after placing provisions before the prisoners, to which the negro alone did honour, the pirate retired. towards the middle of the day, the captain called together the principal men of his band. "caballeros," he said, "we cannot deny that we have lost the first game; the prisoners we have made are far from reimbursing our expenses; we cannot remain quiet under the effects of a check, which dishonours us, and renders us ridiculous. i am going to play a second game; this time if i do not win i shall be unlucky indeed. during my absence, watch well over the prisoners. pay attention to the last orders i give you: if tomorrow, at midnight, i have not returned, safe and sound among you, at a quarter past midnight, i say, you will shoot the two prisoners without remission; you perfectly understand what i say, do you not?--without remission." "be at your ease, captain," frank replied, in the name of his companions; "you may go as soon as you please; your orders shall be executed." "i know they will; but be sure not to shoot them a minute too soon, or a minute too late." "exactly at the time named." "that is understood. adieu, then; do not be too impatient for my return." upon this the captain left the grotto, to throw himself in the way of loyal heart. we have seen what the bandit wanted with the trapper. chapter xii. a ruse de guerre. after his strange proposal to the hunters, the leader of the pirates retook, at his best speed, the road to his den. but he was too much accustomed to the life of the prairies not to suspect that several of his enemies would follow his track at a distance. therefore, he had put in practice, to mislead them, all the tricks which his inventive mind could furnish with him, making _détours_ without number, retracing incessantly his steps, or, as it is vulgarly said, going back ten yards to advance one. these numerous precautions had excessively retarded his journey. when he arrived on the banks of the river whose waters bathed the entrance to the cavern, he cast a last look around him, to make certain that no busy eye was watching his movements. everything was calm, nothing suspicious appeared, and he was about to launch into the stream the raft concealed beneath the leaves, when a slight noise in the bushes attracted his attention. the pirate started; promptly drawing a pistol from his belt, he cocked it, and advanced boldly towards the spot whence this alarming noise proceeded. a man bent towards the ground, was busy digging up herbs and plants with a small spade. the pirate smiled, and replaced his pistol in his belt. he had recognized the doctor, who was as much absorbed in his favourite passion as usual; so much so, indeed, that he had not perceived him. after surveying him for an instant with disdain, the pirate was turning his back upon him, when an idea occurred to him, which made him, on the contrary,--advance towards the _savant_, upon whose shoulder he somewhat roughly laid his hand. at this rude salutation, the poor doctor drew himself up in a fright, letting fall both plants and spade. "holla! my good fellow," said the captain, in a jeering tone, "what madness possesses you to be herbalizing thus at all hours of the day and night?" "how!" the doctor replied, "what do you mean by that?" "zounds! it's plain enough! don't you know it is not far from midnight?" "that is true," the _savant_ remarked ingenuously; "but there is such a fine moon." "which you, i suppose, have taken for the sun," said the pirate, with a loud laugh; "but," he added, becoming all at once serious, "that is of no consequence now; although half a madman, i have been told that you are a pretty good doctor." "i have passed my examinations," the doctor replied, offended by the epithet applied to him. "very well! you are just the man i want, then." the _savant_ bowed with a very ill grace; it was evident he was not much flattered by the attention. "what do you require of me?" he asked; "are you ill?" "not i, thank god! but one of your friends, who is at this moment my prisoner, is; so please to follow me." "but----" the doctor would fain have objected. "i admit of no excuses; follow me, or i will blow your brains out. besides, don't be afraid, you run no risk; my men will pay you all the respect science is entitled to." as resistance was impossible, the worthy man did as he was bidden with a good grace--with so good a grace, even, that for a second he allowed a smile to stray across his lips, which would have aroused the suspicions of the pirate if he had perceived it. the captain commanded the _savant_ to walk on before him, and both thus reached the river. at the instant they quitted the place where this conversation, had taken place, the branches of a bush parted slowly, and a head, shaved with the exception of a long tuft of hair at the top, on which was stuck an eagle's feather, appeared, then a body, and then an entire man, who bounded like a jaguar in pursuit of them. this man was eagle head. he was a silent spectator of the embarkation of the two whites, saw them enter the grotto, and then, in his turn, disappeared in the shade of the woods, after muttering to himself in a low voice the word-- "_och!_" (good) the highest expression of joy in the language of the comanches. the doctor had plainly only served as a bait to attract the pirate, and cause him to fall into the snare laid by the indian chief. now, had the worthy _savant_ any secret intelligence with eagle head? that is what we shall soon know. on the morrow, at daybreak, the pirate ordered a close battue to be made in the environs of the grotto; but no track existed. the captain rubbed his hands with joy; his expedition had doubly succeeded, since he had managed to return to his cavern without being followed. certain of having nothing to dread, he was unwilling to keep about him so many men in a state of inactivity; placing, therefore, his troop provisionally under the command of frank, a veteran bandit, in whom he had perfect confidence, he only retained ten chosen men with him, and sent away the rest. although the affair he was now engaged in was interesting, and his success appeared certain, he was not, on that account, willing to neglect his other occupations, and maintain a score of bandits in idleness, who might, at any moment, from merely having nothing else to do, play him an ugly turn. it is evident that the captain was not only a prudent man, but was thoroughly acquainted with his honourable associates. when the pirates had left the grotto, the captain made a sign to the doctor to follow him, and conducted him to the general. after having introduced them to each other with that ironical politeness in which he was such a master, the bandit retired, leaving them together. only before he departed, the captain drew a pistol from his belt, and clapping it to the breast of the _savant_-- "although you may be half a madman," he said, "as you may, nevertheless, have some desire to betray me, observe this well, my dear sir; at the least equivocal proceeding that i see you attempt, i will blow your brains out; you are warned, so now act as you think proper." and replacing his pistol in his belt, he retired with one of his eloquent sneers on his lips. the doctor listened to this admonition with a very demure countenance, but with a sly smile, which, in spite of himself, glided over his lips, but which, fortunately, was not perceived by the captain. the general and his negro, jupiter, were confined in a compartment of the grotto at some distance from the outlet. they were alone, for the captain had deemed it useless to keep guards constantly with them. both seated upon a heap of leaves, with heads cast down and crossed arms, they were reflecting seriously, if not profoundly. at sight of the _savant_, the dismal countenance of the general was lighted up by a fugitive smile of hope. "ah, doctor, is that you?" he said, holding out to him a hand which the other pressed warmly hut silently, "have i reason to rejoice or to be still sad at your presence?" "are we alone?" the doctor asked, without answering the general's question. "i believe so," he replied, in a tone of surprise; "at all events, it is easy to satisfy yourself." the doctor groped all round the place, carefully examined every corner; he then went back to the prisoners. "we can talk," he said. the _savant_ was habitually so absorbed by his scientific calculations, and was naturally so absent, that the prisoners had but little confidence in him. "and my niece?" the general asked, anxiously. "be at ease on her account; she is in safety with a hunter named loyal heart, who has a great respect for her." the general breathed a sigh of relief; this good news had restored him all his courage. "oh!" he said, "of what consequence is my being a prisoner? now i know my niece is safe, i can suffer anything." "no, no," said the doctor, warmly, "on the contrary, you must escape from this place tomorrow, by some means." "why?" "answer me in the first place." "i ask no better than to do so." "your wounds appear slight; are they progressing towards cure?" "i think so." "do you feel yourself able to walk? "oh, yes!" "but let us understand each other. i mean, are you able to walk a distance?" "i believe so, if it be absolutely necessary." "eh! eh!" said the negro, who, up to this moment had remained silent, "am i not able to carry my master when he can walk no longer?" the general pressed his hand. "that's true, so far," said the doctor; "all is well, only you must escape." "i should be most glad to do so, but how?" "ah! that," said the _savant_, scratching his head, "is what i do not know, for my part! but be at ease, i will find some means; at present, i don't know what." steps were heard approaching, and the captain appeared. "well!" he asked, "how are your patients going on?" "not too well!" the doctor replied. "bah! bah!" the pirate resumed; "all that will come round; besides, the general will soon be free, then he can get well at his ease. now, doctor, come along with me; i hope i have left you and your friend long enough together to have said all you wish." the doctor followed him without reply, after having made the general a parting sign to recommend prudence. the day passed away without further incident. the prisoners looked for the night with impatience; in spite of themselves, a confidence in the doctor had gained upon them--they hoped. towards evening the worthy _savant_ reappeared. he walked with a deliberate step, his countenance was cheerful, he held a torch in his hand. "what is there fresh, doctor?" the general asked; "you appear to be quite gay." "in fact, general, i am so," he replied with a smile, "because i have found the means of securing your escape--not forgetting my own." "and those means?" "are already half executed," he said, with a little dry smile, which was peculiar to him when he was satisfied. "what do you mean by that?" "by galen! something very simple, but which you never would guess: all our bandits are asleep, we are masters of the grotto." "that may be possible; but if they should wake?" "don't trouble yourself about that; they will wake, of that there is no doubt, but not within six hours at least." "how the devil can you tell that?" "because i took upon myself to send them to sleep; that is to say, at their supper i served them with a decoction of opium, which brought them down like lumps of lead, and they have all been snoring ever since like so many forge bellows." "oh, that is capital!" said the general. "is it not?" the doctor observed, modestly. "by galen, i was determined to repair the mischief i had done you by my negligence! i am not a soldier, i am but a poor physician; i have made use of my proper weapons; you see that in certain cases they are as good as others." "they are a hundred times better! doctor, you are a noble fellow!" "well, come, let us lose no time." "that is true, let us be gone; but the captain, what have you done with him?" "oh, as to him, the devil only knows where he is. he left us after dinner without saying anything to anybody; but i have a shrewd suspicion i know where he is gone, and am much mistaken if we do not see him presently." "all, then, is for the best; lead on." the three men set off at once. in spite of the means employed by the doctor, the general and the negro were not quite at ease. they arrived at the compartment which now served as a dormitory for the bandits; they were lying about asleep in all directions. the fugitives passed safely through them. when they arrived at the entrance of the grotto, at the moment they were about to unfasten the raft to cross the river, they saw, by the pale rays of the moon, another raft, manned by fifteen men, who steadily directed their course towards them. their retreat was cut off. how could they possibly resist such a number of adversaries? "what a fatality!" the general murmured, despondingly. "oh!" said the doctor, piteously, "a plan of escape that cost me so much trouble to elaborate!" the fugitives threw themselves into a cavity of the rocks, to avoid being seen, and there waited the landing of the newcomers, whose manoeuvres appeared more and more suspicious. chapter xiii. the law of the prairies. a considerable space of ground, situated in front of the grotto inhabited by loyal heart, had been cleared, the trees cut down, and from a hundred and fifty to two hundred huts erected. the whole tribe of the comanches was encamped on this spot. among trappers, hunters, and redskin warriors there existed the best possible understanding. in the centre of this temporary village, where the huts of buffalo hides painted of different colours were arranged with a degree of symmetry, one much larger than the others, surmounted by scalps fixed to long poles, and in which a large fire was continually kept up, served as the council lodge. the greatest bustle prevailed in the village. the indian warriors were armed and in their war paint, as if preparing to march to battle. the hunters had dressed themselves in their best costumes, and cleaned their arms with the greatest care, as if expecting soon to make use of them. the horses completely caparisoned, stood hobbled, and held by half a score warriors, ready to be mounted. hunters and redskins were coming and going in a busy, preoccupied manner. a rare and almost unknown thing among indians, sentinels were placed at regular distances to signal the approach of a stranger, whoever he might be. in short, everything denoted that one of the ceremonies peculiar to the prairies was about to take place. but, strange to say, loyal heart, eagle head, and black elk were absent. belhumeur alone watched over the preparations that were being made, talking, the while, to the old comanche chief _eshis_, or the sun. but their countenances were stern, their brows thoughtful, they appeared a prey to an overpowering preoccupation. it was the day fixed upon by the captain of the pirates for doña luz to be delivered up to him. would the captain venture to come? or was his proposition anything more than a rodomontade? those who knew the pirate, and their number was great--almost all having suffered by his depredations--inclined to the affirmative. this man was endowed, and it was the only quality they acknowledged in him, with a ferocious courage and an iron will. if once he had affirmed he would do a thing, he did it, without regard to anybody or any danger. and then, what had he to dread in coming a second time amongst his enemies? did he not hold the general in his power? the general, whose life answered for his own; all knew that he would not hesitate to sacrifice him to his safety. it was about eight o'clock in the morning, a brilliant sun shed its dazzling rays in profusion upon the picture we have endeavoured to describe. doña luz left the grotto, leaning upon the arm of the mother of loyal heart, and followed by nô eusebio. the two women were sad and pale, their faces looked worn, and their red eyes showed they had been weeping. as soon as belhumeur perceived them, he advanced towards them, bowing respectfully. "has not my son returned yet?" the old lady asked, anxiously. "not yet," the hunter replied, "but keep up your spirits, señora, it will not be long before he is here." "good god! i do not know why, but it seems as if he must be detained at a distance from us by some untoward event." "no, señora, i should know if he were so. when i left him last night, for the purpose of tranquillizing you, and executing the orders he gave me, he was in an excellent situation; therefore, believe me, be reassured, and, above all, have confidence." "alas!" the poor woman murmured, "i have lived for twenty years in continual agony, every night dreading not to see my son on the morrow; my god! will you not then have pity on me!" "have comfort, dear señora," said doña luz, affectionately, and with a gentle kiss: "oh! i know that if loyal heart at this moment be in danger, it is to save my poor uncle; my god!" she added, fervently, "grant that he may succeed!" "all will soon be cleared up, ladies, be assured by me, and you know i would not deceive you." "yes," said the old lady, "you are good, you love my son, and you would not be here if he had anything to dread." "you judge me rightly, señora, and i thank you for it. i cannot, at the present moment, tell you anything, but i implore you to have a little patience; let it suffice for you to know that he is labouring to render the señorita happy." "oh! yes," said the mother, "always good, always devoted!" "and therefore was he named loyal heart," the maiden murmured, with a blush. "and never was name better merited," the hunter exclaimed proudly. "a man must have lived a long time with him, and know him as well as i know him, in order to appreciate him properly." "thanks, in my turn, for all you say of my son, belhumeur," the old lady replied, pressing the callous hand of the hunter. "i speak nothing but the truth, señora; i am only just, that is all. oh! things would go on well in the prairies if all hunters were like him." "good heavens! time passes, will he never come?" she murmured, looking around with feverish impatience. "very soon, señora." "i wish to be the first to see him and salute him on his arrival!" "unfortunately that is impossible." "why so?" "your son charged me to beg you, as well as señora luz, to retire into the grotto; he is anxious that you should not be present at the scene that is about to take place here." "but," said doña luz, anxiously, "how shall i know if my uncle be saved or not?" "be assured, señorita, that you shall not remain in uncertainty long. but i beg you not to remain here. go in, go in." "perhaps it will be best to do so," the old lady observed. "let us be obedient, darling," she added, smiling on the girl; "let us go in, since my son requires it." doña luz followed her without resistance, but casting furtive looks behind her, to try if she could catch a glimpse of him she loved. "how happy are those who have mothers!" murmured belhumeur, stifling a sigh, and looking after the two women, who disappeared in the shade of the grotto. all at once the indian sentinels uttered a cry, which was immediately repeated by a man placed in front of the council lodge. at this signal the comanche chiefs arose and left the hut in which they were assembled. the hunters and indian warriors seized their arms, ranged themselves on either side of the grotto, and waited. a cloud of dust rolled towards the camp with great rapidity, but was soon dispersed, and revealed a troop of horsemen riding at full speed. these horsemen, for the most part, wore the costume of mexican gambusinos. at their head, upon a magnificent horse, black as night, came a man whom all immediately recognized. this was captain waktehno, who came audaciously at the head of his troop, to claim the fulfilment of the odious bargain he had imposed three days before. generally, in the prairies, when two troops meet, or when warriors or hunters visit a village, it is the custom to execute a sort of _fantasia_, by rushing full speed towards each other, yelling and firing off guns. on this occasion, however, nothing of the kind took place. the comanches and the hunters remained motionless and silent, awaiting the arrival of the pirates. this cold, stern reception did not astonish the captain; though his eyebrows were a little contracted, he feigned not to perceive it, and entered the village intrepidly at the head of his band. when he arrived in front of the chiefs drawn up before the council lodge, the twenty horsemen stopped suddenly, as if they had been changed into statues of bronze. this bold manoeuvre was executed with such dexterity that the hunters, good judges of horsemanship, with difficulty repressed a cry of admiration. scarcely had the pirates halted, ere the ranks of the warriors placed on the right and left of the lodge deployed like a fan, and closed behind them. the twenty pirates found themselves by this movement, which was executed with incredible quickness, enclosed within a circle formed of more than five hundred men, well armed and equally well mounted. the captain felt a slight tremor of uneasiness at the sight of this manoeuvre, and he almost repented having come. but surmounting this involuntary emotion, he smiled disdainfully; he believed he was certain he had nothing to fear. he bowed slightly to the chiefs ranged before him, and addressed belhumeur in a firm voice,-- "where is the girl?" he demanded. "i do not know what you mean," the hunter replied, in a bantering tone; "i do not believe that there is any young lady here upon whom you have any claim whatever." "what does this mean? and what is going on here?" the captain muttered, casting around a look of defiance. "has loyal heart forgotten the visit i paid him three days ago?" "loyal heart never forgets anything," said belhumeur, in a firm tone; "but the question is not of him now. how can you have the audacity to present yourself among us at the head of a set of brigands?" "well," said the captain jeeringly, "i see you want to answer me by an evasion. as to the menace contained in the latter part of your sentence, it is worth very little notice." "you are wrong; for since you have committed the imprudence of throwing yourself into our hands, we shall not be simple enough, i warn you, to allow you to escape." "oh, oh!" said the pirate; "what game are we playing now?" "you will soon learn." "i can wait," the pirate replied, casting around a provoking glance. "in these deserts, where all human laws are silent," the hunter replied, in a loud clear voice, "the law of god ought to reign in full vigour. this law says, 'an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.'" "what follows?" said the pirate, in a dry tone. "during ten years," belhumeur continued impassively, "at the head of a troop of bandits, without faith and without law, you have been the terror of the prairies, pillaging and assassinating white men and red men; for you are of no country, plunder and rapine being your only rule; trappers, hunters, gambusinos, or indians, you have respected no one, if murder could procure you a piece of gold. not many days ago you took by assault the camp of peaceful mexican travellers, and massacred them without pity. this career of crime must have an end, and that end has now come. we have indians and hunters assembled here to try you, and apply to you the implacable law of the prairies." "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth," the assembled indians and hunters cried, brandishing their arms. "you deceive yourselves greatly, my masters," the pirate answered, with assurance, "if you believe i shall hold my throat out peaceably to the knife, like a calf that is being led to the shambles. i suspected what would happen, and that is why i am so well accompanied. i have with me twenty resolute men, who well know how to defend themselves. you have not got us yet." "look around you, and see what is left for you to do." the pirate cast a look behind him, and saw five hundred guns levelled at his band. a shudder passed through his limbs, a mortal pallor covered his face, the pirate understood that he was confronted by a terrible danger; but after a second of reflection, he recovered all his coolness, and addressing the hunter, he replied in a jeering voice:-- "what is the use of all these menaces, which do not frighten me? you know very well that i am screened from all your violence. you have told me that i attacked some mexican travellers a few days ago, but you are not ignorant that the most important of those travellers has fallen into my power. dare but to touch a single hair of my head, and the general, the uncle of the girl you would in vain ravish from my power, will immediately pay with his life for the insult you offer me. believe me, then, my masters, you had better cease endeavouring to terrify me; give up to me with a good grace her whom i come to demand, or i swear to you, by god, that within an hour the general will be a dead man." all at once a man broke through the crowd, and placing himself in front of the pirate, said-- "you are mistaken, the general is free!" that man was loyal heart. a hum of joy resounded from the ranks of the hunters and indians, whilst a shudder of terror agitated the pirates. chapter xiv. the chastisement. the general and his two companions had not remained long in a state of uncertainty. the raft, after several attempts, came to shore at last, and fifteen men, armed with guns advanced, and rushed into the grotto, uttering loud cries. the fugitives ran towards them with joy; for they recognized at the head of them loyal heart, eagle head, and black elk. this is what had happened. as soon as the doctor had entered the grotto with the captain, eagle head, certain of having discovered the retreat of the pirates, had rejoined his friends, to whom he imparted the success of his stratagem, belhumeur had been despatched to loyal heart, who had hastened to come. all, in concert, had resolved to attack the bandits in their cavern, whilst other detachments of hunters and redskin warriors, spread about the prairies, and concealed among the rocks should watch the approaches to the grottos and prevent the escape of the pirates. we have seen the result of this expedition. after having devoted the first moment entirely to joy, and the pleasure of having succeeded without a blow being struck, the general informed his liberators that half a score bandits were sleeping in the grotto, under the influence of the worthy doctor's opium. the pirates were strongly bound and carried away; then, after calling in the various detachments, the whole band again bent their way to the camp. great had been the surprise of the captain at the exclamation of loyal heart; but that surprise was changed into terror, when he saw the general, whom he thought so safely guarded by his men, standing before him. he saw at once that all his measures were defeated, and his tricks circumvented, and that this time he was lost without resource. the blood mounted to his throat, his eyes darted lightning, and turning towards loyal heart, he said, in a hoarse loud voice-- "well played! but all is not yet ended between us. by god's help i shall have my revenge!" he made a gesture as if to put his horse in motion; but loyal heart held it resolutely by the bridle. "we have not done yet," he remarked. the pirate looked at him for an instant with eyes injected with blood, and then said in a voice broken by passion, whilst urging on his horse to oblige the hunter to quit his hold. "what more do you want with me?" loyal heart, thanks to a wrist of iron, still held the horse, which plunged furiously. "you have been brought to trial," he replied, "and the law of the prairies is about to be applied to you." the pirate uttered a terrible, sneering, maniac laugh, and tore his pistols from his belt:-- "woe be to him who touches me!" he cried, with rage, "give me way!" "no," the impassive hunter replied, "you are fairly taken, my master; this time you shall not escape me." "die then!" cried the pirate, aiming one of his pistols at loyal heart. but, quick as thought, belhumeur, who had watched his movements closely, threw himself before his friend with a swiftness increased tenfold by the seriousness of the situation. the shot was fired. the ball struck the canadian, who fell bathed in his blood. "one!" cried the pirate, with a ferocious laugh. "_two_!" screamed eagle head, and with the bound of a panther, he leaped upon the pirate's horse behind him. before the captain could make a movement to defend himself, the indian seized him with his left hand, by the long hair, of which he formed a tuft, and pulled him backwards violently, with his head downwards. "curses on you!" cried the pirate, in vain endeavouring to free himself from his enemy. and then took place a scene which chilled the spectators with horror. the horse, which loyal heart had left his hold of, when at liberty, furious with being urged on by its master and checked by loyal heart, and with the double weight imposed upon it, sprang forward, mad with rage, breaking and overturning in its course every object that opposed its passage. but it still carried, clinging to its sides, the two men struggling to kill each other, and who on the back of the terrified animal writhed about like serpents. eagle head had, as we have said, pulled back the head of the pirate; he placed his knee against his loins, uttered his hideous war cry, and flourished with a terrible gesture his knife around the brow of his enemy. "kill me, then, vile wretch!" the pirate cried, and with a rapid effort he raised his left hand, still armed with a pistol, but the bullet was lost in space. the comanche chief fixed his eyes upon the captain's face. "thou art a coward!" he said, with disgust, "and an old woman, who is afraid of death!" at the same time he pushed the bandit forcibly with his knee, and plunged the knife into his skull. the captain uttered a piercing cry, which arose into the air, mingled with the howl of triumph of the chief. the horse stumbled over a root; the two enemies rolled upon the ground. only one rose up. it was the comanche chief, who brandished the bleeding scalp of the pirate. but the latter was not dead. almost mad with pain and fury, and blinded with the blood which trickled into his eyes, he arose and rushed upon his adversary, who had no expectation of such an attack. then, with limbs entwined, each endeavoured, by strength and artifice, to throw his antagonist, and plunge into his body the knife with which he was armed. several hunters sprang forward to separate them, but when they reached them all was over. the captain lay upon the ground with the knife of eagle head buried to the hilt in his heart. the pirates, held in awe by the white hunters and the indian warriors who surrounded them, did not attempt a resistance, which they knew would be useless. when he saw his captain fall, frank, in the name of his companions, proclaimed that they surrendered. at a signal from loyal heart they laid down their arms and were bound. belhumeur, the brave canadian, whose devotedness had saved the life of his friend, had received a serious wound, but, happily, it was not mortal. he had been instantly lifted up and carried into the grotto, where the mother of the hunter paid him every attention. eagle head approached loyal heart, who stood pensive and silent, leaning against a tree. "the chiefs are assembled round the fire of council," he said, "and await my brother." "i follow, my brother," the hunter replied, laconically. when the two men entered the hut, all the chiefs were assembled; among them were the general, black elk, and several other trappers. the calumet was brought into the middle of the circle by the pipe bearer; he bowed respectfully towards the four cardinal points, and then presented the long tube to every chief in his turn. when the calumet had made the round of the circle, the pipe bearer emptied the ashes into the fire, murmuring some mystic words, and then retired. then the old chief named the sun, arose, and after saluting the members of the council, said-- "chiefs and warriors, listen to the words which my lungs breathe and which the master of life has placed in my heart. what do you purpose doing with the twenty prisoners who are now in your hands? will you release them that they may continue their life of murder and rapine? that they may carry off your wives, steal your horses, and kill your brothers? will you conduct them to the stone villages of the great white hearts of the east? the route is long, abounding in dangers, traversed by mountains and rapid rivers; the prisoners may escape in the journey, or may surprise you in your sleep and massacre you. and then, you know, warriors, when you have arrived at the stone villages, the long knives will release them, for there exists no justice for red men. no, warriors, the master of life, who has, at length, delivered up these men into our power, wills that they should die. he has marked the term of their crimes. when we find a jaguar or a grizzly bear upon our path, we kill them; these men are more cruel than jaguars or grizzlies, they owe a reckoning for the blood they have shed, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. let them, then, be fastened to the stake of torture. i cast a necklace of red wampums into the council. have i spoken well, men of power?" after these words, the old chief sat down again. there was a moment of solemn silence. it was evident that all present approved of his advice. loyal heart waited for a few minutes; he saw that nobody was preparing to reply to the speech of the sun; then he arose:-- "comanche chiefs and warriors, and you white trappers, my brothers," he said in a mild, sad tone, "the words pronounced by the venerable sachem are just; unfortunately, the safety of the prairies requires death of our prisoners. this extremity is terrible, but we are forced to submit to it, if we desire to enjoy the fruit of our rude labours in peace. but if we find ourselves constrained to apply the implacable law of the desert, let us not show ourselves barbarians by choice; let us punish, since it must be so, but let us punish like men of heart, and not like cruel men. let us prove to these bandits that we are executing justice, that in killing them it is not for the purpose of avenging ourselves, but the whole of society. besides, their chief, by far the most guilty of them, has fallen before the courage and weapons of eagle head. let us be clement without ceasing to be just. let us leave them the choice of their death. no useless torture. the master of life will smile upon us, he will be content with his red children, to whom he will grant abundance of game in their hunting grounds. i have spoken: have i spoken well, men of power?" the members of the council had listened attentively to the words of the young man. the chiefs had smiled kindly at the noble sentiments he had expressed; for all, both indians and trappers, loved and respected him. eagle head arose. "my brother, loyal heart has spoken well," said he; "his years are few in number, but his wisdom is great. we are happy to find an opportunity of proving our friendship for him; we seize it with eagerness. we will do what he desires." "thank you!" loyal heart replied warmly; "thank you, my brothers! the comanche nation is a great and noble nation, which i love; i am proud of having been adopted by it." the council broke up, and the chiefs left the lodge. the prisoners, collected in a group, were strictly guarded by a detachment of warriors. the public crier called together all the members of the tribe, and the hunters dispersed about the village. when all were assembled, eagle head arose to speak, and, addressing the pirates, said-- "dogs of palefaces, the council of the great chiefs of the powerful nation of the comanches, whose vast hunting grounds cover a great part of the earth, has pronounced your fate. try, after having lived like wild beasts, not to die like timid old women; be brave, and then, perhaps, the master of life will have pity on you, and will receive you after death into the eskennane,--that place of delights where the brave who have looked death in the face hunt during eternity." "we are ready," replied frank, unmoved; "fasten us to the stakes, invent the most atrocious tortures; you will not see us blench." "our brother, loyal heart," the chief continued, "has interceded for you. you will not be fastened to the stake; the chiefs leave to yourselves the choice of your death." then was awakened that characteristic trait in the manners of the whites, who, inhabiting the prairies for any length of time, end by forsaking the customs of their ancestors, and adopt those of the indians. the proposition made by eagle head was revolting to the pride of the pirates. "by what right," frank cried, "does loyal heart intercede for us? does he fancy that we are not men? that tortures will be able to draw from us cries and complaints unworthy of us? no! no! lead us to punishment; whatever you can inflict upon us will not be so cruel as what we make the warriors of your nation undergo when they fall into our hands." at these insulting words a sensation of anger pervaded the ranks of the indians, whilst the pirates, on the contrary, uttered cries of joy and triumph. "dogs! rabbits!" they shouted; "comanche warriors are old women, who ought to wear petticoats!" loyal heart advanced, and silence was re-established. "you have wrongly understood the words of the chief," he said; "in leaving you the choice of your death, it was not an insult, but a mark of respect that he paid you. here is my dagger; you shall be unbound, let it pass from hand to hand, and be buried in all your hearts in turn. the man who is free, and without hesitation kills himself at a single blow, is braver than he who, fastened to the stake of torture, and unable to endure the pain, insults his executioner in order to receive a prompt death." a loud acclamation welcomed these words of the hunter. the pirates consulted among themselves for an instant with a look, then, with one spontaneous movement, they made the sign of the cross, and cried with one voice-- "we accept your offer!" the crowd, an instant before, so tumultuous and violent, became silent and attentive, awed by the expectation of the terrible tragedy which was about to be played before them. "unbind the prisoners," loyal heart commanded. this order was immediately executed. "your dagger!" said frank. the hunter gave it to him. "thank you, and farewell!" said the pirate, in a firm voice; and, opening his vestments, he deliberately, and with a smile, as if he enjoyed death, buried the dagger up to the hilt in his heart. a livid pallor gradually invaded his countenance, his eyes rolled in their orbits, and casting round wild and aimless glances, he staggered like a drunken man, and rolled upon the ground. he was dead. "my turn!" cried the pirate next him, and plucking the still reeking dagger from the wound, he plunged it into his heart. he fell upon the body of the first victim. after him came the turn of another, then another, and so on; not one hesitated, not one displayed weakness,--all fell smiling, and thanking loyal heart for the death they owed to him. the spectators were awestruck by this terrible execution; but, fascinated by the frightful spectacle,--drunk, so to say, with the odour of blood, they stood with haggard eyes and heaving breasts, without having the power to turn away their looks. there soon remained but one pirate. this man contemplated for a moment the heap of bodies which lay before him; then, drawing the dagger from the breast of him who had preceded him, he said with a smile,-- "a fellow is lucky to die in such good company; but where the devil do we go to after death? bah! what a fool i am! i shall soon know!" and with a gesture quick as thought he stabbed himself. he fell instantly quite dead. this frightful slaughter did not last more than a quarter of an hour.[ ] not one of the pirates had struck twice; all were killed by the first blow. "the dagger is mine!" said eagle head, drawing it smoking from the still palpitating body of the last bandit. "it is a good weapon for a warrior;" and he placed it coolly in his belt, after having wiped it upon the grass. the bodies of the pirates were scalped, and borne out of the camp. they were abandoned to the vultures and the urubus, for whom they would furnish an ample feast, and who, attracted by the odour of blood, were already hovering over them, uttering lugubrious cries of joy. the formidable troop of captain waktehno was thus annihilated. unfortunately there were other pirates in the prairies. after the execution, the indians re-entered their huts carelessly; for them it had only been one of those spectacles to which they had been for a long time accustomed, and which have no effect upon their nerves. the trappers, on the contrary, notwithstanding the rough life they lead, and the frequency with which they see blood shed--either their own or that of other people, dispersed silently and noiselessly, with hearts oppressed by the spectacle of this frightful butchery. loyal heart and the general directed their steps towards the grotto. the ladies, shut up in the interior of the cavern, were ignorant of the terrible drama that had been played, and of the sanguinary expiation which had terminated it. [ ] all this scene is historical, and strictly true; the author was present in apacheria, at a similar execution.] chapter xv. the pardon. the interview between the general and his niece was most touching. the old soldier, so roughly treated for some time past, was delighted to press to his bosom the innocent child who constituted his whole family, and who, by a miracle, had escaped the misfortunes that had assailed her. for a long time they forgot themselves in a delightful interchange of ideas; the general anxiously inquiring how she had lived while he was a prisoner--the young girl questioning him upon the perils he had run, and the ill-treatment he had suffered. "now, uncle," she said at length, "what is your intention?" "alas! my child," he replied, in a tone of sadness, and stifling a sigh; "we must without delay leave these terrible countries, and return to mexico." the heart of the young girl throbbed painfully, although she inwardly confessed the necessity for a prompt return. to leave the prairies would be to leave him she loved--to separate herself, without hope of a reunion, from a man whose admirable character every minute passed in sweet intercourse had made her more duly appreciate, and who had now become indispensable to her life and her happiness. "what ails thee, my child? you are sad, and your eyes are full of tears," her uncle asked, pressing her hand affectionately. "alas! dear uncle," she replied, in a plaintive tone; "how can i be otherwise than sad after all that has happened within the last few days? my heart is oppressed." "that is true. the frightful events of which we have been the witnesses and the victims are more than enough to make you sad; but you are still very young, my child. in a short time these events will only remain in your thoughts as the remembrance of facts which, thanks to heaven! you will not have to dread in future." "then shall we depart soon?" "tomorrow, if possible. what should i do here now? heaven itself declares against me, since it obliges me to renounce this expedition, the success of which would have made the happiness of my old age; but god is not willing that i should be consoled. his will be done!" he added, in a tone of resignation. "what do you mean, dear uncle?" the maiden asked, eagerly. "nothing that can interest you at present, my child. you had better, therefore, be ignorant of it, and that i should suffer alone. i am old. i am accustomed to sorrow," he said, with a melancholy smile. "my poor uncle!" "thank you for the kindness you evince, my child; but let us quit this subject that saddens you; let us speak a little, if you please, of the worthy people to whom we owe so many obligations." "of loyal heart?" doña luz murmured, with a blush. "yes," the general replied. "loyal heart and his mother; the excellent woman whom i have not yet been able to thank, on account of the wound of poor belhumeur, and to whom it is due, you say, that you have not suffered any privations." "she has had all the cares of a tender mother for me!" "how can i ever acquit myself towards her and her noble son? she is blessed in having such a child! alas! that comfort is not given to me--i am alone!" the general said, letting his head sink into his hands. "and i?" said the maiden, in a faint voice. "oh! you?" he replied, embracing her tenderly; "you are my beloved daughter, but i have no son!" "that is true!" she murmured, thoughtfully. "loyal heart," the general continued, "is of too proud a nature to accept anything of me. what am i to do? how acquit myself towards him? how acknowledge, as i ought, the immense services he has rendered me?" there was a moment of silence. doña luz inclined towards the general, and kissing his brow, she said to him in a low tremulous voice, concealing her face upon his shoulder: "uncle, i have an idea." "speak, my darling," he replied, "speak without fear; it is, perhaps, god who inspires you." "you have no son to whom you can bequeath your name and your immense fortune, have you, uncle?" "alas! i thought for a time, i might recover one, but that hope has vanished for ever; you know, child, i am alone." "neither loyal heart nor his mother would accept anything from you." "that i believe." "and yet, i think there is a way of obliging them, of forcing them even." "what is it?" he said, eagerly. "dear uncle, since you regret so much not having a son to whom you could, after you, leave your name, why not adopt loyal heart?" the general looked at her, she was covered with blushes, and trembling like a leaf. "oh! darling!" he said, embracing her, "your idea is a charming one, but it is impracticable. i should be happy and proud to have a son like loyal heart. you yourself have told me how his mother adores him; she must be jealous of his love, she will never consent to share it with a stranger." "perhaps she might!" the young girl murmured. "and then," the general added, "if even, which is impossible, his mother through love of him, in order to give him a rank in society, should accept my offer, mothers being capable of the noblest sacrifices to secure the happiness of their children, he himself would refuse. can you believe, dearest, that this man, brought up in the desert, whose whole life has been passed among unexpected, exciting scenes, in face of a sublime nature, would consent, for the sake of a little gold which he despises, and a name that is useless to him, to renounce that glorious life of adventures so full of pleasant and terrible emotions, which has become necessary to him? oh, no! he would be stifled in our cities; to an exalted organization like his our civilization would be mortal. forget this idea, my dear daughter. alas! i feel convinced he would refuse." "who knows?" she said, shaking her head. "god is my witness," the general resumed, earnestly, "that i should be most happy to succeed; all my wishes would be fulfilled. but why should i flatter myself with wild chimeras? he will refuse, i tell you! and i am forced to confess he would be right in doing so!" "well, but try, uncle!" she said, coaxingly; "if your proposal be repulsed, you will at least have proved to loyal heart that you are not ungrateful, and that you have known how to appreciate him at his just value." "do you wish it?" said the general, who asked no better than to be convinced. "i _do_ wish it, uncle," she answered, embracing him to conceal her joy and her blushes. "i do not know why, but it appears to me you will succeed." "well, so be it, then," the general murmured, with a melancholy smile. "request loyal heart and his mother to come to me." "in five minutes they shall be here!" she cried, radiant with joy. and, bounding like a gazelle, the young girl disappeared, running along the windings of the grotto. as soon as he was alone, the general hung down his pensive head, and fell into melancholy and deep reflections. a few minutes later, loyal heart and his mother, brought by doña luz, were before him. the general raised his head, bowed with courtesy as they entered, and with a sign desired his niece to retire. the young girl complied in great agitation. there only prevailed in this part of the grotto a faint light, which did not allow objects to be seen distinctly; by a strange caprice, the mother of loyal heart had put on her rebozo in such a manner that it almost entirely covered her face; so that, notwithstanding the attention with which the general looked at her, he could not succeed in discerning her features. "you have sent for us, general," loyal heart said, cheerfully, "and, as you see, we have hastened to comply with your desire." "thank you for your prompt attention, my friend," the general replied. "in the first place, receive the expression of my gratitude for the important services you have rendered me. what i say to you, my friend--i entreat you to permit me to give you that title--is addressed likewise to your good and excellent mother, for the tender care she has bestowed on my niece." "general," the hunter replied, with emotion, "i thank you for these kind words, which amply repay me for what you think you owe me. in coming to your aid, i only accomplished a vow i have made never to leave my neighbour without help. believe me i desire no other recompense but your esteem, and i am overpaid for the little i have done by the satisfaction i at this moment experience." "i should wish, notwithstanding, permit me to repeat--i should wish notwithstanding to reward you in another fashion." "reward me!" the fiery young man cried, colouring deeply, and drawing back. "allow me to finish," the general resumed, warmly; "if the proposition i wish to submit to you displeases you, well then you can answer me, and answer me as frankly as i am about to explain myself." "speak, general, i will listen to you attentively." "my friend, my journey into the prairies had a sacred object, which i have not been able to attain; you know the reason why--the men who followed me have died at my side. left almost alone, i find myself forced to renounce a search which, if it had been crowned with success, would have constituted the happiness of the few years i have yet to live. god is chastising me severely. i have seen all my children die around me; one alone would, perhaps, still be left to me, but him, in a moment of senseless pride, i drove from my presence. now, in the decline of life, my house is empty, my hearth, is solitary. i am alone, alas! without relations, without friends, without an heir to whom i could bequeath not my fortune, but my name, which a long line of ancestors have transmitted to me without stain. will you replace for me the family i have lost? answer me, loyal heart, will you be to me a son?" whilst pronouncing these words, the general rose from his seat, seized the hand of the young man and pressed it warmly, his eyes filled with tears. at this unexpected offer the hunter stood astonished, breathless, and not knowing what to reply. his mother suddenly threw back her rebozo, and displaying her countenance glowing and transfigured, so to speak, with intense joy, stepped between the two men, placed her hand upon the shoulder of the general, looked at him earnestly, and in a voice rendered tremulous by emotion, exclaimed-- "at length, don ramón de garillas, you recall that son whom twenty years ago you so cruelly abandoned!" "woman! what do you mean?" the general asked, in a broken voice. "i mean, don ramón," she replied, with an air of supreme majesty, "that i am doña jesuita, your wife, and that loyal heart is your son rafaël, whom you cursed." "oh!" the general cried, falling on his knees, and with his face bathed in tears, "pardon, pardon, my son!" "my father!" loyal heart cried, springing towards him, and endeavouring to raise him up; "what are you doing?" "my son," said the old man, almost wild with grief and joy, "i will not quit this posture till i have obtained your pardon." "arise, arise, don ramón!" said doña jesuita, in an affectionate tone; "it is long since the hearts of the mother and the son have felt anything for you but love and respect." "oh!" cried the old man, embracing them closely by turns; "this is too much happiness--i do not deserve to be so happy after my cruel conduct." "father," the young man replied, nobly, "it is owing to the merited chastisement you inflicted upon me that i have become an honest man; forget the past, then, which is now nothing but a dream, think only of the future, which smiles upon you." at this moment doña luz appeared, blushing and timid. as soon as he perceived her, the general sprang towards her, took her by the hand, and led her to doña jesuita, whose arms were opened to receive her. "my niece!" he said, with a face radiant with joy, "you may love loyal heart without fear, for he is really my son. god, in his infinite goodness has permitted that i should find him again at the moment when i despaired of such happiness!" the young girl uttered a cry of joy, and concealed her blushing face in the bosom of doña jesuita, abandoning her hand to rafaël, who covered it with kisses, while he fell at her feet. epilogue. it was a few months after the expedition of the count de raousset boulbon. at that period the name of frenchmen stood high in sonora. all travellers of that nation whom chance brought into that part of america were certain, no matter where they stopped, to meet with a most kind and sympathetic welcome. urged on by my vagabond humour, without any other object but that of seeing fresh countries, i had quitted mexico. mounted upon an excellent mustang, which a friend of mine, wood ranger, had lassoed and made me a present of i had traversed the whole american continent; that is to say, i had made, by short journeys and always alone, according to my custom, a ramble of some hundreds of leagues, crossing mountains covered with snow, immense deserts, rapid rivers, and impetuous torrents, simply as an amateur, in order to visit the spanish cities which rise along the coast of the pacific ocean. i had been travelling for fifty-seven days as a mere wanderer, stopping wherever caprice invited me to pitch my tent. i was, however, approaching the object i had determined on, and i found myself within a few leagues of hermosillo, that city which, surrounded by walls, possessing a population of fifteen thousand souls, and defended by eleven hundred regular troops commanded by general bravo, one of the best and most courageous officers of mexico, had been audaciously attacked by the count de raousset, at the head of less than two hundred and fifty frenchmen, and carried, at the point of the bayonet, in two hours. the sun had set, and the darkness became greater every second. my poor horse, fatigued with a journey of more than fifteen leagues, and which i had overridden some days before in my endeavours to arrive at guaymas sooner, advanced with great difficulty, stumbling at every step over the sharp stones of the route. i was myself excessively fatigued and was dying with hunger, so that i contemplated with very pitiable feelings the prospect of passing still another night under the starry canopy of heaven. i dread losing my way in the darkness; my eyes in vain scanned the horizon for a light that might guide me towards a habitation. i knew that several haciendas (farms) were to be met within the neighbourhood of the city of hermosillo. like all men who have for a long time led a wandering life, during which they have been incessantly the sport of events more or less contrary, i am endowed with a good stock of philosophy, an indispensable thing when one is travelling, particularly in america, where, for the most part, one is left to one's own industry without having the resource of being able to reckon upon any foreign aid. i made up my mind, like a brave traveller, renouncing with a sigh of regret the hope of supper and shelter. as the night grew darker and darker, and as it was useless to ride where i could not see, perhaps in a direction diametrically opposite to the one i ought to follow, i looked about me for a suitable place to establish my bivouac, light a fire, and find a little grass for my nag, which, as well as myself, was dying with hunger. this was not an easy matter in these countries calcined by a devouring sun, and covered with a sand as fine as dust. i, however, after a long search, discovered a miserable tree, in the shade of which a very scanty vegetation had sprung up. i was about to dismount, when my ear was struck with the distant sound of the steps of a horse, which appeared to be following the same route as myself, and which advanced rapidly. i remained motionless. meeting with a horseman at night in the mexican plains always suggests ample matter for reflection. the stranger we meet with may be an honest man, but it would be a safer wager to lay that he is a rogue. in this state of doubt, i cocked my revolver, and waited. my waiting was not long. at the end of five minutes the horseman came up to me. "_buenas noches, caballero_," (good evening, sir,) said he, as he passed. there was something so frank in the tone in which this salute was, as it were, thrown at me, that my suspicions vanished instantly. i replied. "where are you going so late?" he said. "in good faith," i replied, ingenuously, "i should be quite delighted if i knew myself; i think i have lost my way, and, in that doubt, i was preparing to pass the night under this tree." "a poor bed that!" said the horseman, shaking his head. "yes," i remarked philosophically; "but for want of a better i must content myself with it. i am dying with hunger, my horse is knocked up, and we do not either of us care to wander further in search of problematic hospitality, particularly at this hour of the night." "hum!" said the stranger, casting a glance at my mustang, who, with his head lowered, was endeavouring to snap a few blades of grass, "your horse appears to be well bred; do you think he is so much fatigued that he could not manage to go a couple of miles, at most?" "oh! he would go for two hours if necessary," i said, with a smile. "follow me, then, in god's name," the stranger answered, in a jovial tone; "i promise you both a good bed and a good supper." "which offer i accept for both with thanks," i said, making my horse feel the spur. the noble beast, which appeared to understand what was going on, fell into a very fair trot. the stranger was, as well as i could judge, a man of about forty, with an open countenance and intelligent features; he wore the costume of the inhabitants of the country, a broad brimmed felt hat, the crown of which was encircled by a gold band three fingers broad, a variegated zarapé fell from his shoulders to his thighs, and covered the quarters of his horse, and heavy silver spurs were fastened by straps to his vaquero boots. like all mexicans, he had, hanging at his left side, a machete, which is a sort of short and straight sabre, very much like the sword-bayonets of french foot soldiers. conversation soon commenced between us, and was not long in becoming expansive. at the end of about half an hour, i perceived at some distance before me, issuing from the darkness, the imposing mass of a large house; it was the hacienda in which my unknown guide had promised me a good welcome, a good supper, and a good bed. my horse snorted several times, and of its own accord mended its pace. i cast a curious glance around me, and could discern the lofty trees of a huerta well kept up, and every appearance of comfort. i inwardly rendered thanks to my good star, which had brought about so fortunate a rencontre. at our approach a horseman, placed, no doubt, as a vidette, uttered a loud challenge; while seven or eight rastreros of pure blood, came yelping with joy, bounding around my guide, and smelling me one after another. "it is i," my companion replied. "eh! come along, belhumeur," replied the sentry; "we have been expecting you more than an hour." "go and inform the master that i bring a traveller with me," cried my guide, "and be sure not to forget to tell black elk that he is a frenchman." "how do you know that?" i asked, a little annoyed, for i piqued myself upon speaking spanish with great purity. "_pardi!_" he said laughing, "we are almost compatriots." "how so?" "_dame!_ i am a canadian, you understand, and i soon recognised the accent." during the exchange of these few words, we had arrived at the door of the hacienda, where several persons waited to receive us. it appeared that the announcement of my quality of frenchman, made by my companion, had produced a certain sensation. ten or twelve domestics held torches, by favour of which i could distinguish six or eight persons at least, men and women, coming forward to welcome us. the master of the hacienda, whom i recognized as such at once, advanced towards me with a lady hanging on his arm, who must have been a great beauty, and might yet pass for handsome, although she was near forty years of age. her husband was a man of about fifty, of lofty stature, and endowed with a marked, manly countenance; around them clung, with staring eyes, five or six charming children, who resembled them too strongly not to belong to them. a little behind them, half concealed, in the shade, was a lady of about seventy and an old gentleman apparently not far from a hundred. i took in at a glance the whole of this family, the aspect of which had something patriarchal in it that attracted sympathy and respect. "sir," said the hacendero kindly, seizing the bridle of my horse to assist me to dismount, "esa casa se dé a vm (this house is yours); i can only thank my friend belhumeur for having succeeded in bringing you to my house." "i must admit, señor," i said with a smile, "that he had not much trouble in doing so, and that i accept with gratitude the offer he was so kind as to make me." "if you will permit it, señor, as it is getting late," the hacendero replied, "and particularly as you stand in need of repose, we will go at once into the eating room; we were on the point of sitting down to table when your arrival was announced." "señor, i thank you a thousand times," i remarked with a bow; "your kind welcome has made me forget all my fatigue." "we can easily recognise french politeness," said the lady, with a pleasing smile. i offered my arm to the lady of the house, and we proceeded to the eating-room, where, upon an immense table, was served an homeric repast, the appetizing odour of which reminded me that i had fasted for nearly twelve hours. we took our seats. forty persons, at least, were assembled round the table. in this hacienda was kept up the patriarchal custom which is now falling into desuetude, of allowing the servants to eat with the masters of the house. all that i saw, all that i heard, charmed me in this abode; it had a perfume of kindness about it which made the heart beat responsively. when the sharp edge of appetite was a little blunted, the conversation, which had languished at first, became general. "well! belhumeur," the grandfather asked my guide, who, seated beside me, was vigorously employing his fork, "have you found the track of the jaguar?" "i have not only found one track, general, but i fear the jaguar is not alone, and has a companion." "oh! oh!" said the old man, "are you sure of that?" "i may be deceived, general, and yet i don't think i am. ask loyal heart; i had something of a reputation yonder, in the prairies of the west." "father," said the hacendero, making an affirmative sign, "belhumeur must be right, he is too old a hunter to be at fault." "then we must have a battue, to rid ourselves of these dangerous enemies. is not that your opinion, don rafaël?" "that was my intention, father. i am glad you approve of it. black elk is warned, and everything is ready." "the hunt may take place as soon as is agreeable, everything is in order," said an individual of a certain age, seated not far from me. the door opened, and a man entered. his arrival was saluted with cries of joy. don rafaël rose eagerly, and went towards him, followed by his lady. i was the more astonished at this welcome, from the newly arrived guest being nothing but an indian _bravo_, or independent; he wore the complete costume of the warriors of his nation. thanks to the numerous sojourns i had made among the redskins, i thought that this man must belong to one of the numerous tribes of the comanches. "oh! eagle head! eagle head!" shouted the children, surrounding him with glee. the indian took them in his arms, one after the other, kissed them, and got rid of them by giving them some of those little toys which the aborigines of america cut with such exquisite taste. he then advanced smiling, saluted the numerous company assembled in the hall with perfect ease, and took his place between the master and the mistress of the house. "we expected you before sunset, chief," said the lady, in a friendly manner: "it is not right to disappoint your friends." "eagle head was on the track of the jaguars," said the chief, sententiously; "my daughter must not have cause for fear; the jaguars are dead." "what! have you already killed the jaguars, chief?" said don rafaël, eagerly. "my brother will see. the skins are very handsome; they are in the court." "well, chief," said the old gentleman, holding out his hand to him, "i see you are determined always to be our providence." "my father speaks well," the chief answered, bowing; "the master of life counsels him; the family of my father is my family." after the repast, i was conducted by don rafaël to a comfortable bedroom, where i was not long in falling asleep, though my dreams were very busy with all i had seen and heard during the evening. on the morrow my host my hosts would not hear of my leaving them; and i must confess that i did not very strongly insist upon continuing my journey. not only was i charmed with the friendly welcome i had received, but still further, a secret curiosity urged me to stay a few days longer. a week thus passed away. don rafaël and his family overwhelmed me with kindnesses; life passed with me as if in a continual enchantment. i do not know why, but ever since my arrival in the hacienda, all that i was witness of augmented that curiosity which had seized upon me from the first moment. it appeared to me that at the bottom of the happiness which i saw beaming in every face of this united family, there had been a long train of misfortunes. they were not, as i believed, people whose lives had flowed on calmly and tranquilly; i imagined, though i scarcely know why, that after being a long time tossed about upon the ocean of some trouble, they had at length found a port. their countenances were impressed with that majesty which great sorrows alone can give, and the wrinkles which furrowed their brows appeared to me too deep to have been traced by anything but grief. this idea was so strongly impressed upon my brain that, in spite of all my efforts to drive it away, it incessantly returned, more tenaciously and more incisively. in a few days, i had become the friend of the family nothing regarding myself was unknown to them; they had admitted me to the closest intimacy. in this state, i had constantly one question on my lips, but i knew not how to shape it, so much did i fear committing a serious indiscretion or reviving old causes of grief. one evening, as don rafaël and i were returning from hunting, when we were within a few steps of the house, he placed his arm in mine. "what is the matter with you, don gustavio?" he said; "you are dull and preoccupied; do you begin to be tired of us?" "you cannot imagine that," i replied warmly; "on the contrary, i have no words to express how happy i am with you." "well, remain then," he cried frankly; "there is still plenty of room for a friend at our hearth." "thanks," i said, much affected, and pressing his hand; "i would that it could be so; but, alas! it is impossible. like the jew of the legend, i have within me a demon which, incessantly cries 'move on!' i must accomplish my destiny." and i sighed. "now, come," he resumed, "be frank! tell me what it is that occupies your thoughts; for several days past you have made us all very uncomfortable; nobody has dared to question you about it," he added, with a smile; "but i have taken my courage with both hands, as you frenchmen say, and made up my mind to ask you." "well!" i replied, "as you desire it, i will tell you; but i entreat you not to take my frankness ill, and to be assured that there is at least as much interest as curiosity in the matter." "well, then," he said, with an indulgent smile, "confess yourself to me; don't be afraid, i will give you absolution--go on!" "i really should like to make 'a clean breast of it,' and tell you everything." "that is the way,--speak." "i have formed an idea, although i do not know why, that you have not always been as happy as you are now, and that it has been by long misfortunes that you have purchased the blessings you at present enjoy." a melancholy smile passed over his lips. "pardon me!" i cried eagerly; "pardon the indiscretion i have committed! what i feared has come to pass! let there be no more question between us, i conjure you, of my silly fancy!" i was really very much hurt at reflecting on my impertinence. don rafaël replied to me with kindness. "why not?" he said; "i see nothing indiscreet in your question; it arises solely from the interest you have conceived for us: it is only when we love people that we become so clear-sighted. no, my friend, you are not wrong, we have all undergone a rude trial. since you desire it, you shall know all; and perhaps you will confess, after having heard the recital of what we have suffered, that we have indeed purchased dearly the happiness we enjoy. but let us go in; they are probably waiting for us to sit down to table." that evening don rafaël retained several members of the family round him, and, after having ordered cigarettes and some wine to be placed upon the table, he said,-- "my friend, i am about to satisfy your excusable curiosity. belhumeur, black elk, and eagle head, my father and mother, as well as my dear wife, who have all been actors in the drama of which you are going to hear the strange recital, will come to my assistance if my memory fails me." then, reader, don rafaël related to me what you have just read. i must confess that these adventures, told by the man who had played the principal character, and before those who had so great a share in them,--i confess, i say, that these adventures interested me to the highest degree, which cannot be expected to be the case with you; they, necessarily, lose much coming from my mouth, for i cannot impart to them that animation which constituted their principal charm. a week afterwards i left my amiable hosts, but instead of embarking at guaymas, as i had at first intended, i set out with eagle head on an excursion into apacheria, an excursion during which chance made me the witness of extraordinary scenes, which i will, perhaps, relate to you some day, if these you have now read have not been too wearisome to you. the end.